Lessons in Enchantment

by Patricia Rice

  And a diversion, Phoebe knew. Her fear escalated as she herded the children down the stairs. She could be driving them straight into the hands of kidnappers, but she couldn’t leave them upstairs if there was any chance of a fire spreading.

  “Daddy’s sword,” Enoch whispered. He back upstairs.

  While she waited, holding the twins’ hands, Phoebe sought Piney and Kitty. The martin was sniffing suspiciously at a human presence in Andrew’s office. Kitty was hiding under a sofa, wary of the scampering mice.

  Someone was downstairs, and it wasn’t anyone the animals knew.

  Enoch ran back with no mere dirk but his father’s claymore. He shouldn’t even be able to lift the weapon. Phoebe released Cat’s hand to grasp the ornate hilt. Changing her mind about taking them downstairs, she gestured back to the bedrooms. “Hide until I tell you it’s clear.”

  The children started to look a little more worried, but Phoebe gave them a big smile of confidence. “You know what to do. You’ve practiced. You just need to learn new territory.”

  Given permission to invade the bedrooms of their elders, they raced into action.

  Phoebe prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. They were only one floor from exits to the outside, but she didn’t know what was out there. Or downstairs.

  She sought the creatures in the park and street to find out what was happening at the front, but they were in a panic and fleeing. She disturbed Raven, who swooped down to show her an image of Abby, Daisy, and Cook in their nightclothes, forming a bucket brigade and flinging pails of water on the coals. She and Raven woke the pigeons perched on the roofs so they squawked and raised a racket that ought to bring people into the street to help.

  It was the stranger—or strangers—in the house, who concerned her now. In a stroke of brilliance, she sent a rat to bite Wolf’s tail. The dog woke with a howl that made her smile. That should wake Henry.

  She couldn’t see the rear door from her position on the landing. The downstairs hall was dimly lit by a single gas light so people could find their way without bumping into walls. The office door was as far as she could see. It was directly across from the lamp and slightly ajar.

  As she hesitated, a tall, hulking figure stepped out of the office, shoving papers into his coat pocket. Piney was right. Big and Burly wasn’t anyone familiar to them. Phoebe shrank back into the shadows, holding the heavy sword blade over her shoulder.

  Apparently confident that he was in charge—which worried Phoebe endlessly—the burly stranger waved at someone she couldn’t see and headed for the stairs.

  Mentally shrieking for her pets, she looked for the best grip on the heavy claymore. She didn’t think she had the strength to stab anyone. The blade was far more likely to be swiped from her hands.

  She decided to stand sideways so she could swing it like a stick. With luck, she might catch him by surprise and possibly knock him off balance and down the stairs.

  Phoebe waited in the shadow of the landing, shivering, and trying to summon an alternative plan. She had to let the intruder come close and risk being seen. Surprise was her only hope, so her timing had to be perfect. Heart pounding so loudly she could hear nothing else, she waited until the prowler was two steps away—before shrieking at the top of her lungs and swinging as hard as she could.

  Since she stood above him, the flat of the blade merely connected with his chest. Still, he staggered backward, shouting curses.

  Appearing from the back hall, another man ran toward them. Oh sugar and shame! Outnumbered, Phoebe chose Plan B. Lifting her robe, she fled upstairs to the nursery, knowing the children were safely ensconced in the lower bedrooms. If nothing else, she could lead the cads astray long enough for the children to flee.

  Wolf howled and battered the back door. The distraction didn’t prevent Burly from catching up with her. He grabbed her by the arm and reached for her sword. Outraged at being manhandled so rudely, Phoebe screamed at the top of her lungs and switched the hilt to her other hand. She swung anywhere she could reach until he howled as loudly as Wolf. He tried to reach the hilt with his free hand, but she beat the heavy blade wildly over her head, risking both their necks.

  When she connected with the side of his head, he cursed, hauled her off her feet, and flung her over his shoulder. Rough male hands held her backside as he lumbered up the stairs. Furious more than humiliated, Phoebe struck viciously at the back of his legs with the weapon until the second man snatched it away and flung it over the banister.

  “Get the brats. I’ll bet this one knows where to find the book,” the man holding her ordered.

  The book? The one in her pocket? Praying it stayed in place, Phoebe kicked and screamed, doing her best to unman the brute before they realized the children weren’t to be found.

  Lifted by an unseen hand, the brass lamp on the landing flew from its stand. It didn’t rise high enough to reach Burly’s head, but it had enough impact to make him go oomph when it smashed into his shoulder.

  Enoch. Enoch was nearby.

  The crass varlet didn’t lose his grip but shook his head as if to wipe out the image of a flying lamp. Then he continued hauling her past the landing, toward the nursery floor. Phoebe bit back her shrieks and tried to be as calm as she’d taught the children to be. Enoch could do little while the bad man used her as a shield. It was up to her to escape this position.

  Biting her lip to keep quiet as she bounced uncomfortably over the scoundrel’s nasty shoulder, she sought Piney and Kitty. They were already sniffing the strangers’ trail and in defensive mode. She needed to give them time to catch up.

  Silently, Phoebe wriggled and kicked at the cad’s knees while beating ineffectively at his back. She slowed him down while he tried to prevent her slippers from unmanning him. The other stranger had pushed past and was in the nursery. She could hear his loud curses at finding empty beds. She hoped he’d head for the attic next. She could arrange that.

  She sent her army of mice scampering up the stairs, under her attacker’s feet and up his trouser leg. Big and Burly squealed like a little girl.

  Piney chose that moment to scamper up the woodwork and fall on her captor’s head, wrapping his tiny paws around his ears and biting at the villain’s nose. With that distraction to aid her, Phoebe finally got in an effective kick, tumbling Burly to his knees in howls of anguish.

  Upstairs, the other man’s footsteps halted.

  Wolf’s howls reached ear-shattering levels.

  As Burly tried to cover his privates while fighting the weasel clinging to his nose, Phoebe tore loose from his grip, tumbling to one side and scrambling away. Now that the intruder was down, Kitty leapt on the thug’s back and clawed his neck. The brute tumbled over trying to fight cat and weasel and the mouse up his trousers, leaving Phoebe free to run.

  She simply didn’t know what to do next. How safely were the children hidden?

  Before she could decide, both back and front doors crashed open and furious male voices echoed through the house. She nearly wilted in relief, before she straightened her backbone and raced down to the bedrooms where the children lurked. “Stay hidden,” she called to the closed doors, praying they’d hear her. She didn’t want them to watch whatever happened next.

  Returning to the landing, she called, “One on the stairs and another in the nursery.”

  The children’s father was up the stairs first, even though he must have stopped long enough to grab his claymore off the floor because he brandished it like a berserker Highland warrior prepared to lop heads.

  Andrew was next, a pistol in one hand, a sgian dubh in the other. Mr. Morgan was close behind, holding a fireplace poker. The stableboy guarded the bottom of the stairs, hanging on to Wolf’s collar. Phoebe felt her knees go weak, but she refused to crumple. Andrew halted next to her, letting Mr. Morgan run up with Mr. Simon.

  “The children?” He nodded at the hall she guarded.

  “Hiding in the bedrooms. I hope none of you have anything naughty in there,” s
he whispered back.

  When he slid his dagger into his boot, clasped her waist, and hauled her against him, she melted into his greater strength, clinging to his coat until her knees stopped shaking.

  “If you’re making jokes, then they’re safe. How many scoundrels are there?”

  “Only two. Is the fire out?” she asked anxiously.

  “The kitchen is half flooded, and the servants from the entire neighborhood are having a fine old chat. I didn’t linger. I damned near died a thousand deaths these last minutes.” He held her closer, resting his chin on top of her head.

  Safe against his broad chest, Phoebe closed her eyes, blocking out the horror of being hauled like garbage, trying to let this much better moment wipe away her fears.

  Male laughter roared from above. “The one with the kitten on his neck has dirtied his breeches,” Mr. Simon howled. “Good work, milady.” His booted feet pounded overhead as he sought a better target.

  “Bring me some rope,” Mr. Morgan called down in disgust. “Make it one the mice won’t eat.”

  Setting her back, Andrew quirked a questioning eyebrow. Phoebe shrugged and continued snuggling under his arm. She did, however, tell Kitty and Piney to chase the mice back to the kitchen.

  Below, the stableboy dodged scampering creatures and waited uncertainly.

  “Bring up the rope, please, Henry, and tell Cook to set milk and cakes on the kitchen floor,” she called down to the boy. “Even rodent warriors should be rewarded.”

  A battle cry rang out on the floor overhead. Thuds followed, but not for long. Phoebe glanced worriedly to Andrew. “Should you see that your cousin is all right?”

  Andrew snorted. “I should probably make certain he doesn’t behead the fellow. It’s damned difficult to get bloodstains out of carpet.”

  She giggled. It was probably hysteria, but she giggled. She was safe. The children were safe. The bad men would no longer bother them. She didn’t care who they were or what they thought they’d accomplish. It was over, surely.

  She very much wanted to ignore a ghost’s request and hand the book to Andrew, but she’d yet to find any secrets in it..

  As Henry ran up with ropes, Phoebe beckoned Wolf and sent him to find the children. She waited to be chastised for letting the animal run loose in the house, but Andrew only hugged her tighter. She buried her face in his shoulder so she didn’t have to watch as Mr. Morgan and Mr. Simon dragged the intruders down the stairs rather than carry them. She supposed she should object to such mistreatment, but after all the terror the dastards had caused, she wasn’t feeling particularly sympathetic.

  “How did you all arrive at once?” she asked, to distract from the curses and groans.

  “We were all patrolling the area. We were distracted by a carriage accident or we would have been here sooner. Your shrieking Raven brought us running,” Andrew admitted. “You want to guess how many lives I lost after we saw the smoke and heard Wolf howling?”

  “Not as many as I did,” she said tartly. “I’m just glad you arrived when you did. I feared Enoch would try to throw beds at them next and hurt himself.”

  She pulled away from her safe haven as the children’s father hauled his victim down the rest of the stairs by the feet. “Mr. Simon, you need to go in and reassure the children. They were utterly brilliant and did exactly as told. Enoch was an enormous help.”

  “I’ll send someone to fetch the police,” Andrew assured his still furious cousin. “You’d best not batter the limmers too badly. We need them to talk.”

  Mr. Simon glowered at the bound man at his feet. “Let’s see if the girls can identify him. I know who he is, but I won’t beat him into pulp until I know for sure.” He stalked down the hall to seek his offspring.

  Phoebe glanced back to see the children hesitantly peering into the hall from their respective rooms, while taking turns petting Wolf. At sight of their father, the girls scampered into his arms.

  Enoch emerged with an oil lamp. At Phoebe’s reassuring nod, he straightened and boldly marched out to the landing to shine a light on the two bound and trussed intruders. With Mr. Simon holding the twins, Mr. Morgan took possession of his claymore, swinging it lightly as he hovered over their captives. Mr. Morgan’s size alone would intimidate even Big and Bulky.

  “The big one was in the office. I think he stole some papers and put them in his pocket,” Phoebe warned. “He was confident you wouldn’t be here. It’s possible they arranged that accident.”

  Refusing to release her, Andrew nodded at his partner, who rummaged in coat pockets until he found the papers. In the light of Enoch’s lamp, Hugh scanned them.

  “Little bit of theft on the side,” he said. “Bank letters, ways of conning funds using your correspondence, the contents of your cash box from the looks of it. You don’t leave much valuable in your desk.”

  Mr. Simon kissed the twins’ tawny heads. “What say you, my little cuckoos? Do we roll these two villains down the stairs?”

  “Black colors,” Cat said decisively. “They are very bad men.”

  Clare scrunched up her nose and clung to her father’s jacket so he had to adjust her to a sitting position on his arm. The quiet twin buried her face in his lapel and whispered something only Mr. Simon could hear.

  In the light of the one lamp, his expression darkened. He gently handed Clare to Phoebe and Cat to Andrew. “Cover their eyes.”

  Enoch and Cat, being of the bloodthirsty sort, refused to look away. Clare buried her face in Phoebe’s shoulder and wept.

  Their father took the claymore from Mr. Morgan, then using his boot heel, shoved both bound men tumbling down the last set of stairs to the hall below. Phoebe winced as their heads collided with treads and railing and their howls abruptly broke off at the bottom.

  “If they haven’t broken their necks, I’ll call the watch,” Simon said grimly. “Otherwise, I’ll bury them in the park, then go after the shining examples of humankind who hired them. They’re foremen of neighboring mines. Clare claims Letitia recognizes them, and that they were talking to the stableboy who fled, and that’s good enough evidence for me.”

  Since she had found no such claim in the journal, Phoebe pondered why the men wanted the book. Had someone told them Letitia had evidence against them just to send them in here?

  “They broke into my home, set fire to my kitchen, and terrorized women and children,” Andrew said grimly. “Do as you will with them, but take the law with you when you go after their employers.”

  Mr. Simon saluted with the blade and signaled Mr. Morgan to follow.

  Only after they hauled the intruders out of sight did Phoebe realize that she was standing in her employer’s embrace and no one had commented.

  And they’d left her alone with Andrew. Again.

  Twenty

  Drew sat at the top of the stairs, guarding the nursery floor against any new intruders. Behind him, Phoebe gathered up her charges, distributed hugs, ordered warm milk and treats, and let them chatter about their fears and excitement.

  His gut churned in fury, but his blood raced for other, less rational, reasons.

  He wished he could be as innocent as the children again. He’d like to forget the world with a few biscuits and nursery rhymes—and Lady Phoebe’s caresses. Aye right, so he didn’t wish to be as young as the children.

  He settled for a shot of strong whisky from his flask and a rough slurp from a wolfhound. He didn’t feel inclined to return to his work. He didn’t belong in the nursery. He wasn’t about to go to sleep while his fury brewed with a desire to commit murder.

  The cowardly bastards had dared to lay hands on a woman. And not just any woman, but a good one, a lady who was kind to all.

  He’d seen how the usually unflappable governess had looked when he’d reached her. She’d seemed horrendously young and frightened, with her hair tangled around her face and down her back. The gentle lady who sang lullabies to children had had murder and fear in her eyes and blood on her hands. Her a
lready threadbare robe had nearly lost a sleeve, and there was a large rent at the hem.

  If he didn’t kill someone soon, he’d choke on his rage.

  The quiet twin tip-toed down the hall and planted a sloppy kiss on his bristled cheek. He nearly wept at the gesture. She giggled and ran away before he could reach for her.

  Wolf groaned in contentment as Drew scratched behind his ear. “Machines are easier,” he told the dog.

  The hound slurped at his hand.

  Dog slurps weren’t the same as a child’s kiss. And definitely not the same as a woman’s caress. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to enjoy their company until he was threatened with their loss.

  But he damned well knew how good Phoebe felt in his arms. Holding her, guarding the children, had aroused more visceral urges than running trains and inventing typewriters ever had. Drew was pretty certain that machines were more important than playing warrior, but right now, he couldn’t shake the primeval impulses racing through his blood.

  So when Phoebe sat down beside him on the stair, only one reaction seemed reasonable, logical, and exactly what he needed. Drew pulled her close again, because she felt like the missing half of him. And he leaned down to kiss her.

  Gratifyingly, she wrapped her slender arms around his neck. Her breasts pushed into his waistcoat, and when he devoured her mouth, she responded with the same hunger.

  All his primitive urges found a focus. Drew dragged his hands through her hair, scattering any remaining pins and luxuriating in the rich lengths of her soft, sweet-smelling mane. He deepened his kiss, and she moaned in response, arching into him, encouraging him to do all those things he’d dreamed of these past nights.

  All the artificial divisions of class and temperament dissipated when he slid his hand over her breast and found her jutting nipple through the thin cloth. He didn’t notice when Wolf trotted off. He was only aware of the lady’s hand creeping over his waistcoat, unfastening buttons to seek his chest.

  He deepened his kiss, and her tongue against his blurred his mind. He’d have to unfasten his trouser placket before he broke himself. As if sensing his need, the lady ran her long fingers down his shirt to his waistband.