I had a key to Matt and Cat’s condo, and since I needed to find out what my sneaky mother was up to—because she was surely up to something—I knocked twice in rapid-fire succession and then quickly used my key to enter.
Rushing down the hall to the kitchen I saw my mother frantically trying to gather her wares and stow the telltale paraphernalia that was curious to erstwhile witches. She managed to put some jars and pots under the sink and out of sight. She stopped when she saw me staring at the incredible mess she had created. It was worse than usual, which was not a good sign. This was even worse than the Halloween disasters she was known for. And that was saying a lot, because any so-called witch worth her salt goes all out on Halloween, and then some.
I sauntered over to sniff the “smoking cauldron” which was actually a fairly new-looking crock-pot.
“What? Witches can’t modernize, too?” her mother had often said when caught using an electric candle, blender stick, or freeze-dried octopus eyes.
“Just what is my little cauldron-stirring ditzy priestess up to?” I asked as I raced mom to the leather–bound book lying open on the high countertop. I got there just in time to snatch it away so I could see the page it was open to. The book was as old as I was, the leather cracked and worn with age, the writing and the symbols more a work of art in my mind than anything else. But still . . . where mother was, trouble followed. It was an axiom I had lived by all my life.
Turning my back on my mother so she couldn’t snatch the book away, I read the heading on the page. The Mate is the Date, Get the Proposal Before it’s Too Late!
I gasped and spun back around to face my mom, or in this case, my tormentor. “You didn’t!”
She looked so guilty it was almost comical. And if it hadn’t been my life she was toying with, her expression might have drawn some genuine laughter from me. Her eyes shifted to the side and she attempted to shrug it off. “Maybe . . . maybe I did something, maybe I didn’t. It’s hard to tell.”
“Oh no!” I cried.
“Did he?” Her eyes lit with an unholy light. In an instant she had gone from contrite child to avid enchantress with a bright feral gleam that fairly leapt into her eyes. A crooked smile erupted across her face as she realized what I was trying so desperately to hide. Damn! She could always read my emotions, even this one, complex as it was.
“He did! He did! He proposed! I knew it! I knew it!” She began to dance around the kitchen doing a little jig.
Shit! Now I would never be able to accept what was surely the most assertive and assumptive proposal a man could tender. How would I ever know if he had narrowed his choices down to me and asked me to consider the role of his wife, or if somehow she had caused him to see me as Mrs. Right? If I married him how would I ever know that it was really he who had asked?
I would forever wonder if my mom had finally managed to conjure up a mystical being who took it upon himself to align everything for me, from Philip’s opening gambit of hiring a high-tech matchmaker, to his blatant and passionate kisses that had set every cell in my body on full throttle lust-mode, making me quiver like a nervous filly. I was still fighting the trembling caused by the sexual pull that seemed stronger than gravity.
“Mother, how could you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know that I did . . .”
I let out a huge sigh.
“So the polka dots did the trick?” she asked.
“Either that or whatever you threw together here. Do you even care that you’ve made a shambles of this kitchen as well as my first romance of this century?”
She came over and wrapped me in her arms and hugged me tight to her. “Of course I do.” Her fingers caressed my white streak, separating the strands as was her habit when trying to placate me. “I promise you, we’ll know what path you’re on real soon.”
“Yeah, and how will we know that?”
“I’ll call in reinforcements. Trina’s a diviner, she’ll be able to tell if he’s bewitched or not.”
“No! No! No more witchcraft. No more meddling. And I mean it! Now let’s get this mess cleaned up before someone sees it and insists on sending you to the old folk’s home.” I unplugged the crock-pot and dumped the contents into the sink.
“You just threw out my dinner. That was pureed black bean and roasted tomato soup.” She opened the cabinet under the sink. There were six jars with wisps of smoke still wafting from them. “That’s the potion. Had to use up all my dragon’s tooth and rhino sperm.”
I stared at her for what seemed like an eternity and then I laughed out loud. It was just too ludicrous. “How the hell do you get rhino sperm?”
“Same way you get human sperm, I suppose.”
“They make a rhinoceros version of Hustler magazine? And what do they catch it in, a bucket?”
She looked at me and we both fell apart, laughing until our sides hurt.
Then I helped her clean up the kitchen before going home to ponder my fate. Between Philip and my mother, my insides were all twisted up. The phone was ringing when I walked in the door. I fell across the back of the sofa to reach it in time. As soon as I picked it up I heard breathing.
“Hello? Hello?”
Nothing. Then a soft click.
I was definitely going to call the phone company tomorrow.
Chapter Fifteen
A story to tantalize As soon as I got back from my mother’s I checked my email. Philip had checked in, in a very big way. There were words to make my heart soar:
PeterPeterPeater: You were amazing tonight. So lovely, so free with your thoughts. I can’t get over how sensuous you are, and how unbelievably sexy I find you. I want you very badly. I hope you know that. That’s two nights in a row that you’ve completely floored me with your eagerness and your delight of life. I am falling for you. I haven’t been this scared in years.
So of course, I had to reply: VaVaVIv: You were amasing. I cannot believe how you afect me. And how easily you control me. Talk about scared. You are overwelmming and more than this country girl can confedently handle. Please don’t hurt me.
PeterPeterPeater: I may spank you, but I will never hurt you. Goodnight.
A few minutes later as I was sorting through other emails I heard a ding, I saw there was another message from Philip.
I have a story for you. I wrote it late last night, when I couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about you. When you get a moment, let me know how you like it. I used to dabble in scriptwriting in one of my past lives so hopefully it won’t be terrible. Thankfully, I am not worried about you finding any misspellings, as I know you would never, ever recognize them. Peter.
Stoneleigh Mansion
Sussex, outside of London 1842
Felicity closed her book and sighed, what a wonderful story, she thought as she stood and replaced the book in the slot she had taken it from several nights ago. She was at Stoneleigh, her father’s summerhouse, and his library was one of the best in the county. She thumbed through the spines of the books on the next shelf up before sliding another book out and tucking it under her arm. These warm summer nights were not conducive to sleep for her; she needed a good book to make her drowse a bit before she could rest peacefully.
She turned just in time to see the library door open and then click closed behind a shadowy figure. She heard soft footfalls but it was too dark over by the door to see who had come in.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“It’s Robert Harbrook. I’m sorry if I scared you.” “Oh. Well, that’s quite all right. I just wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m finished now. I’ve chosen my book so you may have the library all to yourself.”
Robert was her brother Jonathan’s houseguest. They were on break from Cambridge and had stopped on their way to a house party in Lincolnshire.
“Well actually, it’s you I came to see.” That surprised her. No one ever came to see her. At twenty-four she was considered on the shelf, and she was just fine with that. She had her books, her gardens, and h
er father’s afternoon chess games to amuse her. Her mother had died just as she had turned eighteen and her first season had been put off so they could all mourn her passing. The overwhelming grief had kept her from desiring a season for the next year also, and then it was all but too late. And really, she just didn’t care. She knew she was only middling in the looks department, too tall and too “substantial” for most men who preferred the petite, fragile, and biddable type for a wife. In jest, her brother had often compared her to the women he met in taverns, adding that as he wasn’t on the marriage mart at this time in his life, her type appealed to him most, but she never really believed it. Like her mother, her breasts were too large, her hips and derriere on the generous side. Even her eyes and her mouth appeared overly endowed to her when she stared at them in the mirror. But she did like their color and shape, and she had a fine Patrician nose, a pert chin, and flawless alabaster skin.
Her father had adored her mother and as Felicity was her mirror image, he would not allow anyone to criticize her. When her girlfriends suggested she give up sweets to slim down, her father showered her with chocolate truffles from London’s finest confectioners. He said one day a man would come along who would appreciate her ample charms. Well, she was in no hurry, so she just smiled and kissed his cheek while savoring another expensive hazelnut truffle.
“Me, you came to see me?” “Well, yes actually. Came looking for you in fact.”
As he drew closer she saw that he had been drinking, he swayed on his feet and his eyes were glassy. And he was quite improperly dressed. He was without his coat, in his shirtsleeves, without a vest or even a cravat.
“Looking for me?” That was very odd.
“Been thinkin’, you bein’ a lady and me bein’ the younger son of a baron and all, we’d make a good match, don’t you think?”
My father would be livid that Robert had even suggested such a thing. I was the daughter of an Earl and Robert was the bastard son of a baron, one of many by-blows the earl had spawned on his wife’s sister. He would never allow such a match. He would throw Robert out of his house if he knew he was even considering offering for her. He wouldn’t even be here if Jonathan hadn’t insisted.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea Robert. I’m sure my father has other plans for me.”
“You mean he would refuse my suit?” His words were slurred now and I could see his eyes flashing with belligerence.
“Yes, Robert. I am actually quite positive that he would.”
He closed the gap between us faster than I would have credited him for and grabbed my arm just above my elbow, squeezing it hard.
“Robert, stop! That hurts!”
“If you’re so sure he won’t agree to my marrying you, then we’ll have to do this the other way,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
I had no idea what he was talking about. “The other way?”
“Yes, the other way, the way where I toss your skirts over your head and ruin you. Once I take your maidenhead your father will not be able to refuse me. You, and your prized dowry will be mine and I can quit this nonsense of being patronized everywhere I go. Even at Cambridge I can sense the scorn. But if I marry a lady such as you, no one in the whole of London will be able to look down at me. No one, do you hear? No one!” he shouted as he shook me.
“But Robert, I don’t wish to marry you!”
“Do you think I care?” he sneered as he threw me onto the sofa and then followed me down, his weight pressing into me, taking my breath away. Had I fallen with one foot on the floor I doubt he would have been able to get the advantage, but I hadn’t, and so I had no leverage to shove against him. I felt him tug on my skirts, pulling them aside and then I felt cool air on my thighs as he exposed me. I was still in my day gown and had only a thin chemise under it as the days were still quite warm. With one hand he ripped the fine linen garment and shoved it to my waist. I felt his hand between us, fumbling at his trouser buttons, and felt disgraced. He was making slow progress and I watched as his face contorted and he swore. Finally, in exasperation he jerked the last few buttons off and I heard them ping on the floor. I felt something warm and soft slithering between my thighs and realized that it must be his penis. I managed a scream before he slapped me and shoved his handkerchief into my mouth.
I heard him swear and mutter that he wasn’t hard enough just before I felt my bodice tear. His hand delved inside, groped my breast and then pulled it from its confinement to bare it. I saw his eyes go wide with pleasure while he squeezed it tight, over and over again. I tried to scream again but the gag prevented it.
He looked down into my face, his eyes alight as he laughed gleefully. “Ah, yes, these sweet, sweet titties are getting the job done. I’m getting as hard as a pike!”
He was speaking the truth, I could feel the ridge between us growing and hardening. He laughed manically as he gripped it, slapped my leg with it, and shoved it between my thighs. I arched and squirmed away while clawing at his face. He released the hand that was on my breast, and curling it into a tight fist he hit me in the face just as I felt him being lifted off of me. In the haze that was quickly settling over me and graduating toward total blackness, I saw my father’s furious face looming over us. He jerked Robert up to his feet and from the expression on his face I knew he would pummel him until his fists were bloody, and that when, and if, I regained consciousness it would be highly doubtful Robert would survive. The sounds of the blows my father’s fists were landing were the last thing I heard as I felt my head reverberate, throb, and explode.
I was in my bed; having regained consciousness, holding a cold compress my maid had given me to the area beneath my eye. My nose was sore, but not broken, and had thankfully deflected some of the force from my eye. I would be fine, just nursing a bruised cheek and sore jaw for a few days. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and very angry that I’d let a man get the best of me. And I was terrified that now I might have to marry him.
I didn’t really know how all this worked, but I had heard of noble women having to marry their attackers to keep their reputations intact. And of course, what other man would want them after they’d been defiled? It was a losing proposition, yet many families sacrificed their daughters to their seducers lest they give up all hope of them marrying and being financially secure. I knew my father wouldn’t do that. Or at least I didn’t think he would. I remembered the sight I had seen just before I had blacked out. All my worrying was moot, knowing my father and his temper. Robert was probably not even capable of siring a child anymore.
There was a soft series of taps at my door. I thought it might be Sally, my maid, so I called for her to come in. Then I looked up and saw the handsomest man in the world. Tall and muscularly built, with thick dark hair and amazing eyes, he closed the door behind him and walked in. His green eyes had gold flecks in them and were the kindest I had ever seen. And although his almost black hair was a bit on the long side, it was well trimmed as was his barely-there beard and mustache. He was in a formal coat with satin lapels so I knew he had been summoned while out on the town or home entertaining, he looked as if he had not slept for quite some time. He carried a satchel in one hand, the other one he used to run long fingers through luxurious waves of hair that were sopping wet and dripping on the collar of his coat. I remembered that it had been raining while I was sitting in the library finishing my book last night.
With a rich baritone he announced himself, “Good evening, Lady Stoneleigh or actually it is well into morning at this point. Your father sent for me and I came as fast as I could. I am Doctor Carderick Larkenson. He has asked me to examine you. To see to your injuries, as well as to uh . . . verify your status.”
“Verify my status?” “Mmm, yes, he would like me to examine you so I can assure him that you are still virginal.”
I felt my face heat and go crimson. As far as I knew there was only one way to do that, and it wasn’t something I wanted to have done by anyone, least of all by this man with the
stunningly beautiful blue green eyes and the full sensuous lips that hinted at a smile he didn’t dare divulge.
“Oh, he didn’t . . . he didn’t have time . . . there was no . . . uh . . . no . . .”
“There was no penetration?” he offered.
I seized it. “That’s correct! There was no penetration.”
“He says that there was.”
“Who? My father?”
“No, your attacker.”
“He’s still alive?” I was surprised.
“For now. His injuries are quite severe, he has been taken away and his own doctor is seeing to him. As I said your father wishes to establish your status. Whether your membrane is torn or not, there will be harsh repercussions in store for Mr. Harbrook, but there will be no question as to whether he has any right to you if it is not. The examination will only take a minute or two. I will just need you to pull your nightgown up and to part your thighs.”
I had never seen this man in my life and I was supposed to let him examine me, there? A place no one had seen since I was in nappies?
“Really, just take my word for it. He didn’t . . . get in.”
“Well as pleased as I am to hear that, in a court of law, I will need to swear to that and I cannot do so if I do not see for myself that you are still intact.”
The thought that a man might have to take the stand and tell everyone in the court that he had looked at me there caused me to shiver. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t believe my father was allowing this to be done to me, nevertheless ordering it.
“And if I refuse?”
“Your father said to tell you he would send as many footmen up here as would be required to hold you down while I examine you.” He arched his dark brow and he looked positively rakish as it slid under an errant lock that had fallen to his forehead. “He is considerably upset that he did not kill your attacker, and says he will be damned if he will allow you the marriage this cad is insisting on.”
The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands Page 11