How to Entice an Enchantress

by Karen Hawkins

  Within seconds, Kirk was pressed against her, his chest to hers, one arm around her waist, his other arm high over her head—and her bonnet ribbon clamped between his fingers.

  Too surprised to think, Dahlia could only stare up at him. Her gaze took in his firm chin, the chiseled line of mouth, the faintly aquiline nose, and his warm brown eyes. Her body seemed to soften, to melt against his, to fit in a way it never had before. She wasn’t breathing, but she didn’t seem to need to. All she could do was soak in the firmness of his body against hers; the faint, heady scent of his cologne; the long hard line of his leg against her hip.

  She tried to think of something witty to say, something to break the frozen tableau, but no sound came from her lips. She could only savor the length of his body pressed to hers, deliciously warm and strong. How was it that in all of their time together before, she’d never noticed how wide his chest was, or how firm his thighs and—

  Her gaze widened at the feel of him pressed against her. Their eyes met and, flushing deeply, Kirk set her from him. Instantly, the cold swooshed over her and she shivered, both from the heat he’d generated as well as from the instant icy cold.

  Kirk held out her bonnet. “I— This is yours.”

  She plucked it from his hand. “Thank you. That was very kind— Thank you so much— You have been— I—I really must get back to—” Words seemed to tease her, but none would come to rest on her tongue.

  “Yes, yes. Of course. We’ll— I’ll speak with you soon about that other matter, and we’ll meet as soon as I can arrange something.”

  “That will be nice— I mean, not nice, but necessary and I—” She gulped. “I really must return now and—” She turned and nearly ran down the path, leaving Kirk standing behind her, his dark gaze locked on her.

  Eight

  From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe

  Normally when my guests arrive for the house party prior to the Christmas Ball, the castle is already decorated. This year, however, we thought to do something different, as variety is the lifeblood of a thriving social calendar. This year, for fun, small parties of guests will plan and oversee decorating the main sections of the castle.

  We have not yet announced this, as I think it should be a competition with lovely prizes for the winners, but Charlotte fears that would make the event unnecessarily complicated, which is a ridiculous thought. How could such a simple event go wrong?

  Really, Charlotte worries far too much . . .

  * * *

  Dahlia hurried down the cobblestone path to the kitchen door, her heart pounding. Safely out of sight, she stopped, glanced back to make certain she wasn’t being observed, and then slipped between two large shrubberies and leaned against the stone wall. Protected from the wind, she took some time to compose herself before entering the castle.

  Good God, but she’d never been more confused in her entire life. What had just happened? She had no idea. It wasn’t a romantic meeting. No, those involved pretty words, not a request for help between “friends”—yet she couldn’t imagine feeling this way about a mere friend.

  She tried to re-tie her bonnet, but her hands were shaking too much. The whole thing was ludicrous. Somehow, between apologizing and asking for her help, Kirk had talked her into agreeing to hone her “skills” with him.

  Yet she had to admit the idea held some appeal. A lot of appeal. Perhaps too much appeal. She let out her breath in a long sigh and stuffed her uncooperative bonnet into her pocket. When he’d held her, his—dear heavens, what was the polite term for that? She only knew the farm terminology, which seemed too crude when referring to a person rather than a bull. Should she call it a “manhood”? A “private member”? Or, as the grooms referred to it for horses in the stables, “cock”? Whatever it was called, it had been quite hard and had pressed against her hip in a very insistent way.

  Having grown up in the country, she knew how animals mated. So she realized Kirk had been aroused.

  By me.

  A surprised smile tickled her lips. She instantly covered her mouth, only to find that the smile was followed by a giggle. He was aroused by me.

  She was flattered. Yes, flattered that such a critical, unyielding man should desire her. And despite being mussed and muddied, Dahlia suddenly felt pretty, the feeling as intoxicating as champagne.

  As irritating and overbearing as Kirk was, one never, ever forgot that he was a man, and an attractive one at that. His mouth is so lovely and quite warm— She pressed her mittened hands against her eyes. I really must stop this. He is not for me, nor am I for him. I’ve spent far too many hours over the last two days thinking about him as it is.

  She resolutely pushed all thoughts aside and decided that what she really needed was a hot bath and some breakfast, although perhaps not in that exact order. She made her way back to the path and reached the kitchen door. Once there, she removed her muddied boots and, holding them by the strings, she stepped inside.

  The air was redolent with the scent of ham and fresh bread as Cook shouted out orders to a row of white-smocked undercooks. Dahlia slipped out of the way of a bevy of black-frocked maids who carried various bowls and items to the long wooden table where a line of breakfast trays awaited. Dashing between the cooks and maids, footmen assembled the glassware for each tray.

  No one paid Dahlia the slightest heed. With her unruly hair whipped to a frenzy by the wind, her cheeks red with cold, and her gray woolen gown as plain as any maid’s, she looked far more like a lost servant than one of the duchess’s revered houseguests. Glad for her anonymity, she skirted the room, ducking out of the way when a footman came rushing around the corner carrying a tray filled with rattly teacups and saucers.

  Just before she left, she grabbed a roll from a basket and then raced up the stairs to the main floor. If she was lucky, the foyer would be empty, allowing her to dash upstairs before anyone could see her. Fortunately, it was quite early and the chance of anyone having already been awake and dressed was quite low.

  As she expected, she found the foyer empty and silent. With her muddy boots held to one side, she swiftly crossed the floor. As she passed the dining hall, she peeked through the ajar doors and saw a number of footmen bustling about, setting out boxes of Christmas decorations, the butler gently pressing them on. Dahlia hurried past and reached the steps.

  She’d just put her foot on the first one when the outside door burst open. A wild scampering of paws and the huffy panting of a herd of dogs told her who’d just entered before the duchess had a chance to say a word.

  “Ah, Dahlia! Just the person Lady Charlotte and I wish to see.”

  Dahlia turned around to curtsy, hiding her boots behind her back as the pugs rushed up to sniff her muddied hem. “Good morning, your grace, Lady Charlotte.”

  “Good morning.” The duchess stripped off her gloves. “I hope you slept well.”

  “Very well, your grace.”

  “Oh, Dahlia!” Lady Charlotte came forward, a beautiful bonnet on her head, the rosettes on the brim matching the ones on her blue-gray pelisse. “We had the loveliest idea this morning before we went to visit the vicar. We’re going to decorate the castle in groups and—” Her gaze locked on Dahlia’s hair and the words simply stopped.

  The duchess followed Lady Charlotte’s gaze. “Goodness, but it was windy today, wasn’t it?”

  Dahlia’s face heated. “I’m sorry. I went for a walk and I’m not fit for company just now.“ She held up her muddy boots. “I was trying to sneak up to my room before anyone saw me.”

  Lady Charlotte untied her bonnet and cautiously lifted it from her soft curls. “A walk sounds lovely. I always say fresh air is good for the complexion, don’t I, Margaret?”

  The duchess undid her pelisse. “Indeed, you do. And every time you say it, I inform you that you’re wrong, and that walking outdoors will expose you to all sorts of illnesses.” Her grace’s sharp blue eyes took in Dahlia’s flushed face. “I must say, though, that Miss Balfour has set m
y worries to rest. She looks wondrously healthy.”

  “She glows, doesn’t she? Where did you walk, I wonder, for I find the hills far too fatiguing.”

  “La, Charlotte, let the poor girl breathe!” The duchess glanced about the foyer. “Where are my footmen?”

  Dahlia answered, “I believe some of them are in the dining room organizing some boxes, your grace.”

  “Ah yes, the decorations. I forgot that I’d asked them to be brought down from the attic. I’ve— Oh, MacDougal! There you are. We just returned from the vicar’s.”

  “So I see, yer grace. I dinna hear ye come in, but fortunately Randolph came and found me.” The butler smiled down at the gray-nosed pug that sat at his feet, its tongue lolling out of one side of its mouth. MacDougal took the duchess’s and Lady Charlotte’s pelisses and handed them to the footman who’d followed him into the foyer.

  He looked inquiringly at Dahlia, whose pelisse was mud spattered from her adventures.

  “No, thank you, MacDougal. I will put it into the care of my maid. She’ll clean it for me.”

  “Very guid, miss.”

  Lady Charlotte relinquished her gloves and bonnet to a footman. “MacDougal, the duchess and I noticed that the weather’s turning bitter. We’ll have to plan other amusements for our guests this afternoon.”

  “Other tha’ decoratin’ the castle fer the Christmas Ball?”

  “Oh, everyone will wish to discuss how they’d like their assigned area decorated before they actually begin, so I doubt they’ll be putting anything up right away. No, we need an activity that our guests can enjoy today.” She turned to Dahlia. “We were planning to row boats across the lake to the island to visit the folly for lunch, but it’s far too cold.”

  “And it looks like rain,” the duchess added in an ominous voice. “We never plan events on the island if it looks like rain.”

  Lady Charlotte explained, “The weather once caught us while our guests were on the island and mayhem ensued, so we no longer take chances.”

  MacDougal nodded his agreement. “A guid idea, me lady. The weather tastes o’ snow, it do, which would be even worse. I wouldna’ be surprised to discover tha’ ’tis goin’ to come upon us afore nightfall.”

  “Excellent. Snow adds such a festive air to our Christmas Ball.” The duchess adjusted her wig, which was slightly askew. “But for today, once the footmen have sorted the decorations and prepared the dining room for our luncheon, pray set up two battledore courts in the arboretum.”

  “The arboretum?” Dahlia exclaimed.

  Lady Charlotte beamed. “It’s a lovely place for a game of battledore. Wait until you see!”

  “Verrah guid, me lady.” MacDougal turned to a waiting footman. “Ye heard her ladyship.” The footman bowed and hurried off. Another footman instantly took his place.

  “Did someone say battledore?” came a man’s voice from the salon door.

  Dahlia tucked her stocking-covered toes back under her skirt as Lord Dalhousie sauntered into the foyer. Dressed in his riding clothes, his cravat a testament to complicated knotting, he looked dapper and handsome. “I haven’t played battledore in a year or two, but I enjoy it vastly.”

  “So do I.” Miss Stewart followed Lord Dalhousie, accompanying Lady Mary and another young lady whom Dahlia had met just the night before, a Miss MacLeod, all of them wearing riding habits, as well. “But in this weather? It’s much too cold to—” Miss Stewart caught sight of Dahlia’s hair. “Good heavens, what happened to you?”

  Dahlia didn’t even try to smooth her hair, for she knew that nothing but a comb and an hour of untangling would set it to rights. “I just returned from a walk.”

  “We can tell,” Lady Mary said. “Just returned.”

  Miss MacLeod smiled kindly at Dahlia. “You and I share the same type of hair, Miss Balfour. Without pins—” She threw out her hands hopelessly.

  “Yes, well, I think you look lovely,” Lord Dalhousie said, although without much conviction.

  Dahlia managed a smile. “Thank you.”

  Lady Charlotte looked at the small group of young people. “You are dressed for riding. Are you leaving now? For it’s getting quite cold.”

  Miss Stewart made a face. “We had planned on leaving a half hour ago, but the weather convinced us otherwise.”

  Lord Dalhousie sighed. “As embarrassing as it is to admit, we only made it to the doorway when an icy blast sent us running back to the warmth of the fire in the salon.”

  Lady Charlotte tsked. “I do wish it had stayed warm a bit longer, but I suppose we were lucky to have such pleasant weather at the beginning of the week. Fortunately, I think you will all enjoy the excitement of a battledore tournament, which we’re having set up in the arboretum.”

  “I beg your pardon, but did you say it would be in the arboretum?” Lady Mary asked.

  “Oh yes. We’ve done it several times now. We’ll have two full courts, and there will be a viewing stand with the chairs from the Blue Salon.”

  “The viewing stand was MacDougal’s idea.” The duchess bent to scoop up the closest pug, which immediately licked her cheek. “He’s brilliant at adding those little touches. We shall put up the courts and leave them for the duration of our guests’ stay, so that you may all enjoy a game whenever you wish.”

  “It sounds lovely,” Lady Mary said. “But how do you set it up?”

  “Oh, that’s quite easy. The footmen place the net poles in the very large pots that hold our giant ferns.”

  “They are almost as tall as my head,” Lady Charlotte added. “They hold the nets better than planting them in the lawn.”

  Miss MacLeod looked impressed. “What a unique idea.”

  “The foliage also gives the game a truly festive feel,” her grace added. “Almost as if one were playing in a jungle.”

  Lady Mary smiled. “The arboretum must be quite large to hold two battledore courts and a viewing stand.”

  “Two viewing stands,” Lady Charlotte corrected gently. “Roxburghe has never been one to build small.”

  “I, for one, cannot wait.” Miss Stewart turned to Lady Mary and Miss MacLeod. “Shall we fetch our hats and then retire to change into something suitable for battledore?”

  “Yes, please,” Lady Mary said. “But before we change, breakfast would be most welcome. I am famished.”

  Miss MacLeod turned to Dahlia. “Do you come with us to the breakfast room, Miss Balfour?”

  Dahlia smiled. “No, I believe I’ll have a tray in my room. But I hope to see you in the arboretum this afternoon.”

  The three women curtsied and, after making their good-byes to the duchess and Lady Charlotte, headed toward the salon, whispering to one another as they went.

  The duchess turned to the viscount. “What about you, Lord Dalhousie? Are you not going in to breakfast?”

  “No, I am perfectly satisfied here, with you, Lady Charlotte, and Miss Balfour.” He bowed to Dahlia, his gaze flickering to her hair and then away.

  She bit back a wince. From now on, she’d make sure she carried a comb in her pocket during her walks.

  Kirk hadn’t seemed to care, but then, he was immune to fashion. For the first time, she realized there might be a benefit to that flaw.

  The duchess sighed sadly. “I had thought about setting up an indoor pall-mall game, but there’s simply no challenge to it when the floor is flat. The footmen tried to make it more entertaining by putting piles of rags here and there under the carpet to simulate a lawn, but it didn’t work.”

  Lady Charlotte leaned toward Dahlia and said in a low voice, “It was an utter disaster. The balls hit the little hillocks and, as they had no grass to soften the roll, they shot into the air. We lost two vases and a chandelier—an Italian one—before her grace put a stop to it.”

  “Charlotte, please don’t remind me.” Her grace kissed the pug’s forehead before she put him back with his brothers and sisters, who were stretched out upon the floor in various piles. “Fortunately
, battledore works quite well indoors. Better, perhaps, than outside.”

  “There’s no wind,” Lady Charlotte explained. “So you don’t have to chase the bird if it gets gusty outdoors, which it always does. Scotland is filled with bad weather.”

  Her grace frowned. “We have delightful weather in the summer.”

  “On occasion,” Lady Charlotte agreed, not at all put out by the duchess’s apparent displeasure. “Between rainstorms, and fog, and wind, and—”

  “Thank you, Charlotte. I’ve had to deal with the weather enough today, if you please. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll meet with Mrs. Cairness about lunch.” Her grace started to turn away, but then paused. “Miss Balfour, perhaps you’d care to join me in the salon in a half hour for a bit of tea?”

  “I wish I could, your grace, but I must get ready for the luncheon, and my hair will take at least an hour to fix.”

  The duchess looked disappointed. “I suppose you must. Well, then, I’ll be certain to catch you later this evening, before dinner. I wish to make certain you’ve sustained no injury from your walk.”

  “You are too kind, your grace. I walk all of the time, and as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

  “We’ll see about that. Until this evening, then.” The duchess turned. “Angus!”

  A footman stepped forward, and Dahlia recognized him as the one who’d assisted her out of the carriage when she’d first arrived.

  The duchess pointed to the oldest pug. “Poor Randolph is panting so. Perhaps you could carry him for the rest of the morning?”

  “Aye, yer grace.” He bent and scooped up the elderly dog, who took the opportunity to lick the footman’s chin.

  “Thank you, Angus.” Her grace turned to the other dogs. “Come!” They all rose, stretching and yawning, but looking quite happy to be hailed. With a gracious smile at her guests, the duchess went in search of the housekeeper, Angus following and the other pugs trotting behind.