Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  In the early hours of dawn Drake woke to a soft hip brushing against his. He conjured the image of long auburn tresses trailing across a chemise so fine it left every curve outlined like a second skin. Though she might be small in stature, her limbs were long and graceful, and his hands ached to slide along the long curve of her waist from rounded hips to temptingly full breasts. How nature had managed to mold such perfection in so tiny a package was well beyond Drake’s ken, but he knew how to appreciate perfection.

  Turning on his side, he cradled her small frame within the curve of his. His hand explored the satin texture of her bare arm while his lips sought the sensitive skin behind her shell-like ear. He sensed she woke as his kisses trailed along her throat, but he held her firmly, enjoying the gift she gave him. His hand traveled from her arm to the supple curve of her breast, caressing the fullness through the thin linen. Her soft buttock snuggled into his aroused hardness, and Drake groaned. “Eileen, my sweeting, I hope you know what you do.” He gasped as her wiggles brought the chemise up above her hips and flesh met flesh.

  Before she could take advantage of this new position, Drake pushed her down against the crude sheet. He plundered her lips and drank of the sweet wine of her mouth. Slowly, intoxicatingly, he slid her chemise above the full curves of her breasts until his mouth could fasten on the erect nipples.

  Eileen instinctively wrapped her legs around Drake’s hips. She opened herself eagerly to his thrust, and he obliged. She carried him away to a place that had no beginning, no end, just a rising passion that carried them to heights undreamed.

  Long after, Drake spread butterfly kisses across her cheek, and he fondled her breast. But sensitive to the damage he had caused, Drake rolled to his side, carrying her with him. “I never knew one woman could give so much pleasure.”

  “You are in the custom of using two?” Eileen inquired sweetly.

  Drake pinched her buttocks and enjoyed the sensation of hardened nipples pressing against his chest as he drew her closer. “You will wish you were two so one can rest if you continue those tactics, princess,” Drake promised. “I fear I will cause you damage if I’m too hasty in enjoying the delights you offer. Lie still and let us both sleep a while longer.”

  Mutinously she tried to escape his hold, but Drake had no intention of letting her go. He had her trapped where he wanted her, and his caresses soon tamed her skittish ways. She curled within his embrace, and he kissed her forehead, but he did not sleep. The problems of exile kept his mind in a turmoil, and not the least of them lay in his arms.

  Their ride from Calais to Versailles was under considerably reduced circumstances from their last trip to France. Eileen’s small store of coins was barely sufficient to buy cart fare and put roofs over their head. It was too early in the season even to steal food from the fields, and they lived on porridge and stale bread for much of their journey. Content so long as Drake lay at her side each night, Eileen worried only that Drake’s once elegant clothes would be gone before they reached the court. How would they appear before his mother’s relations if they came in clothes fit only for beggars?

  Drake concerned himself not with his looks, but the best manner in which to plan his attack against Edmund. He needed access to pen and paper and legal counsel. He must find a way to let his sister know he had arrived safely, and set up communication without the danger of his letters being intercepted. Once Edmund was exposed as the traitorous bastard he was, the lawyers could disentangle the skeins of legal yarn keeping Drake from his home and bed.

  The fact that Eileen was here beside him complicated matters. Michael would have managed his estates with efficiency in his absence, had Eileen not eloped with him. Now he could no longer rely on one of his closest friends, and the estate could be in jeopardy if Edmund took over the reins. Drake did not resent Eileen for the complication, but worried over the best means of solving it.

  They arrived in Versailles in May. Their dusty, travel-weary clothing contrasted with the brilliant, sun-drenched walks and profusion of sweet-smelling flowers. Eileen admired the glittering splendor of the golden carriage gates and longed to flee. She had no experience with courts and palaces. She could scarcely speak the language.

  Drake led her to a small inn where they ordered baths with their last four coins. The innkeeper regarded them with suspicion but asked no questions.

  Eileen giggled as the last maid scurried from the room with her empty bucket. Drake had already stripped to the waist and eyed the hot water with eagerness. He turned a questioning glare to his companion.

  “There is some cause to laugh at the sight of a tub of water? The first tub, I might add, that we have seen in some weeks?”

  Silver eyes lifted in merriment to Drake’s sunburned shoulders before inspecting the matted filth of his hair. Boldly she began to unbutton the bodice of her gown, where the old chemise she wore did little to cover the swell of her breasts.

  “My French is very limited, but I think the maids are saying rather naughty things about our intentions to bathe together.”

  Drake offered a tired grin and eyed the progress of her unbuttoning with interest. “There might be some truth to their suspicions in that. Are you going to take all day with all those furbelows?”

  The plain gown had little to christen a furbelow, but Eileen dutifully unfastened the last hook and squirmed out of the bodice. The whalebone corset hampered her from reaching the laces of her skirt, so she set about untying the worn strings of the corset first.

  Drake crossed the room, his patience worn to a frazzle by the sight of milk-white breasts pushed to tempting peaks he could not quite touch until the damned corset was disposed of. The thin threads snapped, and the ties of her skirts and petticoats fared little better. The frail chemise slithered to the floor, and with satisfaction he lifted her and dropped her into the waiting tub.

  Eileen stared at him in surprise as he hovered over her. When he began to unfasten the buttons of his breeches, her eyes widened, and she dived for the cake of soap.

  While she doused her hair and worked the soap through it, he paced the room like a naked beast, emptying their bag of clothing to seek out those reserved for this day. By the time he turned to see if Eileen had completed her bathing, cleanliness was not all he had on his mind.

  She handed him the pitcher and smiled sweetly. “Would you help me with my hair, please?”

  Drake growled and knelt beside the tub to pour the cooling water over long auburn tresses. Her hair slid cleanly through his fingers as he worked out the soap. Her satin skin slipped just as smoothly through his hands as he grasped the dripping tininess of her waist and lifted her from the tub.

  Abruptly suspended in the warm air of the upper-story room, Eileen shrieked in surprise. A moment later, seated in Drake’s naked lap with the waters lapping around them, she laughed.

  “If you wish me to wash your back, you are turned the wrong way, my lord.” She eyed his furred chest with interest.

  “It is not my back so much as your front that interests me, simpleton. Why do woman hide themselves behind those damned contraptions?” Not waiting for a reply, he bent to lick a water droplet from one exposed peak.

  “Drake, you cannot!” Eileen protested, tugging his unbound hair. “There is no room and you will splash water all over. . .” The rest of her words turned to squeals as he proved he not only could but would.

  Eileen sighed in contentment several minutes later after her quakes of release brought his own pleasure. She leaned her head against his wet chest and kissed his healing shoulder. “You are a wicked man, my lord.”

  “And you a wanton woman.” With a twitch of guilt Drake lifted her from him, his hands lingering below her breasts. “Dry yourself quickly. We must find my uncle before he departs for the evening.”

  He watched with regret as she wrapped in a length of linen and began drying her hair. Not once had she spoken words of love or marriage, words any other woman in her place would have spouted with increasing freque
ncy. Eileen demanded nothing of him, but Drake’s guilt demanded everything for her—only he could no longer offer anything but heartbreak. He should never have allowed her to come. She would be branded a traitor surely as he, barred from her home and decent society, kept from the respectable marriage she could have made. All because of his selfishness.

  In time, she would begin to realize what he had done to her, and resentment would surely follow. He must be prepared for that eventuality. She had spent too many years deprived of her proper home. Somehow he would see her restored to it, even if he could not follow.

  Unaware of these preparations for her future, Eileen continued to dry her hair in the warm sun. They had saved their best clothes for this day so they would not appear as the beggars they were. The coat and breeches of Drake’s that she had laundered were still in wearable condition, although the bloodied shirt and waistcoat had had to be discarded. But with Sir John’s clean linen and lace, he would appear sufficiently respectable. His relations ought to be quite accustomed to seeing him without a wig or powder.

  For herself she had brought one good gown of fine silk, almost too fine for cool spring nights, but it traveled well. She had only the one petticoat and no panniers so she would appear quite provincial, but that bothered her little. Aware that Drake was now rising from the tub, she had only one qualm, and that was too minor to mention. Men kept mistresses all the time, and his family knew nothing of her. She did not have to hide what she was.

  He came to her after he had dried himself, lifting her from the stool with one arm and turning her around so he could kiss her cheek and lips. “Nervous, my love?”

  Eileen shook her head, not tearing her gaze from the strong cheekbones and flexible mouth that gave her such pleasure. She wished she possessed the skill to paint portraits or carve figures from rock. A portrait, she decided, only a portrait would do him justice, capture the magnificent gold of his hair, color the light in his eyes. How she wished she had that talent.

  “Will you do me one favor, princess?” Drake drew his thumb down her cheek.

  Eileen gazed at him questioningly. Old habits died hard.

  “Will you not hide behind your silence here? Let me protect you, not your silence. I want you to be happy here.”

  Eileen had not given it much thought. Her response to the world had always been a silent one. There had been no use in speaking to others in this strange country, for she had little use of the language. She had allowed Drake to speak for both of them throughout their journey. Now he asked that she rejoin the world on her own, and a moment’s panic swallowed her up.

  “I cannot speak French,” she protested. “I can take care of myself. You do not need to worry—”

  Drake clamped his hand over her mouth. “My uncle speaks English. You will answer him when he speaks to you. You protect no one with your silence now, and you will most likely draw considerable attention if you continue with it. Is that what you want?”

  She understood. Rumors of a mute girl at the French court would most certainly be relayed back to her aunt and uncle. She had caused them enough grief, she would not cause them that one. Eileen nodded.

  Drake smiled with relief and reached for his clothes. “Good. I would not wish to exert my authority by paddling you here. It would confirm all of the maids’ naughty suspicions.”

  With a gasp of outrage Eileen wreaked revenge with a pinch to his bare posterior. At Drake’s yelp she dashed to the far side of the room and grabbed up her clothes. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll run from the room just like this. Then let the naughty maids think what they will.”

  Drake eyed her with suspicion. “It is not the maids I fear, in that case. You will have more male attention than you will know how to handle. I am a jealous man, princess. You would not ask me to kill half the male population of Versailles before we even make our introductions?”

  Eileen regarded him with awe as she realized he half meant what he said. The way Lady Pamela played fast and loose, she’d had no idea jealousy was in his nature. Perhaps he jested, but she was in no hurry to find out.

  “If you intend to be a tyrant, I fear I have made a grave mistake,” she replied with as much dignity as she could muster while pulling her chemise over her head.

  Drake grinned as he tried to button his breeches. “By the time I return you to your uncle, you will be a well behaved young lady instead of a wild heathen,” he countered.

  Observing the reason for his difficulty in donning his breeches, she laughed. “On the contrary, my lord,” she replied loftily, “by the time we return to England, you will be a wild heathen instead of a pompous curmudgeon.”

  All memory of that laughter fled as an elegantly clad servant ushered them into the presence of Drake’s French uncle. After gazing upon the rich red and gold satin of the servant’s livery, his curled and powdered wig, and cynically lifted eyebrow, Eileen knew her precautions over her appearance had been for naught. Her simple silk over one rumpled petticoat might as well be a meal sack in the grandeur of this palace. Even the grandeur of the Sherburne estate did not compare.

  To give him credit, Drake’s uncle did not so much as lift an eyebrow as he welcomed his nephew warmly and met Eileen’s introduction with politeness. Drake’s coat and lace were much the worse for the time spent in a satchel, and the lines creasing his brow were new, but the comte did not comment on appearances.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, Drake.” The comte indicated a seat and poured wine from a decanter, offering it to his guests. “Perhaps you can explain why those two miscreants of my sister’s appeared on my doorstep last week babbling of abductions and harrowing escapades with death.”

  Drake’s relief was plain as he accepted the glass. “Then they are safe. I feared they would have found their way back in time to lose themselves in that massacre at Culloden.”

  The comte’s expression was grim. “I take it, then, that you arranged for them to be conveniently away from the scene. I thank you for that. I trust you have not come to tell me you went in their place? As much as I would have liked to see the arrogant fool win, Charles Stuart never had a chance.”

  “I was not there, no, but there are those prepared to swear I was. Without Lady Eileen’s assistance, I could very well be in the Tower by now. She has lost her home and family in aiding me. For her sake, I beg your assistance in seeking justice.”

  The comte studied her more closely and spoke in accented English. “If what Drake tells me is true, I owe you a debt beyond my ability to pay, my lady. My nephew is very important to me. I will do everything within my power to restore you to your home. Meanwhile, I insist you stay in my humble abode. I will find a maid to assist you while you are here. Is there anything you wish to ask of me, any way in which I can reward you for your services to my nephew?” His gaze was shrewd.

  Eileen paled and glanced at Drake, but he did no more than wait for her reply. She felt more alone than she had ever been in her life. “I ask nothing for myself, thank you, sir.” She wondered what the appropriate title of respect would be for this lofty personage, but lacking knowledge of French etiquette, she settled for this one.

  The comte rung a bell and while waiting for the footman to return, commented, “Perhaps you will think of something later. You look tired. I will have someone show you to your room.”

  As Eileen followed the servant out, Drake sipped his wine and waited for his uncle’s usually candid observations. He did not have long to wait. The comte swung on him as soon as the door closed upon Eileen and the servant.

  “She could have asked for your hand in marriage, and I would have given it to her. Do you intend to tell me you have left her untouched? She is but a child.”

  Drake met his uncle’s gaze. “Eileen has never been a child, unless you wish to call her a child of nature. She does as she pleases. If she had asked for marriage, I would have given it, against my better judgment. I cannot rightly ask Eileen to share my exile. She needs protection more powerful than I can o
ffer if she is to return home. The best I can give her is her freedom.”

  Several days later, Drake woke to sunlight through the open casement of Eileen’s chamber, and he smiled at this evidence of his companion’s love of the outdoors. Turning on his side, he gazed admiringly on the flushed, sleeping features of the woman in the bed beside him. Her fingers had curled into fists beside her cheek, and the roundness of her arm hid much of her breasts. He had taught her the uselessness of nightclothes, and she lay naked to his gaze, only the thick lengths of auburn hair protecting her.

  She was the one glorious promise in the ruins that had become his future, but Drake knew better than to think he possessed her. It would be akin to bottling moonlight or sunshine. For whatever reasons, she had chosen to come with him. She could as easily decide to leave. For her own sake, she ought to leave.

  Not wishing to contemplate a world without sunshine, Drake brushed a kiss across her shoulder, then steeled himself for the day ahead. He could not allow his longing for this ephemeral sprite to hamper his fight for what was rightfully his. His passion for Eileen was a personal indulgence and had no part in the political battle he must wage to retrieve his lands and title. Too many people depended on him to allow his feelings to enter the matter. Drake rose to dress.

  He was gone when Eileen awoke. She turned and hugged the still warm pillow until the maid arrived. She knew Drake had returned to the apartment his uncle had provided for him in another wing of the house, but if he thought he protected her name, he was fooling only himself. Without any other occupation to fill their time, the inhabitants of the tight court circle lived on gossip. Even understanding very little of the language, Eileen knew she had been labeled Drake’s mistress from the start.

  Eileen stretched and wrapped the sheet around her while the maid explored her desolate wardrobe. The maid gave a cry of delight and produced a charming day gown of pale green silk and yellow ribbons with matching petticoat. Eileen studied the finery with bewilderment. It had not been there yesterday, though to be fair, she had not hung up her clothing last night after Drake had come to her room. She would not have seen it if it had been there.