Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  Straightening her spine, she tried to make herself appear taller next to his imposing height. "I play no game."

  "Then why the deuce did you give me the impression you were interested in my proposal?"

  "Is that what I did?"

  "Yes," he snapped.

  In order to satisfy her curiosity, she'd obviously hurt the man's feelings. An apology was out of the question, but in goodwill after all, she did like the man and hated to see him upset she decided to explain. Skirting around the duke, she tied Flash next to Cavalier. "I found the information enlightening. No man ever asked me to be his mistress before."

  His eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Come now, Phoebe. You hail from America, where you claim you had unlimited freedom to do whatever you wished. You fraternized with men on a daily basis, and your evenings, well, who the devil are Teddy and Timothy? You said your reputation mattered not. You clearly have no real desire to wed and you abhor and ridicule society's dictates, ignoring propriety at every turn. You invite, then meet me, unchaperoned, at this unholy hour of the morning. By God, you even proposed to me. What else am Ito think?"

  "That I have a will of my own," she shot back in irritation, regardless of the fact that he was possibly partly correct about her role in the misunderstanding. His glare grew fiercer and she sighed. Losing her temper right now certainly wouldn't help. "It's obvious you misinterpreted my boldness for something else altogether. I ran our plantation, for heaven's sake. Naturally I spent time with men, my father and our workers included. I grew rather accustomed to having my say. My neighbors, Teddy and Timothy, were only fourteen years old. As to my current dilemma, I must marry an English nobleman in less than six weeks. If I don't, I lose my only estate, Marsden Manor, as well as any other income. I'll be as poor as a church mouse."

  "I know that much," he muttered, obviously still disgruntled.

  "You do? How?" she asked, more confused than ever by his declaration.

  "How what?"

  "How do you happen to know so much about me when I know so little about you? That seems rather unfair."

  "After you disappeared from Lord Wyman's the other night, I asked a few questions. Your plight is quite the talk of the town. I offer you an alternative. As my mistress, you'd be financially secure."

  She wasn't sure which bothered her more: his arrogance, so typical of men who believed they needed to molly- coddle women, or the fact that her dilemma was no longer a secret. "Financially dependent is what I'd be. I'd be even more tied to you than if I married."

  "That's ridiculous. Once married everything reverts to your husband."

  "Not necessarily."

  "Then, my dear, you would have managed to change the way of things since Adam was a lad."

  He sounded so confident, so patronizing. Irritation warred with her determination to make him understand. "I aim to marry a man who agrees to my terms." He looked at her as if she'd grown a third ear. "If you understand my circumstance, then you know I bring a title to the altar. If I cannot find a man to love then I will find a man eager for that title and a stable income. Like you, I intend to be very generous. In exchange, I will ask for my freedom. He can go his way and I can go mine."

  "Where do you expect to find these stellar candidates?"

  "According to my aunt, there are any number of men who qualify. In fact, Lord Milton and Sir Lemmer seem interested."

  Lord Badrick's limbs became rigid. Not a twitch or even a breath disturbed his body. Only his lips moved. "Stay away from Lemmer."

  The hard edge to his voice was unmistakable. Although she didn't particularly like Sir Lemmer herself, she refused to acknowledge that to Badrick. She shrugged her shoulders, wishing she was capable of standing as still as he. The man had incredible self-control. "I understand he seeks a title as well as money. I shall have both."

  "The marriage will require a consummation. How do you intend to deal with that?"

  "I haven't reasoned that through."

  "I'll tell you this, Phoebe Rafferty. None of those men, especially Sir Lemmer, will keep you happy in that quarter."

  This discussion was beginning to wear on her good mood. Probably because she knew he might be right, a possibility she found most disconcerting. "And you are such a great lover women flock to your door?"

  For the first time in several minutes, obviously pleased with this particular topic, he relaxed. A sly, foxlike grin lit his face. He crossed toward Phoebe, slowly forcing her to retreat several steps until she backed herself against the trunk of the large elm. Flash stood on one side. Shrubs bordered the other, effectively blocking the couple from the road.

  Stephen braced his arms on either side of her shoulders. "I assure you, Phoebe, the women who come to my bed do so eagerly and leave with no complaints."

  "I did not question your"

  "Abilities? Oh, but Phoebe you did just that. Now I feel the need to exonerate myself."

  She watched his brown eyes shift to black as he slowly brought his lips to hers, allowing her plenty of time to avoid his kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed the minute their lips touched. She had once kneed a neighbor in the groin and left him whimpering on the straw-covered barn floor after he had stolen a quick peck. If need be, she knew she could administer the same punishment to Stephen. Yet, she had no desire to do so. Timidly placing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned into the kiss. He smelled of heather and soap, and a masculine scent she recognized as his own.

  She expected an assault, but received a tender persuasion with the soft blending of their lips. His tongue traced a light path across the crease of her mouth, teasing yet demanding entrance. When she opened her mouth ever so slightly, he deepened the kiss. The muscular length of his body pressed against her, her woolen jacket a sudden unwanted barrier to the heat she felt. His hands claimed her waist directly below her breasts, which ached in the most peculiar way.

  He ended the kiss as gently as it had begun. "Now, my sweet, tell me my idea does not have merit."

  With his withdrawal, she felt a moment's loss and licked her lips almost as if she might recapture his taste. Enough of this nonsense. She should have heeded her good sense sooner. Now she would regret what she must do. She pushed away from the tree and stepped away from Stephen. He continued to watch her, smug. When standing beside Flash, she grabbed a fistful of the horse's strawberry mane and swung onto its back. She faced Stephen and said, "I've always wanted love. By some demented twist of fate, I find I need a husband with or without that luxury."

  "Don't look in my direction, Phoebe. Love is for fools and dreamers. I'm neither."

  "How can you say that?" Phoebe asked. To her, love heightened the senses, bound a man and woman together in devotion and comfort.

  "Love is a perpetual wound. I have no need of it. I have no need of a wife. I will not marry you. Now or ever. I want a mistress."

  It appeared that they disagreed on the very nature of love, even its existence. "Well, then. It seems we have reached a stalemate, but thank you for a lesson I'm sure to find handy over the next few weeks."

  Almost immediately, the lazy smile vanished. He became the predator again, his body tense and wary. "What do you mean?"

  "If I cannot marry for love, I will control my own future and marry a man of my choosing. I had not fully considered the implications of the marriage bed until just now. I realize I shall have to test my candidates on that as well."

  "You mean to bed them all before you decide?"

  "Gracious, no. But a kiss or two will certainly help me make up my mind."

  "Phoebe."

  She backed her horse from the copse of trees, away from the dangerous glint in his eyes. "And one more thing, Lord Badrick, regarding my outburst the other night."

  He scrunched his eyebrows together as though trying to remember. She almost pitied the man. "About possibly choosing you as my husband. I must withdraw the suggestion. You simply will not do."

  "Why not?"

  "Why, sir, you'd never be a malleable husban
d."

  Turning Flash to the track, eager to ride the wind, she spurred her horse to a gallop. Phoebe needed to calm the beating of her heart. She feared Badrick might follow. Her heart feared he wouldn't.

  For the first time in her life she had met a man who made her feel the things the slave women back home talked about. What rotten, horrible luck! The man was all wrong for her.

  Phoebe crept up the servant's stairs of Aunt Hildegard's home, cautious of the creaking planks in the wooden steps. All the while, she searched for reasons to avoid Lord Badrick in the future.

  He definitely disturbed her senses. No man had ever managed to make her stomach flutter or her heart pound the way he did. Even now, her pulse thrummed as she remembered his tongue stroking the inside of her mouth. Imagine, men and women kissing like that! She'd had no idea and hadn't minded the least little bit. She visibly shuddered at the thought of sharing a kiss the likes of that with either of Lord Milton or Sir Lemmer. Kissing Lord Badrick, she decided, was definitely a seductive argument of itself.

  Nibbling her lower lip, she concentrated even harder. The man tended to jump to conclusions, and surely that was a deterrent. Twice now, he had incorrectly judged her actions. But she could hardly fault him for that, she real ized. She was guilty of that from time to time as well. Hadn't she assumed he'd be the perfect husband?

  Certainly the fact that he seemed accustomed to having his way was a reason to avoid the man. He wouldn't accept failure or defeat without a fight. She doubted that he'd marry her and leave her alone at Marsden Manor to live her life. Yet, was that a flaw or a virtue? She sat on a step, her elbow braced on her knee, her chin tucked in her hand. She further considered his confidence and high-handed behavior. It bordered on arrogance, but she admitted she liked strong men who knew their own mind. Unfortunately, what he wanted and what she wanted were at cross-purposes. The man even refused to acknowledge the need for love in a relationship. Well, there it was. The crux of the problem. Based on the censure in his voice, the rigidity of his body and his choice of words, his mind seemed made up. He wanted a mistress. She needed a husband. She wanted love. He wanted physical pleasure. Well drat, that was that. She mustn't see him again.

  Determined to erase him from her mind, Phoebe stood, wondering how she could miss something so much when she never really had it in the first place.

  Listening at the top of the stairway, and satisfied when she heard only silence, she tiptoed across the hall into her bedroom. Phoebe's servant, Nanny Dee, stood at the window, staring at the street below. Her ebony skin glistened in the sunlight. Both hands were clenched on her slender hips, and the red scarf that covered her head shook from side to side. She was clearly agitated about something.

  Phoebe crossed the wood floor and glanced over her servant's shoulder to look outside as well. "Good morning, Nanny Dee. Is something wrong?"

  Dee whirled and wagged her finger in Phoebe's face. "Don't you good-morning me, child. You're late, and that woman is already up and callin' for you."

  "Aunt Hildegard? Oh, dear."

  "Yes, indeed. She already come lookin' for you once this momin'. You best be gettin' yourself out of those boys' clothes, into somethin' more presentable before she comes a lookin' for you again."

  Quickly shucking her cap, jacket, trousers and shirt, Phoebe rushed to the room's white porcelain pitcher and grabbed a wash cloth. She bathed while Dee stuffed the worn riding garments into the bottom of a basket beneath the bed, clucking and mumbling the entire time, a habit Phoebe was long accustomed to.

  "What did Aunt Hildegard want?"

  "To ruin my day. She does that, you know. Ain't never seen no one with such a sour disposition. That woman is going to straighten my hair. And if she don't, then you surely will. Goin' off like this every day."

  Dressed in a clean shift, Phoebe sat at the mahogany dressing table, grimacing when she saw her hair. She yanked out the pins.

  "Good heavens, child. Leave a curl or two on your head. Give me that brush." Dee took over the task quickly and competently.

  Phoebe smiled. Since the day she came into the world, she had relied on Dee for one thing or another. Phoebe didn't think she would have survived her daddy's death without Dee.

  A free woman, Dee could have stayed with her husband, Tobias, but she had chosen to come to England. She'd watch over Phoebe before she left her charge in the hands of just anyone. That was that, she'd said, so here she was.

  Dee weaved Phoebe's unruly curls into a tidy braid. "Why was you so late this mornin'?"

  Phoebe's eyes locked with Dee's in the mirror. She remembered the excitement she'd felt when she first saw the duke in Hyde Park. Her smile broadened. Remember ing their conversation, she frowned. "I saw Lord Badrick today."

  "You mean that duke fellow you talked about the other night?"

  Phoebe nodded, noting Nanny Dee's obvious censure. She held little regard for the positions men held. She constantly reminded Phoebe to measure a man's worth by his nature, not his name or some fancy title tucked on the end. Still, Phoebe had a feeling Nanny Dee would approve of Stephen Badrick, with or without the title. Well, up until she learned of his proposal.

  "Umm-hmm," murmured Phoebe.

  "What's the matter? You look like you did the day your daddy took away your first pony." Dee crossed to the armoire, an ornate concoction of wood, gold and glass. She pulled a peach muslin dress from the cabinet and a pair of matching stockings from the drawer. "Well, you going to tell me or you going to make me guess?"

  Nibbling on her lower lip, Phoebe hesitated for the space of a heartbeat. Dee always provided guidance and direction without recrimination. Besides, Phoebe needed to talk to someone or go mad. "He asked me to be his mistress."

  Dee tucked her tongue in her cheek, obviously chewing on that bit of information. "I pray to the sweet Lord that you told him no."

  "Of course," said Phoebe, twirling her braid nervously.

  "Come here, child. Get this dress on. You can tell me exactly what this duke fella said to upset you so."

  Phoebe related everything except the kiss. All the while, she pulled and tugged on her fingers.

  Dee listened as she fussed with the dress until every strap and bow fell into its proper place. With a swat to Phoebe's fanny, Nanny Dee said, "Sit down and put your stockings on. What ain't you telling me?"

  Phoebe sighed. She never could fool this woman. "He kissed me."

  "And what did you do?"

  "I kissed him back. It wasn't at all like the time Jimmy Ray kissed me. I rather enjoyed myself." One stocking dangled from her hand when she asked, "Does that make me wanton?"

  "That makes you a woman grown, who for the first time in her life knows what it feels like to have a real man take her in his arms. Now some men just plain know how to kiss a woman. And sometimes, it feels so nice because there's somethin' special goin' on."

  "It's just odd. I mean, I only met the man two nights ago."

  "You need a husband. You might as well enjoy his attentions."

  Phoebe's laugh, devoid of humor, filled the chamber. "He made it quite clear, Nanny Dee. He wants a mistress, not a wife."

  Clucking several times, Dee finally said, "Most men don't know their own minds. It's up to us women-folk to help them find the right direction. It don't take no big stick to move a mule. A man's no different. You got a choice to make. Ifn he's the man you set your sights on, then I reckon you best make him realize it's you he wants as a wife, not a mistress. Do I make myself clear about that? With that stubborn streak of yours, I figure the man don't have no chance a'tall."

  "It's not as simple as that. He's arrogant and domineering. If I married him he would not be content to go his own way while I tend to my own matters. Besides, I don't think he needs money."

  "I already told you that scheme of yours got holes bigger than Tobias's dreams."

  "I am bound and determined to make the best of this sit nation. Surely if I can't find a man I love, I can find one who will marry me
for my money and leave me be."

  "Child, you best be taking a long, hard look at this plan of yours. You give up your dreams of a family and you'll be mighty lonely."

  She remembered the feeling of contentment she'd felt within Badrick's arms. His frank rejection of her proposal and the reality of her situation resurfaced. She was penniless with no real home, relying on the charity of a meanspirited relative, having to rush to choose a stranger for a husband, never knowing the love she wanted. Suddenly, the day seemed bleaker. "Oh, whyever couldn't he be the least bit interested in marriage?"

  The tears threatened. She fought them back. Tears hadn't helped the day her daddy died, and they certainly wouldn't help now. She felt Dee's tender grip on her shoulders. Willingly, Phoebe rested her head against the woman's breasts.

  "Go ahead and cry, sweet pea. You got enough right to. Sometimes it just helps to clear the soul."

  Allowing herself the luxury, Phoebe let her emotions rule for a few minutes, wallowing in self-pity over the injustice of it all. Hiccuping, her shoulders shuddered as she gathered her wits. "Enough of this."

  Dee gathered Phoebe's chin in her hand. "Listen, child, life's a funny thing. There's no guarantees, but you is a beautiful woman with a heart to match. I can't believe God would grant you a miserable life. It ain't His way. It may not be easy, but if you try hard enough, I think you'll find the happiness you deserve. You hold on to those dreams of yours with both hands. Once we lose sight of them we ain't got a whole lot left. Now blow your nose and get. I can almost hear that woman's voice screechin' for you."

  Everything Dee said made perfect sense. Phoebe had been in London for one week and had met only a handful of men. There would be other opportunities. Lord Badrick would become a distant memory. Feeling better than before, Phoebe teased, "Want to come along?"

  "Serve that woman right if 'n I did. One look at me and she'd start wheezin' and coughin'."

  Phoebe squared her shoulders as if she meant to offer a stem reprimand. "You have no one to blame but yourself. Telling her all those stories about the Caribbean and slaves and voodoo. You managed to convince her quite nicely that she best leave you alone."