by Peggy Waide
"This is not a game, your grace."
"Our relationship has exceeded formalities, Phoebe. Call me Stephen." He stopped beside an usher for a moment, exchanged a few words, then led her to another flight of stairs, hidden by a blue curtain. "Did you like the flowers?"
"They were lovely even though Aunt Hildegard now suspects the worse of me. Believe you me, I pled total ignorance. Wherever are we going? I thought we were meeting your friends."
"All in good time. First, I want a moment's privacy." Feeling pleased with his initiative, Stephen felt the scales tip in his favor for the first time in days.
"Don't misunderstand me," explained Phoebe, ignoring the warning in her temple, "but I have something better said in private as well." Determined to clarify her position, she moved ahead of Stephen, entering a small yet lavishly decorated room opposite the stage. A fancy table inlaid with jade and marble stood in the comer, a variety of liquor and crystal glasses set on top. A royal-blue settee was angled in the other corner. Four gold chairs faced the stage. A curtain of thin white netting covered the view to the stage, easily concealing the occupants from the people below. The room was obviously designed with privacy in mind. "Whose is this?"
"This, my dear, is the King's royal box. Of course, due to his illness, he is never seen here. From time to time, the Prince Regent ventures here, as does Queen Charlotte and other Royals. For a tidy sum, special patrons or couples who wish to remain anonymous and alone, may borrow it." Stephen closed the door and crossed to the table. "Do you wish for something to drink?"
Standing beside the table, dressed all in black, Lord Badrick exuded a maddening arrogance that aroused every fiber of Phoebe's very being. And she was alone with him. Her traitorous mind conjured the image of his lips on hers, their bodies melded together. She straightened her shoulders and strengthened her resolve. Alcohol might calm her nerves, but thankfully, good sense ruled. "No, thank you."
As if reading her mind, Stephen folded his arms across his chest. "Although the idea has merit, I have no intention of plying you with spirits and ravaging you in a theater filled with people."
Unable to stop the blush creeping from her toes to her face, she marched to the curtain and stared at the activity below. "Fine. A sherry, if you will." Lordy, due to the height of the room and the soft lighting, no one could possibly see inside, leaving her and the duke quite on their own. As long as they were quiet. She felt his warm breath on her bare shoulder and turned quickly enough to witness the lazy grin on his face, as though he'd read her private thoughts. She stiffened, swallowed her retort and squelched the trembling that threatened her limbs.
Extending the crystal glass toward her, he said, "When I make love to you, it will be somewhere and sometime when no one would dare interrupt us. I hold this fantasy of lingering over your body for hours."
Although unsure of what exactly one did when one made love for hours, her body seemed to like the suggestion. Or was it just the close proximity of Badrick? He did affect her in the most unusual manner. As dignified as possible, feigning an indifference she didn't feel, she said, "I'd say that is rather presumptuous and exactly why I came with you. You obviously did not hear a thing I said the other day."
"I heard. I simply chose to ignore it. One of the benefits of being a duke."
"That's a fine how-do-you-do. Well, sir, I don't have such a luxury. This is my life, not a day at the races or a game of chess with which you play."
"You make me sound like a spoiled lad who wants only his way. I believe I know what is best for you."
"How dare you presume such a thing. You don't even know me."
"Then tell me," he said, his voice warm and enticing. Using the soft pad of his thumb, he gently traced a path across her brow, her cheek and finally her lips. "Help me understand the secrets you keep, your desires, your dreams. Let me know what you require and I will endeavor to give it to you."
Whether bent on seduction or not, Stephen remained at the curtain. He waited patiently, giving her a chance to make the choice. He did seem sincere. Perhaps if she confided in him, he would see the necessity of what she did. She moved to the settee, perching on the very edge, both feet firmly planted on the floor. Her eyes focused on the claw foot of the chair in front of her while she contemplated how one explained one's dreams in a few short sentences. "Any choices or dreams I ever had vanished the day my father died. The day the banker knocked on my door to tell me my daddy owed everything I loved and held dear to the bank. Bless his heart, he left Ireland behind thinking the colonies held the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Unfortunately, he was a good man with no talent for business. After my mama died, we moved several times. We finally settled at River's Bend. With age came a greater understanding of my father's foibles. I ran the plantation as best I could, trying my best to keep us financially secure. I was unaware of the debt he incurred with his final venture. When all was said and done, I had only an inheritance I knew nothing about until three months ago and enough money to purchase a ticket for England."
Inhaling a deep breath, she tilted her head to look Stephen squarely in the eyes. "You were right. I have no desire to wed. Not under these conditions. If I had my way, I'd find a man to love as my mama and daddy loved."
He waved his hand in the air. "A frivolous notion. As spoken through the ages in verse and rhyme, love marks every man and woman foolish enough to believe in the illusion. Most sensible young women wish simply for a suitable match. They are lucky to find even compatibility along the way."
Intent on matching his nonchalance with her determination, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Sir, most women want love. Their parents hope for a suitable match."
"Perhaps. But more often than not, the pursuit of love robs a man's soul of reason."
In all her days, she'd never met anyone who didn't believe in love, who didn't dream of finding it in some way. Love was the greatest of treasures to be given and shared. It conquered all. Goodness, he made the emotion seen like a silly schoolgirl's dream and a rope around a man's neck. "What about your friends, Elizabeth and Winston?"
"Fine. I concede that some people, a minute few, are fortunate enough to find both love and compatibility, but let us revisit your situation. We established that you have no choice and little time. Suppose love is beyond your reach. Why tie yourself to a man you barely tolerate? I know you're attracted to me, Phoebe. I offer you an alternative."
She remembered Sarah Hastings, a sweet, innocent girl blinded by passion, who ran away with a gentleman from Atlanta, a man who used and then discarded her like an old coat. Sarah, unable to face alienation from her former friends and her own parents, had thrown herself off a balcony into the path of a passing carriage.
Phoebe didn't think herself so weak-willed, nor was she foolish enough to believe that Badrick had her best interests in mind. Consequences of some sort were always the result of one's actions. She pushed herself from the settee, circled to the other corner and placed her unfinished drink on the table. "Your so-called alternative leaves you in control of my future and me at your beck and call. It is an alternative that allows you to discard me whenever you weary of my company, one that eliminates any possibility of my claiming my only birthright."
"As a man saddled with such a destiny, I can honestly say you might be better off without the responsibilities you also inherit. But, if and I say if --I tire of your company, you could return to America with a healthy income even without Marsden Manor."
"What about Aunt Hildegard? I owe her more than a scandal amongst her friends."
"Do you really care about your aunt's friends' morality? You don't even know them."
Armed with logic and calculation, he was obviously prepared to deal with every possible argument she might present. She briefly wondered if all his past mistresses had been hired so matter-of-factly. Likely so. His manner was the epitome of composure. She doubted many people, if any, ever saw him in a vulnerable position. Why in the name of Saint Mary did she
like him so? "If you are so interested in me, why not ask for my hand?" Hesitantly, she asked, "Would marriage to me be so horrible?"
Since she stared at her slippers, she heard but never saw him approach. Standing only inches away, he did not touch her. "Not you, Phoebe. Never you, but marriage itself. Wedlock is not for me. I would not give you false hope."
Although his voice hinted at wry amusement, she sensed regret and even sadness. "You make marriage sound like a death sentence."
"For some, it is."
"Why? Certainly you must have a reason."
He pinched the bridge of his nose as though the thoughts crowding his mind required too much concentration. "Forgive my morosity. Suffice it to say, I am doing you a greater service by offering you the position as my mistress rather than that of my wife."
Scolding herself for the disappointment tugging at her heart, she added a false bravado to her words. "It doesn't matter anyway. I'm not quite ready to sell myself. I still have four weeks left."
"At a task you dread. Let me help. I wish to take care of you."
"Pardon me for saying so, but you've a wish to bed me."
"There is that, but something else draws me."
"Perhaps you want me simply because I injured your pride when I refused your proposition the first time."
"I am many things, but not a fool. I would never shackle myself to a female I disliked simply to soothe my wounded masculinity. I assure you, my reasons are far less noble. Shall I prove my point?"
She knew he intended to kiss her. And no tree blocked her escape this time. Truth be told, wanton or not, she'd been waiting, even hoping, for this very moment. She watched his fingers, long and elegant, slide about her waist, and she trembled. His other hand gripped her chin. As his lips descended, she met him halfway. The kiss, more sensual than she remembered, planted a seed of desire deep in her belly, one she sensed would grow and flourish with a few caresses. Even more compelling was the sense of rightness, the way her curves molded with his muscles. Lands alive, she had to admit she liked kissing this man, and when he used his tongue like that, she liked it even more. She pressed her body closer.
A soft, insistent tapping permeated the heady sensation. Startled, she jumped back. Her one hand nudged the table, which set the various glasses and tumblers rattling moments before Winston peeked around the door. Her other hand remained trapped within Badrick's, who refused to loosen his grip.
"Ahem," Winston said sheepishly. "Excuse the interruption, but Elizabeth requests, rather adamantly, that the two of you join us."
"Assure Elizabeth that Miss Rafferty remains well. We will be along in a trice." After Winston left, Stephen pulled Phoebe to his side once again, refusing to acknowledge the scowl she threw at him. "Do not be so quick to make a decision. Unfinished business lies between us, and I warn you, I intend to use all of my persuasive powers, which are considerable, to sway you to my way of thinking. You just might change your mind."
"And if I demand you leave me be?"
"Would you be so cruel? Besides, I attend a great many functions. As you hie yourself about London looking for your mate, we shall surely encounter one another frequently."
Pursing her lips into a doubtful frown, she boasted, "You are not the only one with persuasive abilities. Who's to say that I won't change your mind?"
"Shall you use your female wiles to force me to do your bidding? Hmmm. Who holds the greater will within them? You or I?" He grinned at the obvious challenge. "It seems the next few weeks shall prove to be rather interesting. Come, before Elizabeth sends the royal guard in search of you." Without another word, they descended the stairs, Stephen's hand on Phoebe's elbow as he directed her to their destination. "Here we are."
The moment they entered their box, Elizabeth spun on her seat and glared at Stephen. "Shame on you. The second act is about to begin. How am I to acquaint myself with Miss Rafferty if you insist on monopolizing her time?"
"Elizabeth, my dear," Stephen said. "To my brewing consternation, I am most confident you shall find an opportunity to interrogate Phoebe to your heart's content."
"As a matter of fact," announced Elizabeth, her grin confirming Stephen's suspicions. "Saturday is the Doggett's Coat and Badge Race." She beamed then continued onward like a child in search of treasure, happy with her quest and not to be deterred. "Phoebe, you shall accompany us. It's an absolutely delightful diversion, as long as it doesn't rain. Simply everyone ventures to watch."
Caught up in Elizabeth's exuberance, Phoebe asked, "What is it?"
Obviously feeling left out, Stephen moved to Phoebe's side. "Apprentice seamen race from London Bridge to Chelsea. The winner earns the right to wear the grand scarlet coat with the silver Hanoverian badge. There shall be raucous crowds, heavy gambling, pickpockets and thieves, plus hawkers peddling their wares, not to mention a gathering of the scraggliest group of men who sail the seas."
Stephen's manner, somewhat like a preacher denouncing the sins of the local tavern, contrasted to Elizabeth's enthusiasm. Phoebe burst out laughing. "It sounds delightful."
"I told you she would accompany us. I shall send my carriage for you about one. Besides, it might be one of the few times we can go about together. Stephen rarely shows his face in London and ventures into public even less. A bit of a recluse, he is."
"How interesting," Phoebe cooed, remembering his claim that they would meet frequently. The sneak.
"Elizabeth," Stephen drawled. "Do be quiet. The play is about to begin."
Waving one hand, Elizabeth patted the empty chair beside her with the other. "Phoebe, sit next to me. We shall whisper throughout the remainder of the opera, driving Stephen to distraction as he wonders what secrets I might reveal."
Phoebe sat as instructed, hoping that Elizabeth would become a trusted friend, one capable of easing her loneliness and offering council. As the theater quieted, Stephen reluctantly sat behind the two ladies, beside Winston. Throughout the remainder of the opera, Phoebe tried to focus on the actors and actresses on stage or on Elizabeth, who occasionally quizzed her. Try as she might to ignore Stephen, whenever Phoebe peered over her shoulder it was to discover his dark eyes fixed on her. As if drawn by his will, she found herself peeking more often. The corner of his mouth even curled upward as if he'd proved a point or gained some advantage. Once, the wretch even blew her a kiss. When the opera finished, she quickly bid good night to Elizabeth and Winston.
With Stephen at her side, Phoebe wove her way through the corridor, trying to return to the other side of the theater as quickly as possible. Likely Aunt Hildegard was frantic. As people crowded about, she found herself pressed against Stephen. Her body didn't seem to mind one little bit. Against her better judgment, which seemed to elude her whenever he was about, she purposely squeezed closer to him a time or two. From the corner of her eye, Phoebe studied the man. Glory be, he was a handsome devil. And charming, in a rather prideful way. His aversion to matrimony baffled her, though, and he refused to offer any insight. She considered Nanny Dee's suggestion that she change the man's mind about marriage, if in fact he was the man she wanted.
Before she decided one way or the other, or risked a broken heart, she intended to discover more about the Duke of Badrick than the fact that he turned her mind to mush and her insides to warm cider. If he truly meant what he said, then her time, which was short and precious, was best spent on other suitors. Elizabeth appeared to be the most likely person to help Phoebe find the answers she needed.
When they reached Hildegard's private box, her aunt paced back and forth, while Charity, sporting an enormous orange bow in her hair, sat, her eyes diverted to her lap.
"Good evening, Lady Goodliffe," Stephen said.
Hildegard, her back to the entrance, glanced over her shoulder and lifted her pointed chin a notch higher. "Lord Badrick."
He nodded, then asked, "Lady Charity, how goes your study in watercolors?"
Charity shifted in her chair and bumped her knee against the wooden
rail with a resounding thud. "Sorry," she mumbled.
Sighing, Hildegard said, "Charity discovered she prefers a woman's duties to frivolous notions such as art," Hildegard explained, her words clipped and filled with reproach. Charity's face grew sullen as she sunk lower in her chair.
"A pity," said Stephen. "She seemed to be progressing nicely."
"Humph," snorted Hildegard. "How did you happen to meet my niece?"
Hostility swirled between Stephen and her aunt. Surely, Phoebe imagined it, but it appeared as though a battle were taking place between them as they both vied for supremacy. A flicker of apprehension knotted Phoebe's stomach as she tried to comprehend the reason. She started to explain how she met Stephen, noted the unpleasant twist of Hildegard's mouth and changed her mind. Instead, in hopes of lightening the mood, she pinned a bright smile on her face and said, "Actually Auntie, Lady Payley is responsible. While I waited for your return, she introduced herself, along with her husband and Lord Badrick."
"A happenstance for which I am quite grateful," Stephen added most eloquently.
"Really," said Hildegard, her mouth set in an even tighter line as she focused fully on Phoebe. "Sir Lemmer paid a call specifically to see you. He was gravely disappointed to discover your absence." She turned back to Stephen. "Thank you for your escort, but my niece's attentions are required elsewhere now."
Ignoring the apparent dismissal, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms before him, his body as stiff as a stump. With his voice devoid of all warmth, he asked, "Where is Sir Lemmer?"
"Unfortunately, he received a message summoning him home."
"In that case, I shall take my leave. Until we meet again, Miss Rafferty."
Phoebe, already on edge, tensed as he lifted her hand to his lips, lingering long enough to fire speculation in Hildegard's already suspicious mind. Blast the buzzard. He fled while she had to stay and face the inquisition she was sure to get.
Hildegard didn't wait long. "You will not see Lord Badrick again."
"I assume you have a particular reason for that edict?"