by Peggy Waide
He nudged his horse forward, directly in her path. The nervous animal danced in a tight circle several times before Lemmer uttered a harsh command and yanked hard on the reins, forcing the horse to stop.
"You might try a gentler hand, sir. I find an animal's loyalty is well worth the effort."
His gaze slowly slid down her body and up again, lingering on her breasts. Rubbing his finger across his chin, his lips parted slightly and he crooned, "I have an affinity for kindness when it suits me. Given the proper incentive, I would be more than willing to make all your dreams come true."
She felt naked under his stark appraisal. She almost grimaced. The odious man possessed the manners of a pig, and not just any pig, but one who acted as though he'd won a few too many blue ribbons at the local fair. She fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her. "That's a mite presumptuous."
He spoke softly, the slightest hint of warning in his voice. "Miss Rafferty, is that any way to speak to your future husband?"
She had never been purposely rude to the man, but neither had she given him any indication that she found his intentions the least bit flattering. Lifting her chin a notch, she said, "I don't recollect your asking me, nor my saying yes."
He pressed his horse forward. "It's only a matter of time. Lord Badrick won't marry you. He appears the perfect gentleman, but I know better. Count your blessings that you have me to protect you from him. Like my poor sister Emily, Badrick wives have a habit of dying mysteriously."
"Emily was your sister?"
"Didn't Badrick tell you? I'm not surprised. He talks little of his past. Don't blame the chap. Why would anyone disclose something so reprehensible as the seduction of an innocent young girl and murder? The curse has driven him quite mad. I recommend you stay far away from him. If you like, I shall see to it he doesn't bother you at all."
Phoebe digested the startling fact that Stephen was related to Sir Lemmer. However had she missed that scrap of information? She'd already heard the ridiculous accusations about murder, but the part about seduction certainly was a new window into Stephen's past. Still, she doubted that Sir Lemmer was the best source of information and she wasn't about to stand here and argue with the man. She stepped back, glancing from side to side. She realized he had effectively backed her into a small, secluded area surrounded by tall elderberry bushes. The discomforting sensation of being trapped skittered up her spine. She tapped her right toe and clenched her hands around her purse. "My patience is gone, sir. Let me pass."
One corner of his mouth curled upwards. Using the handle of his riding crop, he traced a line from her shoulder to the top of her breast. "And lose the first opportunity I've had to be alone with you?" He swung one leg over the saddle. "Not a chance."
Phoebe knew enough to know Lemmer was thinking something he shouldn't be. Considering the gleam in his eyes, if she continued to just stand there, he'd likely try to do exactly what he was thinking. She shuddered at the thought of his body next to hers, his hands touching her as he pleased. While he dangled with only one leg in the stirrups, she reached for the leather riding crop, tugging as hard as she could, effectively throwing him off balance. The horse finished what she began. He pitched to the left, throwing Lemmer to the ground on the right. Lemmer jumped to his feet, his face contorted with rage. He slapped the dirt from his breeches. "Why you little...1 ought to-"
"Having trouble with your mount?"
Lemmer froze.
Phoebe skirted the horse and moved toward the familiar and welcome voice. Sir Lemmer's advances had definitely rattled her nerves, something not easily done. She practically kissed Stephen's boot right then and there. He sat perfectly still atop his horse, for all appearances calm. He didn't even seem to breathe, yet waves of anger emanated from him, charging the morning air with an uncomfortable silence. He locked a dark, savage glare on Lemmer, who had managed to straddle his horse once again. With nothing more than a whisper, Stephen said, "I shall attend to Miss Rafferty." His tone of voice, quiet but unyielding, left no room for argument.
With a false smile that never quite reached his eyes, Lemmer clenched his teeth so tightly his cheek twitched. With his hands knotted in his reins, he nudged his horse toward Phoebe. "Be assured, Miss Rafferty, we shall talk again."
Not if she had anything to say about it, which she wasn't sure she did. If only his horse would throw him to the ground once again and kindly trample him a time or two. Calling upon every ounce of arrogance she possessed, she tipped her chin in the haughtiest manner possible and remained silent as he spurred his horse into a canter. When Lemmer disappeared from sight, Phoebe finally spared a glance at Stephen. Surely he wanted to yell or offer a lecture of sorts. She pasted a cheerful smile on her face. "Why Lord Badrick, what a pleasant surprise."
He climbed down from his horse, his movements deliberate and rigid. "It seems I am to constantly rescue you from trouble."
"Now don't puff up about this. You just happened to arrive before I resolved things. It's your fault anyway. I was watching for you rather than paying attention to where I ought to have been."
"I assume that was your circuitous manner of avoiding a lecture." The tension slowly left his face and shoulders. He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, allowing his hand to linger against her cheek. "You worry me, Phoebe Rafferty, plague, haunt and worry me."
Gone was the warrior, replaced by the man she feared was stealing her heart. One simple brush of his finger and she trembled like a school girl. On impulse, she leaned into the caress and placed her hand over his. His brown eyes darkened to black, not in anger, but with something just as dangerous. Lust, coupled with simple need. Both were more compelling than Phoebe thought possible. Just as quickly his hands fell to his sides. Whatever moment they had shared vanished like the flash of a lightning bug.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Truly, I'm fine, but I do thank you for your timely interruption. That man needs a lesson in manners."
"I have said this before. Stay away from Sir Lemmer."
"I intend to, although he seems to have other ideas. He sees himself as my champion."
He cocked his head to one side with a look of concentration she had seen several times as his mind dissected that bit of information. "Really?"
"Yes, indeed. He thinks to save me from a similar fate his sister, your wife, suffered. Would you care to elaborate?"
He shrugged matter-of-factly. "No."
"You can't avoid me forever."
"I have no intention of avoiding you, only the topic of my past."
Stomping her foot, she struggled to keep her temper in check. The man was worse than Tobias when he wanted to keep a secret. A person had better luck trying to change a dead man's mind. Just to let Stephen know what she thought of his behavior, she gave a satisfying squawk in the most unladylike manner possible and turned to leave.
He matched his steps with hers. "Where are you going?"
"The butcher and the milliner."
"A bit of a walk, isn't it?"
"My time these last weeks has been spent on teas, balls, dinner parties and the opera. I'm accustomed to more rigorous endeavors. Since you refuse to talk to me, the walk will be a welcome diversion."
"I didn't refuse to talk to you, but since you seem set on this course and since I see you have ventured off, again, without any sort of companion or chaperone, I will keep you company."
"How generous of you, sir." Didn't the man ever ask permission? She wanted to stay angry, she really did. But there was no hope for it. His company was exactly what she wanted. They walked leisurely, Cavalier trailing behind. "If I remember correctly, you were to give me counsel on my matrimonial candidates, yet you seem to have neglected your duties."
He tucked his tongue in the hollow of his cheek. "Did you miss me?"
"Like a case of measles."
When he laughed, she joined him. His good humor was contagious. She had missed him, but wasn't about to admit it. He was too sure of himself as
it was. She pushed aside other questions about his absence, prepared to simply enjoy his company.
"You do realize your husband would forbid such behav for as walking about unaccompanied. He'd likely forbid your early-morning rides in the park and possibly limit your excursions altogether."
"I would likely test his patience daily."
"Then he might beat you and lock you in your room and be justified in the eyes of the House of Lords. Mistresses have so much more freedom afforded them these days. For your information, my dear, most husbands expect far more wifely obedience than you tend to exhibit. They dislike quibbling, whether the subject is a gift, a meal or a scrap of clothing. It upsets their constitution."
"That's a bag of moonshine, if ever I heard any. Don't you mean it challenges their need for superiority?"
"Only out of concern for their wives."
"Phooey! Out of concern for their pride."
"There is that. However, if they said the sky was green, they'd readily expect you to agree. If they preferred fish, they'd expect cod for supper. If they disliked velvet, you'd wear silk. If they abhorred Beethoven, you'd play Mozart. If they"
She held up her hand to stay the flow of words on wifely obedience. "I understand, my lord. Is all this written in some book of rules or such? It might prove interesting reading."
"Goodness, no. A true gentleman acquires such attributes at birth, making a wife's life most boring. My point in all this is that few men enjoy a debate of any kind with a female. Unlike myself, of course."
"Of course." The rogue. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. She met his smile with one of her own. "You would allow me to wear breeches?"
"Daily, if you so chose."
"And ride in Hyde Park by myself, and discuss Plato and Socrates with you?"
"'Twould be invigorating."
"You would eat gruel and black pudding, dance in the rain and allow me to cheat at poker?"
"Smiling at every turn."
Quietly pleased with herself, she flipped her bag over her shoulder and watched his expression." 'Tis a good thing. I intend to find a man, one of the select few such as you, who has no need to exert his power over me."
Stephen admitted his defeat as he escorted her out of Hyde Park. He asked, "What was your aunt's reaction to Winston's invitation?"
"I haven't exactly asked her permission just yet."
He stopped and looked her squarely in the eye. "I hope you plan to ask her soon."
She lengthened her stride. "I've been biding my time. I plan to mention it before we leave for Marsden Manor. Hildegard has been absolutely horrific ever since that... well..." She kicked a pebble with her shoe. "I'm sure you know why. I hope the mention of us in the newspaper didn't cause you any problems. You'd think people had better things to do with their time than worry about the comings and goings of London society."
"Darling, it gives me no pleasure to be right about the incident with the mule if it caused you aggravation. Many people with too much idle time read the society section before any other part of the newspaper. Put the problem aside. I'll think of something."
As they walked, they discussed everything from King George to blackberry pie, which turned out to be Stephen's favorite. He even hired a street urchin to watch his horse so he could help her with her purchases. Determined to show her the benefits of being his mistress, he offered to buy her a pearl necklace, a new hat, a pair of shoes and a gold pin shaped like a seagull. She refused each and every gift, yet bought the hat herself. She loved every minute of their time together.
As they neared Hildegard's house, she fidgeted with the small bag she carried, the thought of returning home now a worry. Her aunt had made her opinion quite clear. The Duke of Badrick was not a welcome suitor. Leaves danced about her feet as the wind blew. The skies turned a murky gray and the air grew heavy with moisture, a perfect reflection of her mood. Rain would soon fall.
Stopping at the comer of Hildegard's lane, intent on preventing any sort of a scene, she reached for the purchases he carried. "Thank you for your company. I had a delightful time."
He maintained a tight grip on his package and studied her face. "What's the matter, Phoebe?"
A fat drop of water fell on the tip of her nose, followed by another upon her forehead. She plastered a coy, flirtatious smile on her face. "Oh, silly me. I've just been gone longer than expected. I best hurry on. Good day."
His hand snared her wrist, effectively keeping her trapped before him. "You're a pitiful liar. The truth. Spit it out."
Rain began to fall in earnest and people with the tiniest bit of intelligence scampered to find shelter. The stubborn man would likely keep her in this foul weather until she caught pneumonia, but she couldn't very well tell him the truth. Soon, her cape clung to her body and water dripped from her hat, two of her spritely little daisies bowed over the brim in submission to the rain. Still, he refused to release her hand. Her shoulders heaved in resignation. "If you must know, my aunt doesn't like you very much."
"I thought it was something of importance." He started down the lane. "Do not concern yourself with such trivialities. Come along."
"She doesn't want me to see you. At all. She has no idea you mean to accompany me to Marsden Manor either, and I'd appreciate that little bit of news be kept private."
"Trust me, I shall manage your aunt. Right now I am more concerned with finding dry space." He grabbed her hand, dragging her toward her aunt's home.
By the time they reached the front door, they were both drenched. Siggers appeared quickly and efficiently and, without so much as a blink of an eye, he directed them to the salon. He took their packages and withdrew from the room on a promise to return with suitable refreshments and towels.
Stephen shut the doors and moved close enough to tug on a lock of hair curling about her face. "You look quite lovely all soggy." Using the knuckle of his index finger, he traced a circle from her cheek to her chin to her other cheek. "Beautiful."
Yearning clawed at Phoebe's stomach. "Siggers? My aunt?"
"I know. We best not waste this opportunity." He nuzzled her right ear. "For the last few days, I've thought of nothing else." His grip tightened. Pulling her into his arms, his lips met hers.
Heat consumed her, every nerve ending alive with antic ipation and fire. She forgot the rain, Hildegard's edict, even Siggers. Passion warred with her muddled senses. She couldn't continue to let him kiss her like this whenever he wanted. No matter the temptation. Didn't they need to stoke the fire or something, although heat was the last thing she required at the moment? Stephen warmed her better and faster than any old fire ever could. As his hand slid beneath her cape to rest on her rib cage, her breast swelled. Pressing closer still, she tried to blame the reaction on her damp garments. She knew better. Her body craved his touch. Stephen Lambert could kiss, and then some. As if he read her mind, his hand inched upwards. Slowly. Surely, she would die of anticipation. When his thumb grazed her nipple in a tender assault, she moaned. Her legs felt liquid and her body ached in places she never thought possible. Finally, his hand stilled and his lips left hers. A whimper, surprisingly her own, filled the void. She willed her eyes to open. "Oh."
Stephen dropped his forehead to hers. "You drive me to madness, woman."
Madness? Yes, she understood that feeling as well. Swallowing convulsively, she stepped to what she deemed a safe distance away, behind a large gothic library table with hideously ornate table legs shaped like dragons. She wrapped her arms about her waist. "You had best go. My aunt will return shortly."
"I detest repetition, and I told you once already, your aunt presents no threat." Stephen had no intention of leaving before he gained Hildegard's assurance that Phoebe would attend Winston's party. Moving before the stone fireplace, he removed the decorative screen and stirred the embers, warming the room.
"Easy for you to say," she muttered to herself as she removed the water-logged hat from her head and set it on the table. "Perhaps you don't realize the e
xtent of her dis like for you. Hildegard said some rather horrible things for which I had no defense since you refuse to tell me anything about your past."
"I don't remember requesting a defense of any kind."
"Nevertheless I felt inclined to do so."
"Defending me is not a wise plan. My reputation is quite tattered. Few people will agree with you and, more importantly, you are likely to find yourself ostracized."
"All the more reason to tell me what I need to know."
"Give over, Phoebe. I have no need of a stubborn, single-minded female fighting my battles."
"Stubborn?" She planted her hands on her hips. "Hah. That's a tale tell coming from a man who chooses to play the martyr because of two dead wives and a fool gypsy curse."
"Tread carefully, Phoebe. You know not of what you speak."
"Then lands alive, tell me. Did you murder Emily?"
In exasperation, he threw his hands in the air. She was worse than a guard dog with a thiefs britches in its mouth. He knew she would snarl and chomp until he offered information or escaped. Escape was not an option right now. At least her question was easily answered. "No, I did not. She fell from a balcony in our home. I arrived to find the body."
Phoebe stood rooted to her spot, tracing a large pink flower in the rug with her toe. She started to shiver. "Was that so difficult to share with me?"
He dropped his head to the palm of his hand which rested on his knee. So like a woman not to be satisfied. They wanted a man's soul. Well, his was not available. Prepared to tell her so, he shifted to the balls of his feet as a handsome Negro woman, obviously the companion Phoebe spoke of, sailed into the room carrying a silver tea tray. From the determined look on her face, he knew she had something on her mind.
"What are you thinkin', child?" Dee asked, placing the refreshments on a nearby table. "Getting yourself soaking wet."
Stephen stood, one hand balanced on the large Grecian urn beside him. "That would be my fault."
While Stephen and Dee silently took one another's measure, Phoebe made the introductions.