Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  Stableboys and groomsmen saddled the horses. The hounds howled and yapped and tugged on the tethers that as yet, bound them to a large pole. As the fog melted away, a gentle breeze teased her face, carrying the fresh scent of spring and sunshine. Fraught with purpose, she seemed unable to enjoy the activity.

  Winston occupied himself with the huntsman. Elizabeth stood at Winston's side, one hand on his sleeve. Their affection for one another was so obvious that Phoebe sighed. That sort of tenderness and devotion was all she wanted. Was it too much to hope for?

  A horn sounded, prompting the forty or so lords and ladies to mount, herself included. Enthusiastic chatter carried through the morning air, sounding somewhat like the spirited audience of a cotton auction back home. Imagine, thought Phoebe as she climbed atop her horse, a tiny little fox was the cause of all this excitement.

  The huntsman, dressed in a lovely red coat, rode to the front of the group and raised one arm. On his signal the stableboys released the dogs. They obviously knew what they were about, for they made a mad dash across the clearing in the direction of the nearest cover. The riders followed at a steady lope, maintaining a comfortable distance from the hounds. No one seemed overly concerned about where he or she rode or how quickly.

  Stephen rode beside Winston and Elizabeth. Periodically, he switched his gaze to Phoebe, a firm warning in his eyes. Lemmer, also riding near the front, primped while his horse pranced. Every now and then he slid her a backward glance, his expression more like a leer. It took every bit of restraint not to stick out her tongue at him. All in good time, she reminded herself. If the hunt went as she planned, the overgrown braggart would be eating crow by dinner time.

  She trotted near the end biding her time, listening to Lord Kendall, her self-appointed companion, babble endlessly about the skill required to tie a proper cravat. An occasional bird squawked, no doubt annoyed by the cacophony of baying hounds that tore through the wooded glades. She kept her eyes open, alert and watchful, looking for the path the young stableboy had mentioned.

  After a half-hour, the riders passed a rotted oak that resembled a hunchbacked witch. This was the moment she had awaited. She placed her hand to her forehead and swayed in her saddle. "Oh, dear, I feel a bit lightheaded. If you don't mind, sir, I believe I shall rest."

  Lord Kendall immediately stopped his horse. "Of course. Let us retire to the shade of those elms."

  "And ruin your chance to win a dance with me? Please, go. I shall either catch up or return to the stables."

  His eyes shone when she mentioned the little wager. After he glanced a time or two between the parting group and Phoebe, Kendall nodded abruptly and galloped away. She waited for him to disappear behind a large bramble bush, then yanked her horse around and cantered in the opposite direction. She stopped and pulled from her bodice the tiny map the game boy had given her. In the distance, she heard a peculiar bray, followed by a loud yell and a horn. The fox had been sighted. She didn't have much time.

  Cavalier jumped the three-foot hedge with the ease Stephen expected. Eager to witness Phoebe's skill as a rider, he veered off the leaf-covered path and waited. When Lord Kendall flew over the obstacle, alone, Stephen knew his earlier assumptions to be true. That caper-witted female had concocted some sort of idiotic plan and had traipsed off to parts unknown. By herself.

  Wasting no time, he urged his horse to a gallop. Finding the spot he had last seen Phoebe, he stopped, trying to decide where she might have gone. A small flock of magpies screeched and fled high above the trees. He smiled. She wasn't far.

  Maintaining a lengthy distance, he spied Phoebe as she circled the woods toward some destination only she seemed to know. After five minutes, he was rewarded with her plan. Somehow or another the clever girl had managed to learn the location of the foxholes. She had every intention of uncovering them, allowing the fox to go to ground. Although annoyed with her decision to exclude him from her plan, he grinned. There would be no winner today. Lemmer would be suitably vexed. Quickly and quietly, Stephen tied Cavalier to a nearby maple, advancing on foot until he startled a small rabbit that dashed across the clearing. Stephen ducked behind a large bush.

  Spying the frightened animal, Phoebe froze. Her gaze darted from tree to tree. At least the girl had the good sense to be nervous. She hesitated another moment, obviously decided she was alone, then resumed the task of pushing a large rock from the hole. Suddenly jerking her finger to her mouth and sucking on it, she uttered a rather earthy expletive.

  Stephen stepped into the open. "Phoebe Rafferty, you have the mouth of a sailor! Was the hunt boring you?"

  Jumping to her feet, she brushed the dirt and leaves from her knees, her head tilted to the ground. "You know exactly what I'm doing."

  "True. And I should be angry. I leave you to your own devices and off you go to kick up a lark." He shook his head from side to side, wishing she would lift her face. He couldn't determine her mood. "What am I to do with you? Not that I disapprove of the concept, only the consequences if you're caught. What do you suppose the others will think when both you and I suddenly turn up missing? What if someone else saw you and decided to follow? Not everyone is a gentleman like myself."

  She thrust up her chin with determination and fisted her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a delightful blue outfit, and her breasts thrust forward to tease him mercilessly. She had even loosened the top two buttons, exposing the creamy flesh of her slender neck. "Is that so? If you are the gentleman you claim to be, then come over here and move this infernal rock."

  Blast, the woman was a tempting armful, but now was not the time to act on his baser impulses. He intended to find privacy first. Shaking his head once again, Stephen pushed her aside and easily lifted the rock away. "Most men take their hunts very seriously. I wonder if you realize the extent of your interference."

  "Will Winston be angry?"

  "Knowing him as I do, I imagine he will consider Lemmer's proposal, place your absence with mine, and come to a reasonable conclusion on his own. Of course, he will investigate to ascertain if his assumption is true. This little scheme of yours could cause the stable lads a fair bit of trouble. How did you discover the location of the foxholes, anyway?"

  Tugging on the ends of her gloves, she shuffled her toe through the grass. "I sort of, well, I, more or less bribed the game boy. He shouldn't be punished, though."

  With deliberately casual movements, he brushed his hands together and said, "If you willingly spend the afternoon with me, I shall explain the situation to Winston and swear him to leniency."

  "Exactly what do you desire, Lord Badrick?"

  You. In my arms. Beneath me. Joined with me. If he hoped to gain her company for the afternoon, he dared not share the images wreaking havoc on his body. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist. "A ride. Conversation. The rest remains to be seen and is totally in your hands, Phoebe, but we'd best hurry lest the hounds find our scent and you and I become the targets of great speculation and ruination."

  "Goodness gracious. We'd best be off, then." When she folded her hand in his, she felt safe and content, anticipating the afternoon with renewed interest.

  They located the second foxhole and together dispensed with the barrier. The hounds brayed in the near distance and they knew time had run out. With luck, the fox would return to his burrow.

  Mounting their horses quickly, they cantered across a wide field alive with yellow primrose and purple violets. Along the edge, budding cherry trees burst with color. But Stephen was the most magnificent sight of all. An expert horseman, he moved as one with the animal. His toffeecolored breeches molded to his thighs as he rode. The wind teased his raven curls, exposing the strength of his jaw. He smiled contentedly, evidently as pleased with the prospects of the afternoon as she.

  Following a path beside a rocky stream lined with ferns, they slowly climbed a small hilltop. "Wherever are you taking me?" she asked.

  "Chanctonbury Ring,
a place of magic and mystery. An ancient Roman temple once sat on top of this hill. Winston and I came here as lads and imagined ourselves embroiled in all sorts of adventures."

  Trees grew everywhere, towering to the sky, flowering ash and young budding sycamores, majestic oak and grand old elms. They formed a dense, eerie ceiling, effectively blocking much of the sun. Not a bit of wind stirred and the heavy scent of dirt and new foliage filled the air. In the center was a circle of crumbling stone monoliths. Patches of wildflowers and grass grew amongst the rubble. Although the hounds sounded in the distance, she felt as though she and Stephen were the only two people in England. She whispered, "It's quite wonderful."

  "They say that if you run seven times around this circle of trees, backwards, at midnight on Midsummer's Eve, the devil himself will offer you a bowl of porridge."

  "Did you and Winston ever try?"

  "Once. We made it to the sixth turnabout and decided we'd best find a very large stick after which our stomachs began to grumble in a most disconcerting manner. We elected to return to the manor in dire need of something to eat lest we'd have too little strength to face our adversary."

  His dark eyes gleamed with an intriguing mix of mischief and pleasure. His spirited mood and sudden willingness to talk about his childhood drew her to his side. Laughing, she said, "You were cowards."

  "Never. We were ten and we feared the story might not be true. Legends are great fun, but unfortunately, they vanish like the shadows on the moor in the light of reason."

  "Tell me more."

  He climbed from his horse and lifted her down from hers, brushing their bodies together ever so slightly. The simple contact shot shivers up and down her spine, electrifying the tips of her fingers and breasts. Surely he felt her tremble. When she blushed his lips curled to one side; he had the expectant look of a man ready to savor a cigar and warmed brandy.

  Taking her reins from her, he tied their two horses to a nearby branch, clasped her hand in his and led her to a grassy spot centered within the ruins. "A white-haired man, perhaps a druid, centuries old and searching for treasure, also inhabits this hill as does a ghostly army. Every now and again, if you listen carefully, you can hear the hooves of invisible horses."

  "Have you seen the old man?"

  "Now that is another tale in itself." He shed his jacket, exposing a white muslin shirt molded to his chest. After placing the jacket on the ground to serve as a blanket, he knelt and extended his arm in invitation. Willingly, and unable to stop herself, she sat beside him.

  "We made our first visit here," Stephen said, "shortly after Winston's father shared the story of the old man. Tell a young boy of treasure and there's no stopping him. Like two cross-eyed lobcocks, we spent nearly a week traipsing through the woods, digging at every plausible hiding place. One night we stayed later than we should have. A horrific storm came up. The wind blew relentlessly, wailing in an eerie song throughout the trees like a choir of the dead. Or at least it seemed so in our wild imaginations. Suddenly a figure in white with fierce, burning eyes and hideous, wheezing laughter appeared from over there." He pointed to a gnarled tree near the edge of the ruins.

  "Winston, the poor lad, stood dumbstruck. As the ghostly intruder edged toward us, I, of course, collected my wits, grabbed my friend's quaking hand and dragged him to safety."

  Leaning insolently on one elbow, his face seemed dangerously close to her breasts. She perched her folded hands on her bent knees. "Why Lord Badrick, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were trying to frighten me."

  He placed his hand across his heart, his expression one of shock. "J is the honest truth I tell. Winston will gladly corroborate, although he will do his best to portray himself as the hero. Anyway, we abandoned our shovels and darted for home, our legs pumping as fast as possible. We dashed into Winston's father's study wild with excitement partly out of fear but mostly joy of our adventure. Come to find out, it had been Winston's father in disguise. When all was said and done we had quite the laugh over our folly."

  "How wonderfully exciting." Intoxicated by the rich timbre of his voice and his mere presence, she knew that remaining with him, alone, on top of this secluded hill was likely not the best of ideas. Their problems forgotten, she couldn't resist the attraction they shared.

  "I knew you to be an adventurer at heart, Miss Rafferty."

  She wasn't feeling much like an adventurer right now. This was dangerous ground she tread upon. His fingers toyed with a curl loosened from her braid near the nape of her neck, and she felt herself shiver with delight.

  His eyes blazed with an intensity that beckoned to every nerve in her body. Swallowing convulsively, she feared she would sound like a shy little church mouse. "Most definitely. When I was eight or so, a slave told me a tale of a casket of coins left behind by a French pirate. I even discovered a map. I was determined to make the treasure mine. I found the cave with the help of Tobias, Dee's husband. I was frightened and thrilled at the same time. We found a skeleton and a weathered box. Then we looked closer. In his one hand he clasped a golden locket. Inside was the picture of a beautiful woman. In the other hand lay a crumpled scrap of paper. The nearby box contained a ring engraved with two entwined hearts, and a packet of letters, obviously the ones she wrote. I believe he died thinking of the woman he loved. It was quite sad yet terribly romantic."

  "What did you do?"

  "We left everything. We concealed the cave as best we could and I destroyed the map. I know that's silly because someone probably discovered it again sooner or later, but it seemed somehow sacreligious to disturb him."

  Stephen's hand entwined with hers. He studied her fingers as he traced the delicate lines of her knuckles. "You have the heart of a romantic."

  She was lost. Right now, at this moment, as they shared bits of their past, she fell over the edge and into love's abyss. She had expected such for days, ever since their time together at Marsden Manor. Now she was sure. She would grant him anything. With the realization came a sense of despair, which saddened her all the more. The discovery of love was a moment to be celebrated, not feared. "And you, Lord Badrick? Have you a heart to give?"

  "Most definitely. And if I'm not dreadfully vigilant, I'll likely lose it."

  "If ever given, I would cherish your heart as the greatest of treasures."

  A flicker of longing flared deep in his eyes, but it was buried just as quickly beneath a haunted look. "Foolish girl"

  She wanted to weep for him, for all that forced him to lock his emotions away. Unable to stop herself, hoping to erase the agony in his voice, she reached for him and cradled his cheek in her hand. "I'm afraid I have little choice. The deed is done."

  "You can't--"

  She placed her fingers across his lips. "Stephen, my heart, the way I feel, is a gift freely given."

  Freely? Stephen wanted to shout. Nothing in life came without a cost, a consequence. He knew he had best leave her now. Her declaration hurled his mind into a maelstrom of needs and demands. To consume. To possess. To take what she offered.

  Shifting his position, he pressed her to the ground, his gaze riveted on her face, studying the features that invaded his sleep at night. Light brown eyebrows that arched over green eyes the color of a spring meadow. Skin soft and dewy. Lips, full, parted and ready for his possession.

  "Phoebe." Her name was a plea. He hated the weakness he felt, but seemed unable to control the need. It clawed to be free like a beast from its cage. His lips brushed hers lightly, reverently, knowing that kissing her was the last thing he should do. A wise man would run for his horse, ride away fast and hard as if demons followed. He admitted demons did chase him, his own private demons, ones that refused to allow him a life, a future. He would not deny himself this brief respite. Stephen crushed his greedy mouth to Phoebe's willing one.

  Stephen had shared kisses with other women as a prelude to lovemaking, a task necessary to prepare a woman for the physical act to come. Kissing Phoebe was a banquet in itself. W
ith the dueling of tongues and reckless melding of lips, they feasted upon one another. Like a madman unable to discern right from wrong, driven only by need, his tongue explored the fullness of her lips, the recesses of her mouth. He savored her gasps, her breathy sighs of assent.

  His hands caressed the bounty of her breasts. Her desire was evident and his fingertips tingled, down through his hands to the very part of him that demanded satisfaction. One by one, he loosened the buttons of her jacket and slid the garment from her shoulders. She offered no objection.

  Shifting himself to his knees, he loosened the tie on her skirt and slipped the fabric from her body. He froze.

  With an unwavering stare, he raked his gaze from her boot-clad ankles up her long legs, over the shadow beneath her shift at the juncture of her thighs to the soft, supple mounds of her breasts, the peach-tinted nipples already swollen and hard. He slowed his breathing, a difficult task when all he thought to do was bury himself deep within her warmth. Damn, she'd told him she loved him. She was his. He had all the time in the world to make love to her in all the ways he'd imagined.

  He lifted first one of her feet, then the other, removing her boots and stockings. Using his knuckles, he massaged her tender soles until her toes curled in response. Next came her calves, his stroke slow and steady, kneading the muscles of her legs. As he inched his way to her thighs, the fabric of her shift moved slowly upward. He straddled her body and as his hands hovered at the top of her legs, he waited until she looked at him, forcing her to acknowledge what they meant to share.

  She opened her eyes, burning him with a look of such love and trust that he paused. Lord, what was he thinking? But he knew. His hands scrunched the fabric into a tight ball. He was thinking to make love to the woman who'd just told him she loved him. She wanted him. What more did he need to know? This was right.

  "Lift yourself a bit." When she did, he edged the shift to her narrow waist, beyond her shoulders, and up over her head. He needed to see her in all her naked glory. The garment fell to the ground unnoticed.