Potent Charms

by Peggy Waide

  Before Hildegard had an opportunity to blink, let alone ask a second time, Phoebe jumped to her feet. "Gladly, Aunt Hildegard. I welcome the exercise to waken me after dinner."

  The oddest look, one almost like anticipation, flashed in Hildegard's eyes, then vanished. A feeling of unease jolted Phoebe's body, which she quickly dismissed. After all, what harm could come from fetching her aunt's fan?

  In no hurry to return to the dancing, she slowly found her way to the room near the back of the house where they had earlier viewed Winston's newest acquisition: a lovely painting of the Thames by some artist named Joseph Turner.

  Other than an occasional chair set about the long rectangular hall, the gallery contained little furniture. Paintings dotted the walls and statues occupied spaces on the floor. Although the subject matter varied greatly from that in Lord Wyman's private study, the room reminded her of her first encounter with Stephen. After today's events, Wyman's paintings held new meaning. Disgusted by her preoccupation with Stephen, she crossed to the table Hildegard had described but found nothing. Knowing Hildegard, she'd spitefully sent Phoebe on a fool's errand just so she could lecture Charity.

  A light breeze drifted across her shoulders. She whirled about to find Sir Lemmer leaning insolently against the now-open door to the terrace.

  "You look displeased, my darling dearest. Were you expecting someone else? Lord Badrick perhaps? 'Tis a pity he's engrossed in a card game at the moment."

  Phoebe noticed the disapproval in Lemmer's voice and knew he'd clearly chosen words to incite fear. A flicker of apprehension skittered down her spine. She squared her shoulders and leveled at him a look of disdain. "Excuse me. I was just leaving."

  Strutting forward like a barnyard rooster, he stepped directly in her path. Cedar, the scent she recognized as his, assaulted her nose. His hand shot out to snare her wrist. "Do you know what happens when a young lady is discovered alone with a bachelor in a, shall we say, compromising situation?"

  She felt trapped, very much like the afternoon in Hyde Park. His eyes blazed with unleashed passion. She certainly didn't expect Stephen to come to her rescue this evening. Her wits would be her only protection. "It matters not to me. I certainly have no intention of compromising myself in your company and I doubt anyone will rush in here anytime soon to discover us."

  "Society is extremely fickle. Ruination requires little. Even the young toads interested in your title or your funds will be hard-pressed to ignore propriety. 'Tis a sacrifice, but alas, in the grandest of gestures I shall wait and kindly relieve your aunt of her responsibilities to you."

  "Precisely, sir. You shall wait. Forever, if that is your objective. Now get out of my way." She tried to wrench herself free from his powerful grip. When she failed to loosen his hold, she lifted her knee toward his groin, almost losing her balance in the process. She cursed the confining fabric of her dress.

  He grabbed her about the waist, yanking her hard against him. "You have such fire, Phoebe. I have not forgotten that incident in the park, and I assure you at another time, another place, I will remind you of it in great detail. As to our being interrupted, your dear aunt and I have a bargain. In the company of a lord or two, she shall seek her errant niece and her missing fan only to discover us."

  No wonder Hildegard had looked as though she'd won a chess match. Phoebe had known her aunt disliked her, but had never anticipated such a vile act of betrayal. Unfortunately, there was little she could do about her aunt right now. Lemmer required her full attention. "Personally, I don't give a damn if the entire party enters. No one will believe I willingly came here with you."

  "Shall we see?" He crushed his lips to hers. Her stomach roiled. No matter how hard she fought the embrace, the scoundrel's arms held her captive. As she struggled in earnest, Lemmer chuckled into her mouth, seemingly enjoying her efforts. When his hand grabbed her breast, she bit his lower lip; to her satisfaction, she tasted blood.

  Lemmer lifted his head and clutched her chin in his hand. Like a snake poised to strike, he hissed. "That was very foolish."

  Her jaw throbbed from the pressure of his hold. Before his lips descended again, she was free, tumbling backwards into a marble statue. She barely recognized Stephen. His face was contorted with rage, his eyes clouded with fury.

  Air whooshed from Lemmer's mouth as Stephen slammed a fist into Lemmer's stomach. He continued to hold Lemmer by his no-longer-perfect cravat and pound the man's body. Mercy, if she didn't do something, surely Stephen would kill the man, not that she cared. But Stephen's reputation was an altogether different matter. Society needed no additional tinder to fuel their tales and rumors. She grabbed his arm before it connected again. "Stephen, you've done enough. We need to leave before Hildegard arrives."

  His iron gaze bored into Lemmer, who remained standing only because Stephen gripped his shirt. "I care not whether your aunt comes or not. This scoundrel dared touch you!"

  "Look at me. I'm fine. Come."

  Stephen hurled Lemmer against the nearby wall, where the man crumpled like a sack of grain. Stephen turned toward Phoebe. Accusation blazed in his stony glare. Good heavens, not only was he furious with Lemmer, he was furious with her as well.

  Pressing himself to a sitting position, Lemmer swiped his hand across his bloodied lip. "You bastard. Must you ruin Phoebe as well, add another woman to the Badrick cemetery? Was it not enough to seduce and murder my sister?"

  "You sanctimonious hypocrite," Stephen spat, every bit of wrath wrapped in those three words. "I know all about your brotherly devotion to Emily. My God, she was your sister! You can't forgive the fact that she chose me over living in a house in which you presided, your insidious behavior growing bolder with every day. My actions pale in comparison to yours."

  Lemmer's face flushed red. Spittle flew from his mouth. "That's a lie."

  "Emily spared me no detail. I know all your ugly little secrets and if you think I'd allow you near Phoebe for one moment, think again. I'll kill you first."

  Lemmer pushed himself to his feet, leaning against the wall. "Phoebe, let me help you."

  "I don't need or want your help."

  A mask of anger contorted the features of Lemmer's face. Beyond reason, his words flowed like a river of hot lava, set to obliterate everything in its path. "Fine. Go with him, but do not forget I warned you. You will regret this. I swear on my sister's grave." His voice shook with fury. "You waste your time with this bastard. He's not good enough to kiss your boots. He'll seduce you just like he did my sister, and if he marries you, which I doubt he's man enough to do, he'll kill you just the same."

  "You disgusting leech," Stephen warned. "You're lucky I don't call you out at dawn. Unfortunately, Phoebe's reputation is at stake." He thrust his hand through his hair. "Emily's dead. Nothing you or I do will ever bring her back. Let it end. Here. Tonight."

  Stephen barely spared Lemmer another passing glance. He collected Phoebe and tromped from the room, weaving his way throughout the house. Silence reigned between them, the air too charged for speech. She knew she should return to the ballroom and appear as though nothing had happened, but she couldn't leave Stephen in his current frame of mind. He'd likely go back and beat Lemmer another time or two.

  Stephen stopped outside a door she didn't recognize and thrust her inside. The room was dimly lit, but she recognized the objects of war. Swords and shields of every shape and size adorned the walls. A wooden case housed daggers big and small, each sharpened to deadly points. When Stephen slammed the door behind him, she realized his anger had not yet cooled. She was about to become the recipient of a blistering lecture. She positioned herself beside a full suit of armor on the far side of the room, hop ing the stuffed mannequin might somehow offer support. She feared she would need it.

  "Are you so desperate for a husband you now lure your prey into dark corners? To test my patience? To allow other men to touch you then make comparisons?"

  "Allow me to explain."

  "I have warned you r
epeatedly about that man."

  "My aunt is responsible. She was supposed to enter, discover Lemmer and I together and somehow or another make me appear the wanton, forcing Lemmer and I to marry."

  "Any number of men could have followed you after you paraded yourself before them all night long. Your behavior was irresponsible. This would not have happened in the first place if you had bothered to think."

  He circled the room, pacing, very much like he had earlier at Chanctonbury Ring. His voice was brittle. He dared to accuse her? After he had ignored her all evening? After her uninhibited response to his touch just this afternoon? Her temper, fueled by his unwillingness to listen and heightened by Lemmer's attack, exploded. "Don't you dare lay this at my feet, you arrogant, egotistical prig. You're blinded by jealousy and have already set your mind to my fault and refuse to see my side."

  "Hah. No man will sit back and deny himself when something is flaunted so openly. I think we proved that most effectively earlier today." Stopping beside a round oak table, he planted his hands on either side of an ornate helmet with a ghastly spike on the top. "If he does, he is a fool."

  "And you are anything but a fool?"

  "Exactly."

  She marched across the room, no longer content to stand idly by and defend herself. She had a point to make as well. "Yet you deny me because you fear a woman you never met, a ridiculous curse." She tossed her head toward the ceiling and snorted. "And you dare call me foolish! You act the injured party simply because I choose to grasp my fate with both hands."

  He leaned forward. "You grasp a cold piece of earth and stone. You've chosen wealth rather than the pleasure I know you find with me. You cling to dreams of love like a naive child. I hate to remind you, but love is an illusion glorified by idealistic poets and grasping, melancholy mothers. Love does not conquer all. Love does not guarantee happiness."

  She mirrored his position and boldly met his gaze, her nose mere inches from his. "I'd rather believe in something good and pure than cling to my cynicism and fear like a coward. Marsden Manor is more than a place to live. If I can't have my freedom, then allow me to choose a life I can tolerate." She stared at him with fire in her eyes. "Yes, I dream and wish and pray for love, for a husband who greets me with affection and respect. He will listen to me, talk with me, and grow old with me. And what of children? Little ones to tuck into bed at night, to carry on the legacy I leave them. If I become your mistress, I lose all hope for all those things. You would win the battle, but in the end, we both would lose the war."

  Dear God, how her words burned deep within his heart. He wanted all those things. With her. Only he was terrified. If he married her, he sentenced her to death. Even if the curse were an illusion, a reflection of his own actions, how could he take the risk? He already cared more than he dared.

  "Fine. Hold fast to your childish dreams, the illusion, and dare to find the man to give them to you. I cannot marry you. I will not marry you. Take your remaining days. Try to make yourself a match. I shall be waiting." He whirled on his heels and fled the room.

  A solitary tear rolled down Phoebe's cheek. Her heart felt tattered, ripped in two. The fool man. He cared. She knew he did. He fled his own demons, and she could not overcome them. Phoebe felt her mood tip precariously toward despair.

  In the looming silence, metal clanged against metal like a parish bell. She froze as her mind wildly considered the unfortunate possibility that someone else occupied the room and had witnessed her scene with Stephen. She almost laughed. With her luck, the Prince Regent, his entourage and forty or so other people hid in a corner. How dare someone eavesdrop? She fisted her hands on her hips and reeled about, her stance one of belligerence. Her gaze searched the room. "Who's there?" She waited, tapping her toe in agitation as she often did. Finally a shadow parted from the wall near the far corner of the room. As the apparition moved closer, Phoebe recognized his bold features. She groaned. "Lord Tewksbury."

  He bowed slightly. "Good evening."

  The time for pretenses had come and gone. "Well, kick a rock. It seems my life is to be invaded by men whether I like it or not. How long were you present, sir?"

  Avoiding her probing stare, he absently studied a pair of crossed swords above the doorway and cleared his throat several times. At least he had the good grace to be embarrassed. He'd apparently heard every miserable word she and Stephen had shared. "Never mind," she muttered. "My luck continues to go from bad to worse. Why were you hiding?"

  "I came here to ease the pain in my head. You and Lord Badrick entered on my heels. I never truly saw an oppor tune time to make my presence known. If I may say, Lord Badrick is making a mistake."

  "On that we agree."

  "What shall you do?"

  "My task remains the same."

  Tewksbury walked forward, stopping a respectable two feet from her. His blue eyes held compassion and understanding. No recrimination lingered in their depths. He offered her a quiet smile. "In that case, there happens to be a small country fair tomorrow. I would be honored if you would accompany me."

  Oh la, what to do? His request added to her already present confusion. She couldn't very well hide for the balance of the weekend, and Stephen had more or less abandoned her. She needed time alone to collect her thoughts and the opportunity to reason with Stephen one last time. Then she would decide what she would do.

  She almost laughed. What could she do? Her choices were few. "You've caught me quite by surprise. May I give you my answer in the morning?"

  "Of course." He draped her hand across his forearm. "Now, I suggest we find our way back to the ballroom before trouble finds you yet again tonight."

  When she remembered Lemmer's words, revealing Hildegard's role in his little scheme, her temper flared anew. "Likely too late. I have something to say to my aunt."

  Phoebe easily spotted her aunt, who, thankfully, stood in an alcove tucked away in the corner of the ballroom. Good. Privacy suited the conversation to come. As she approached, Phoebe realized Hildegard doted on an older gentleman who hovered over Charity, who was busy feasting her eyes on Sir Ellwood.

  Was this the infamous Lord Hadlin? A few stray hairs adorned the top of his bald pate, and thick, bushy eyebrows lined his forehead like a furry caterpillar. He laid his hands on top of his protruding belly and leered at Charity as though she were a stick of peppermint. If this was Lord Hadlin, it was no small wonder Charity found the thought of marriage so unappealing.

  Suddenly Hildegard's crimes grew even more horrified. The woman cared for no one but herself; her obsessive need for power and esteem had become the driving force behind her actions. Phoebe almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost.

  She marched directly to Hildegard's side. "Pardon me, but I need a word with you. Alone."

  Phoebe's demand elicited varied reactions. Lord Hadlin's eyes narrowed with disapproval, his caterpillar brows burrowing even closer together. He said nothing as he stomped away. Charity blinked several times, obviously astonished by Phoebe's actions.

  Hildegard squared her shoulders, wearing her dignity like a shield. She opened her fan and furiously waved it before her face. "You rude, ungrateful child."

  Even though Phoebe wanted nothing more than to wring her aunt's deceitful neck, she kept her voice calm. "My, my, my. I see you found your fan."

  "Actually, I did," announced Charity. "The fan was beneath mother's dress all the time. She tried to find you and tell you."

  "That will be enough, Charity," snapped Hildegard, her face beginning to flush.

  "And who accompanied her?" asked Phoebe, all innocence and sweetness.

  "Lord Renoke and Lord Milsip," Charity eagerly said.

  "Imagine your surprise when you discovered the gallery empty, neither Sir Lemmer nor myself anywhere to be found."

  After a moment's hesitation, Hildegard scanned the crowded ballroom, the behavior the only confirmation of the woman's sins that Phoebe needed. "You won't find him," she said. "He fled to his room to nurse his
bruises."

  "Why would I care about Sir Lemmer's whereabouts?"

  "That is a question I have asked myself repeatedly. He mentioned a bargain of sorts. It had to be something of great importance for him to sink to such disgraceful conduct."

  Hildegard simply stared straight ahead, her face drawn in a smug look.

  Shifting her gaze from one woman to the other, Charity finally stared at her mother. Sadness and understanding filled her eyes. "What have you done now?"

  "Mind your own business, you foolish girl."

  "I don't think so, mother. Not this time."

  Hildegard's lips twitched several times before she managed to find any words. Then she found a mouthful, her fury directed at Phoebe. "Do you see what you've done? This is your fault. Now my daughter displays insolence! I won't have it."

  "I'm pleased to witness the strides Charity has made. As for me, I shall remove myself from your household shortly and take up residence at Marsden Manor. If Charity chooses, rather than marry an old fool you force on her, she can live with me."

  "Marsden Manor will never be yours, you ungrateful, impertinent hellion! Had Lord Badrick not interfered, I would already have everything I deserved."

  Animosity rolled from Hildegard's body in waves. Anger had certainly loosened her tongue. Determined to discover all her aunt's secrets tonight, Phoebe assumed the role of the accuser. "You lied to me about Marsden Manor, didn't you? You knew about the debt all along. Did you hope to pay the taxes yourself and make a claim?"

  "It should have been mine all along. You might have escaped tonight, but I shall persevere. Wait and see."

  "Which brings us back to Sir Lemmer and your plan. Unfortunately for you, Sir Lemmer has had a change of heart."

  "Impossible. The man wants a title and he shall have yours"

  "Is that what you promised him?" asked Phoebe.

  Charity sighed. "Mother, you didn't." Shaking her head, she said, "Phoebe, I'm so very sorry. I had no idea."