His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance)

by Chatham, Victoria

  “Could you have overtaken her?” Partridge asked.

  Lucius shook his head. “I was behind the stage at every stop.”

  Mrs. Partridge bustled off to the kitchen to prepare some refreshments but they were all startled by a loud thumping above them.

  “Oh, Lord luv us, he’ll want to know what’s afoot,” Partridge groaned. “He seems to sense when someone else is in the house. Wait here.”

  He disappeared up the stairs. Lucius listened to the footsteps echo on the floor boards above his head, heard muffled voices. Then Partridge called down to him.

  “Sir Miles would like you to come up, milord. This way.”

  Lucius hurried up the stairs and met Partridge on the landing.

  “How bad is he?” he asked in a low voice.

  Partridge shook his head. “The doctor doesn’t know how he’s managed to hold on this long. You’ll find him very changed, I fear.”

  He pushed open the bedroom door and Lucius followed him in. Sir Miles sat propped up in bed on a stack of pillows. His breath rasped in and out of his lungs. Paper thin lids covered his eyes which appeared to have sunken into his skull. His hands lay limp on the coverlet and were, if anything, more frail than when they clasped Lucius’ hands on his first visit to Baymoor. Then Lucius had been surprised at the strength in the old man. Now he feared they would not have the strength of a sparrow.

  Partridge indicated a chair placed beside the bed and Lucius sat down.

  “Is she here?” The question escaped the cracked, dried lips and Lucius leaned in so that Sir Miles could hear him.

  “Not yet, Sir Miles,” he said. “I am going back to Honiton to meet the next stage.”

  For a moment Sir Miles’ lids fluttered then he opened his eyes. Momentarily shocked at how the film of old age had dimmed them in so short a time, Lucius quickly composed his features.

  “Did you get the licence?” Sir Miles rasped.

  “It is in my pocket.”

  “Good. I’ve advised the Reverend Tucker, who hovers as much as that damn doctor, Ferryman. One gets my body, the other my soul but not just yet. Not until I’ve seen my Emmaline wed.”

  He lifted his hand and Lucius caught it, inwardly cursing as he did so the time he’d wasted going to Epsom. He should have returned directly to London. He should have done what he’d wanted to do from the start and pull Emmaline into his arms and kiss her senseless. He should have brought her to Baymoor in his own comfortable carriage and fulfilled an old man’s wish.

  Instead, his temper had overcome his better judgement. He could still see the desolation in her eyes as he’d told her he never wanted to see her again. Could still taste the apology that had leapt to his tongue and been quickly swallowed as anger at her had raged through him.

  He tempered his bitter thoughts. They would do neither him nor Sir Miles any good. What he had to do now, and quickly, was find Emmaline.

  “Never fear, Sir Miles,” he promised. “I’ll have her here as soon as I can.”

  He gave the old man’s hand a gentle squeeze and hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

  Mrs. Partridge pulled out a chair and indicated the loaded platter on the table.

  “You won’t do yourself any favours by going hungry, my Lord.” She poured a mug of ale for him. “Partridge is saddling a horse for you now, but eat up.”

  The housekeeper intended only kindness and practicality but Lucius could barely swallow a bite of meat, chasing it down with a mouthful of ale.

  “I’ll take the cheese with me, Mrs. Partridge,” he said, getting to his feet. “If by chance Emmaline arrives before I return, please see that she stays here.”

  “Don’t you worry, my Lord. Once she gets here I’m sure she’ll want nothing more than to sit at her grandpapa’s bedside.”

  Lucius ran from the house and vaulted onto the black horse, Onyx, held once again by Reuben. He took the reins of the job horse he’d ridden in on and set off up the lane.

  Could it really only have been a week since he had previously done this?

  ***

  The carrier’s cart put Emmaline down just where she asked. She gathered her skirts and climbed over a five barred gate into Baymoor’s top ten acres, where she untied the ribbons on her bonnet and pulled it from her head.

  A playful breeze tugged at her hair and she removed her pins, letting her locks tumble about her shoulders. Throwing her arms out, she spun in circles, drinking in the salty air, breathing in the familiar smells of high summer.

  Home. She was home.

  The distant cry of gulls wheeling high in the sky mingled with the trill of meadow larks and the chirp of hedge sparrows. Giving a little whoop of joy she began to run through the tall grass. She heard the chink of hooves in the lane, but was enjoying her freedom too much to pay attention to who it might be.

  Her flying feet brought her to the yard and she slipped unnoticed across it, entered the house and paused, sensed from the quietness that enveloped her that all was not well. Hurrying into the kitchen she startled Mrs. Partridge who almost dropped the pot she was removing from the trivet on the hearth.

  “Oh, Miss, thank goodness you’re here,” she said. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she quickly wiped it away with the corner of her apron.

  “Grandpapa?” Emmaline’s heart bumped unsteadily as she waited for Mrs. Partridge’s answer.

  “He’s very weak, Miss, but you go on up and I’ll bring you some tea.”

  Emmaline clutched her skirts and hurried up the stairs she knew so well. She paused on the landing, letting the sounds and scents of the old house settle about her, calming herself before entering her grandfather’s bed chamber.

  She peeked in, not wanting to disturb him if he was asleep, wanting to calm her own distress before taking a seat beside his bed. Crescents of purple tinged with brown underlined his closed eyes and were the only sign of colour in his pale face.

  The sight of him tore at her heart. How could he have grown so old in the short time she had been in London?

  Creeping in, not wanting to disturb him, she took the chair beside his bed and sat watching him. His breathing was shallow yet she could see the rapid pulse beating beneath the thin, yellowed skin on his neck. Astonished, she watched as a smile spread across his lips.

  “I know you’re there,” he whispered without opening his eyes.

  “Grandpapa, I am very cross with you.” Emmaline blinked her eyes to whisk away a rush of sudden tears. “Had I known you were so low I would have returned sooner.”

  She slipped her hand into his as he turned it upwards on the coverlet.

  “Which was why I would not let Peggy send for you.” Now his lids lifted but with much effort and his watery gaze honed in on her face. “You know what it was all for, my child, and your choice makes me very happy.”

  “My choice, Grandpapa?” Puzzlement was clear in Emmaline’s response. “What do you mean? I have made no choice for I have received no proposal.”

  “Have you not?” A wry chuckle ended in a coughing spasm and Emmaline jumped up, placed her arm behind her grandfather’s shoulders and propped him up until it passed. Adjusting his pillows, she laid him back against them. He asked for water and she hurried to pour him a glass, which she held to his mouth and helped him sip.

  “It was exceedingly busy and exciting in London but I cannot help but be thankful to be home,” she said as she straightened the sheets and coverlet.

  “Saucy miss!” Sir Miles gently chided her. “Send you off to acquire some town bronze and a beau and you net yourself a Lord no less.”

  “A Lord?” Emmaline’s hand went to her throat in alarm. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “It is too late for you to be missish with me, my dear.” He patted her hand. “No doubt you have your reasons for keeping it quiet, but Avondale is a fine young man and you will suit very well.”

  “Lucius?” Emmaline sat down heavily in the chair, her legs suddenly weak. “He was here?”


  “And will be again. He is only gone to Honiton to await the next stage and you, yet here you are. I’ll not ask how.”

  He fell silent. As his eyes slowly lost their focus his lids closed and Emmaline, after listening to his breathing for a moment realized he had fallen asleep.

  Casting her mind back, she recalled Lucius’ unexplained absence after Lady Darnley’s dinner party. Had he visited her grandfather at that time? What could they have discussed? Did he yet know how truly unsuitable she was to be anyone’s wife, least of all his?

  Getting to her feet she went downstairs to the kitchen. Peggy was not there but could not be far away, for the kettle was steaming on the hearth.

  Emmaline took a cloth to cover the handle, lifted the kettle onto the trivet and looked about her for the tea pot. It was already sitting on a tray on the table, but she could think no more of domestic chores at this moment.

  She needed seclusion to collect her scattered thoughts and there was only one place to do that.

  Leaving the house she climbed over a stile set in the wall between it and the stables, making her way into the fields beyond.

  Lucius clattered into the yard in time to see her slim figure disappear into a covert of trees. Where was she going? He pulled the horse to a sliding halt. The sound of his hasty arrival brought Partridge into the yard to meet him.

  “Back so soon, milord?”

  “I met the carrier,” Lucius explained. “He’s taking the hack back to Honiton for me. He said he put Emmaline down about the same time I left. Where would she be going now?”

  “There’s only one place I can think of, milord,” Partridge advised. “There’s a path on t’other side of the stile. It’ll take you right down to the beach, but on the far side of that first covert there’s a stone bridge over a freshet that Miss Emmaline favours.”

  Lucius nodded his understanding, gathered the horse beneath him and set it at the wall. With a quick flick of his tail Onyx sailed over it and landed safely on the far side. Lucius spurred the horse into a gallop along the well-marked path.

  Onyx’s long stride took him into the cover of the trees where he continued at a trot along the sun dappled path, the horse’s hoof beats muffled by the deep leaf mould surface. He heard the soft babble of water away to his left above the huff of Onyx’s breath and the chink of his bridle, held his mount steady as he listened to the gentle rustle of breeze blown leaves above him, let the quiet surrounding him calm his nerves.

  Nerves? It shocked him to realize that yes, he was nervous. He was not sure how he was going to broach the subject of marriage to someone who, far from throwing lures his way, had seemed to want to avoid him at all costs.

  The special license was safely in his pocket but would she agree to its use? He must have run mad but, as this thought came into his mind, he caught sight of her and stopped.

  Kicking his feet free of the stirrups he slid from the saddle and threw the reins over a low hanging branch.

  The freshet cut deep between high banks and flowed beneath the bridge which spanned it. Emmaline’s boots were on the grass beside her, her skirts rumpled around her knees and bare legs dangling in the water. Head bent forward, her hair a thick black curtain screening her face, she did not hear his approach.

  Lucius pulled off his own top boots and stockings and trod silently across the turf to sit beside her. The water, as he slipped his bare feet into it beside hers, was icy cold and he couldn’t contain an agonized shout at the shock of it.

  Emmaline turned to him, her eyes wide and an expression of alarm on her face. She made as if to move, but he caught her hand.

  “Please stay.”

  His fingers were firm but loose and Emmaline could easily have broken the prison of his grip. But she didn’t want to.

  Wanted instead to look into his eyes, but dared not. One look would shake her resolve and all her good intentions would be lost. Knew her emotions would be printed on her face for him to see.

  She looked down instead and saw his naked foot drifting idly in the sun sparkled water. White as fine marble, with long, straight toes, she watched in fascinated silence as the current nudged his foot against hers. Shocked at the contact, she quickly withdrew her feet and dried her toes on the hem of her skirt before gathering it about her legs.

  “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.” Her heart thumped unsteadily as she waited for his reply. Closing her eyes as he leaned in to her, she found she could not pull away.

  “I didn’t want to see John Coachman again,” he said. “But I did want to see you.”

  Her heart leapt, heard the truth in his quiet words.

  “Grandpapa says you have offered for me.” She held her breath, waiting for his response.

  “I have.”

  “And what of the rumours about me?” Emmaline asked, her voice hard. “What if I am the murdering whore the ton would have me be?”

  “If there is any truth to the matter, maybe you will one day trust me enough to explain it,” Lucius said.

  “You are not going to insist on it now?”

  He turned to her and lifted her chin, forced her to look into his eyes.

  “I don’t believe that it’s true.”

  Emmaline’s eyes flew open in surprise.

  “You don’t?” she stuttered, shock and delight racing together through her mind.

  “No.” Lucius gently stroked her cheek. “You try to be hard and to shock people, but I have seen a softness in you that belies that side. Your grandfather wants to see you married as soon as possible and was happy to give us his blessing. Will you marry me?”

  Emmaline rested her head on her knees with a sigh.

  “But from the start you looked at me with such disdain, and I saw the disgust on your face at Lady Darnley’s dinner party.”

  “You saw disdain?” Lucius asked. “I do beg your pardon. I admit to concern that you were one of Juliana’s friends of whom I knew nothing. And at Rosemary Darnley’s dinner party I was disgusted with Rosemary and that roguish nephew of hers for what they were trying to do to you, but never with you.”

  “But you cannot wish to be married.” Emmaline’s words were muffled in her skirts as she covered her burning face.

  “Of course not,” Lucius cordially agreed. “But I cannot permit you to continue linking your escapades with my name without impunity. As Lady Clifton, the ton will merely consider your actions an eccentricity, so you may gallop headlong where you will and drive any equipage of mine that you choose. Marriage is the only solution.”

  “So it is to be a marriage of convenience?” She turned to him, her hands curled into fists, apprehension fluttering in her stomach. “You want to wed me, bed me and when you tire of me you will take a mistress?”

  “Ah, I see my damnable reputation precedes me.” He dropped his head in mock dismay and shook it but turned to look her full in the face. “I promise that for as long as we are married I will honour our vows and will never take a mistress.”

  Emmaline closed her eyes, let his words wash over her and fill her heart.

  If only it could be so. She had to tell him. Could not let this continue. Gathering her thoughts, choosing her words, she caught Lucius’ hand.

  Turning her full gaze on him, she opened her mouth to speak but promptly closed it when she heard Partridge calling her.

  CHAPTER 19

  Emmaline scrambled to her feet. Partridge would not have come looking for her without good reason. It must be her grandfather.

  Don’t die, grandpapa, she thought. Please don’t die. I’m coming.

  She pulled on her boots while Lucius reached for his. He pushed his still wet feet into his top boots, caught Onyx’s reins and vaulted into the saddle. He held out his hand to Emmaline, hoisted her up behind him and turned the horse’s head towards home. Onyx needed no spurring as they sped along the path to where Partridge was waiting, winded, at the edge of the covert.

  “Peggy sent for both the doctor and the vicar,” he gasped,
holding his side and leaning against the trunk of the nearest tree. “You go on.”

  Lucius nodded and urged the horse into a gallop. Its hooves sounded hollow on the dry, hard path and kicked up a cloud of dust that hung in its wake. Emmaline pointed at a gate off to the side of the field and he headed for it. She slipped from the saddle before Onyx came to a halt, jerked open the gate and let it swing crazily on its hinges. Not waiting for Lucius, she dashed straight to the house.

  She found Peggy at Sir Miles’ bedside, bathing his forehead. His head turned from side to side on the pillow, his hands flapped against the bedcovers like a trapped bird’s wings against a window pane and Emmaline instantly knew from his flushed face that he had a fever.

  “There’s nothing else we can do for now,” Peggy said, dipping the towel into the bowl of water on the night stand.

  Emmaline stepped up to the bed and caught her grandfather’s flailing hand. His skin burned hers where she clasped it.

  “Grandpapa, I’m here and beg that you be still.”

  She laid her hand on his forehead. The sound of her voice and the touch of her hand appeared to calm him somewhat. His eyelids flickered but did not open. Her heart constricted at the sight. Having witnessed many a soldier’s final battle, she knew her grandfather now faced his.

  Lucius padded in behind her, pulled up a chair for her and eased her into it. He looked down on Sir Miles with alarm, having never before seen anyone so close to death. Both his parents had sickened and died, each in a matter of days and on neither occasion had Lucius or his sisters been allowed to sit at their bedsides.

  He hid his fears as best he could. All that mattered now was for him to do what he could for Emmaline and her grandfather.

  “Tell me what you need,” he said quietly.

  “Nothing, for now,” she replied, her gaze fastened on her grandfather, her free hand smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”