Siren

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  His brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything all right?”

  “I—I…” Phoebe shook her head, unsure what to say or do. Bad blood boiled between the Witherspoons and Landons dating back decades before Patrick’s death. Phoebe didn’t know all the specifics, but the feud had begun over an Egyptian amulet known as the Heart of the Nile.

  Phoebe’s grandfather, Zachariah Landon, and Robert Witherspoon had been great friends, and great adventurers. Together they’d traveled to Egypt and uncovered an ancient and valuable amulet known as the Heart of the Nile. The celebration and fame accompanying the find was short-lived with each man believing he was entitled to the artifact. Ultimately, Zachariah Landon took possession of the piece through a duel in which Robert was injured but did not lose his life. Robert accused Zachariah of cheating in the duel, and proclaimed himself the rightful owner of the amulet.

  The resulting feud between the families was legendary throughout Britain, and because of it, Phoebe had been restricted from the neighboring Witherspoon estate her entire life.

  The Landon’s had maintained possession of the jewel until the night of Patrick’s murder. That very night the Heart of the Nile had been stolen from it’s display case. It couldn’t be coincidence. The crimes occurring separately on the same night defied statistical odds, and the Witherspoons were obvious suspects in both. Almost immediately after the murder, the Witherspoons—a prominent military family—had packed up and moved to London, leaving any knowledge of them to be gleaned from newspapers and gossip columns.

  Most in Corsair took the Witherspoons’ flight as an admission of guilt. Moreover, James had been promptly shipped off to the army which sent speculations regarding his involvement in the theft and murder soaring. Despite the suspicious activities the magistrate had never managed to gather enough evidence to bring James Witherspoon to justice.

  Confusion and despair coursed through Phoebe as she studied Jamie’s face. The name James Witherspoon was synonymous with trouble, and the scandal papers painted him as one of the most unsuitable men in all Britain. A famed drunkard and womanizer, he was known for his devilish grin and total lack of military decorum. The accomplished officer standing before her hardly fit the mental picture she’d created based upon gossip and family hatred. The colonel did not have Devil’s horns or a malicious smirk, and his eyes didn’t glimmer black with evil. In truth he had rather nice eyes… warm and golden brown…

  “Are you well?” The Colonel’s question sparked her from her thoughts. He reached for her elbow once more. “Do you need to sit in the shade?”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she said curtly, jerking her elbow away. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize…” She stopped short, mentally collecting herself, and looked him in the eye. “My name is Lady Phoebe Landon.”

  The fire in his gaze sobered instantly. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Ah, yes, the legendary beauty. I’ve heard of you. Nose so high in the air you pay no mind to the scores of suitors chasing in your wake.”

  Phoebe narrowed her eyes, ire prickling beneath the insult. She’d heard that line over and again since her debut season three years before. “I’ve heard of you as well, Colonel.”

  His golden hued eyes chilled. “That I killed your brother, no doubt.”

  Phoebe lifted her chin. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  The simple, resolute answer resonated within her. Strangely, her gut instinct was to believe him. Cautiously she considered him. “I’ve heard conflicting stories about you, Colonel.” Her gaze never wavered from his. “There is the drivel written in the scandal papers, of course, but I’ve recently heard reports that you are a hero, a wolf in battle, and a master horseman.”

  His expression melted from one of wariness to surprise, and his eyes, the smooth color of whiskey, melded with hers. “Is that so?” He stepped closer, so close she could smell the keen scent of his shaving soap and see the mischievous dimple winking from the corner of his mouth. “Do you know what else they say about me?”

  She tilted her head in silent question.

  “That I’m an amazing lover.”

  She snapped backward, mouth agape. How dare he? She pierced him with her haughtiest glare. “A true master should hardly need to sing his own praises.” Lifting her chin, she spun curtly on a heel more than ready to leave the parade grounds, forget Jamie Witherspoon, and begin preparations for the ball that evening. “Good day, Colonel.”

  As Phoebe marched away from the offending colonel, she spied Sarah rushing toward her, a very serious expression on her face.

  “Are you ready to go?” Sarah asked, linking her arm through Phoebe’s.

  “Most definitely,” Phoebe replied, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder.

  “Good. I need your help getting ready for the ball.”

  Phoebe glanced at her friend. “I take it your visit with Nicholas didn’t go as planned.” The young officer, like several other soldiers, was in town for the late General Witherspoon’s funeral. Sarah had set her cap for him years ago. Her family had no funds for a grand London debut and Sarah had high hopes that Nick would offer for her before leaving the country again.

  “Nothing with Nicholas goes as planned,” Sarah grumbled. “He’s entirely too honorable.”

  Phoebe laughed. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes to the heavens, huffing with frustration. “I’d like to know he feels something for me other than friendship. He’s always so formal and proper. If tonight doesn’t go well I’m afraid he’ll never propose and I’ll end up an old maid.”

  “Don’t be silly, Sarah. There are plenty of men here in the country that would leap at the chance to marry you. All you have to do is flutter your lashes in their direction and they’ll flock to you.”

  Sarah shook her head, expression grave. “There is no one else for me, Phoebe. I love Nick, and I won’t settle for any other man.”

  “Not to worry.” Phoebe gave her friend’s arm a little squeeze. “I have a gown you can borrow. If it doesn’t secure a marriage proposal, nothing will.”

  Four

  James didn’t know what had possessed him. Madness… Perhaps. Ladies perfume… Most definitely. And… the overwhelming desire to sample Lady Phoebe’s tart little mouth.

  The massive Corsair manor loomed in the darkness, a combined beacon of formidable shadows and golden lantern light. Carriages rolled steadily up the cobbled drive and couples on foot wove through the newly budding gardens. Music floated out over the countryside, beckoning all to come join the merriment, and dance. The Corsair’s grand ball officially ended the annual spring festival. James hadn’t attended the affair since he was a boy, but Toby, his young nephew, had needed a bit of fun after the general’s funeral.

  James steadily made his way toward the ancient castle. He shouldn’t be there. He’d be lucky if he wasn't thrown bodily from the party if Corsair discovered his presence, and then there was the respectable mourning period for his uncle to consider. Of course, James never had been the respectable type, and moreover he was compelled by a strange need to see Lady Phoebe again. His siren. She was hardly the type of woman he’d normally pursue. A refined lady. Even if he was of a marrying mind, she was far beyond his grasp, but soon enough, he’d be headed back to Brussels and the war with Napoleon. Before he died in a bloody cavalry charge—and he would, of that he had little doubt—he wanted to learn more of the intriguing Lady Phoebe. She was the first woman he’d ever met who claimed him a war hero and not a wastrel.

  Veering away from the drive and into the shadows, James approached the stone fence lining the back garden. Grasping the flat rocks along the top he vaulted over and into the impressive Corsair gardens. He chanced a quick glance around, unable to discern much in the darkness, but confident he’d entered the property undetected. Focusing on the brightly lit windows of the manor house he carefully wended through the foliage, on the lookout for couples that might be lurking in the shadows.<
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  Laughter and music emanated from the manor, growing louder as he approached. Surreptitiously he rounded the veranda, keeping to the shadows. A cluster of red-coated soldiers mingled just inside the open double doors. Perfect. He could easily blend in with the uniformed men and gain entry to the party.

  With effort, James Pasted a pleasant smile on his face, adopted an air of nonchalance, and strode casually into the lantern light. He stood a good head taller than most of the party-goers and instantly scanned the crowd for Lady Phoebe. Almost instantly he spotted her regally poised beside the refreshment table, a gentle smile on her lips as she gazed out over the dance floor.

  James’s heart slammed in his chest. The sensation disconcerting sensation nearly sent him right back through the gardens and over the fence. He’d never experienced such a primal reaction to a woman as he did Lady Phoebe. She was the closest thing to a Siren on land he’d ever encountered.

  * * * *

  Phoebe smoothed a hand over the ivory silk of her skirt and sipped the cool, refreshing punch. She smiled as Sarah threw her a quick wave from the dance floor. Her friend looked radiant in a soft rose ensemble that offset her raven hair and pale skin. Sarah was in her element dancing with the handsome Lieutenant Collins.

  Phoebe sighed, absently moving away from the refreshment table toward the wall. Every red coat in the room reminded her of James Witherspoon who stubbornly refused to leave her thoughts. I am an amazing lover, blazed through her head for the hundredth time that day. The gall of the man to whisper such intimate words to her! She was a proper lady. Had he wanted to shock her? Frighten her away? Remarkably enough his comment had not. Instead she was all the more intrigued about him.

  “Could I entice you to dance with a wayward soldier tonight, Siren.”

  Phoebe gasped. Colonel Witherspoon’s deep voice rumbled directly behind her. She whirled. A combination of surprise and excitement brimmed in her chest. His family certainly hadn’t been invited. “How did you get in here?”

  Amusement tugged at his lips and twinkled in his eyes. Her heart performed an inadvertent little twirl. “Hopped the garden fence and came in through the terrace doors. ”

  She cast a nervous glance toward the ballroom doors. Edward was no longer at his post greeting guests.

  James winked at her. “What’s the matter, Siren? Afraid your brother will call me out for daring to speak with you?”

  Phoebe cast him a baleful look. “Come, Colonel, I hardly need to remind you of the history between our families.”

  He regarded her with cautious, unreadable eyes. “And yet I sense no hatred in you, Lady Phoebe.” He leaned forward slightly. “What do you believe?”

  “Now is hardly the place to discuss this,” Phoebe replied, nerves slicking her palms. She did not want a fight to ensue between the colonel and her brother. Not at the party. The festival and the final ball had been her mother’s pride and joy, bringing together people from the entire countryside, from the villagers to the aristocracy. “You should go, Colonel.”

  Once again mischief played over the lines of his face. “I’ll leave on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You’ll meet me in the garden in five minutes’ time.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened.

  James backed away before she could form a reply. “Five minutes,” he mouthed, splaying the fingers of his left hand before turning on a heel, quaffing the champagne in one gulp and setting the empty glass on a footman’s tray.

  Phoebe gulped, casting a nervous gaze about the ballroom before her gaze rested upon the broad expanse of his retreating shoulders. She shouldn’t, and yet… she wanted to meet him for so many reasons. So many unanswered questions lived in her mind. Questions about Patrick… the Heart of the Nile… And there was the business of her heart flopping whenever he smiled at her. Decision made, she set the punch glass on the table and headed for the terrace doors.

  Nibbling nervously at her bottom lip, she glanced about the room. There was no sign of Edward—he hated parties and had no doubt slinked off to play cards with a few other gentlemen—and Sarah was still staring up at Nick Collins with the moon and stars in her eyes. She wouldn’t be coming in search of Phoebe anytime soon.

  Keeping to the wall, Phoebe made her way toward the terrace doors and slipped quickly into the shadows leading away from the house. If anyone caught her with Colonel Witherspoon she could be ruined, but this wasn’t London, it was Corsair. Her family had owned these lands for generations. No one would make trouble for her. She wended along the path, wondering where exactly Jamie had gone. She was fewer than five minutes behind him. She gulped, glancing tentatively back toward the house. What if this was a trick? She scarcely knew the man. She slowed, ready to go back to the house.

  A man’s burly arm snaked around her waist. “How about that dance, Siren?”

  Phoebe gasped and then sagged with relief, tilting her head back to look up into his eyes. “Colonel! You frightened me.”

  He grinned devilishly, linking one strong arm around her waist and capturing a ringlet of her hair with the other. “My apologies.”

  Wicked tremors thrilled through Phoebe as he held her against the toned expanse of his chest. She quickly tugged out of his hold, regarding him nervously. The heat of his chest lingered. “Are you always this forward with women you’ve just met?”

  He shrugged noncommittally. “That depends.”

  “Upon what?”

  His golden brow waggled playfully. “A gentleman could hardly say.”

  Phoebe scoffed. “You hardly seem a proper gentleman.”

  “Touché, Siren.” He stepped forward, leaning down until his lips nearly grazed her ear. Her stomach flipped. “Though you’re not the picture of a perfect lady, either. Certainly not the haughty ice princess I’ve heard rumors of.”

  The words set Phoebe on edge. She crossed her arms, scooting away from him. “Why did you invite me out here, Colonel?”

  “To dance, Siren. Did I not make that clear?”

  Phoebe shook her head. “I think that may be unwise.”

  James held out a hand, amber eyes twinkling with teasing and desire. He presented her with a courtly bow, beginning the steps to the quadrille.

  “Are you drunk, Colonel Witherspoon?”

  “Sadly, no. I am perfectly sober.” He continued the steps as though she danced with him instead of standing still as a fence post. “Why do you ask? Hoping spirits will dull the pain when you step on my toes?”

  Phoebe laughed in spite of herself. “Step on your toes? I should hardly think your feet will suffer in those sturdy boots.”

  “So you admit you’re likely to step on my toes.” He grinned at her again, his amber eyes making firm eye contact.

  Totally disarmed, Phoebe melted beneath his gaze, and joined him in the quadrille despite her better judgment. “I am not a very good dancer,” she admitted, narrowly avoiding his feet. “There is not an ounce of grace in my form. My dancing instructor insisted I have two left feet.” She sobered slightly. “My reputation as the ice princess came about because of my reluctance to dance at the balls in London.”

  James fixed her with another disarming smile, this one compassionate and without even a hint of teasing. “Miserable place, London.” Then he winked. “Fortunately for you, I have enough elegance for both of us.”

  Laughter bubbled from Phoebe once more, and when the music drew to a close both of them were laughing. He bowed and she curtsied.

  Phoebe glanced back toward the house. “I should probably head back before someone notices I’ve gone.”

  James quickly stepped forward. Intensity brimmed in his whisky eyes. “Before you go, Siren, there is one other reason I asked you out here.”

  Phoebe’s heart skipped, and this time she did not back away. “Oh? What is that?”

  “This.” Without warning his broad, calloused palm slid across her cheek, burying his long fingers in her hair and slipping around the back of her head. Be
fore she could mount any protest, he gently tilted her head back, taking her lips in a firm, delicious, whisper of a kiss.

  Phoebe’s pulse thumped madly. She’d been kissed a time or two, a pretty girl didn’t grow up in the country without her share of suitors, but she’d never been kissed like this. She felt his lips in every crevice of her being. She trembled. She tingled. She craved for more, and… she wasn’t disappointed. When he should have pulled back, he leaned closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, pulling her fully against the toned expanse of his chest. Instinctively she swayed forward curling her fingers into his uniform jacket, surrendering herself to the kiss, and relishing this forbidden moment of intimacy. All too soon, and rather suddenly he broke the bond of their lips, and she held fast to him, gazing into his eyes through a sultry haze.

  He leaned forward, pressing his forehead briefly against hers, and caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Forgive me, Siren,” he murmured huskily, “but I had to know how a mouth with such quick, tart wit would taste.” He slipped away then, disappearing into the night.

  Stunned and aflutter, Phoebe lifted a hand to her mouth. She understood now why men purportedly followed him blindly into battle. James Witherspoon could charm the fins off a fish.

  Five

  Damn it all!

  James paced down the hill from his mother’s modest estate toward the road leading into the village. His sister-in-law was driving him to madness. She lurked in every room, and around every corner, making no secret of her interest in him. James had no wish to hurt Judith’s feelings. She was a perfectly kind woman and a wonderful mother to Toby, but she was also his brother’s widow, and he would never entertain an interest in her beyond that of friendship. Unfortunately, James was rapidly running out of polite rebuffs and the ability to feign ignorance to her obvious infatuation with him. There was no need to make the rest of their lives uncomfortable by telling her he had no romantic inclination toward her. He’d be gone again soon enough, and her fleeting infatuation would come to an end. He just needed to avoid her a little longer and save them both from a great deal of discomfort and embarrassment. By the time he came back—if he came back—she’d have met some other gent, and he’d have successfully averted disaster. Avoiding her, however, was proving much more difficult than he’d anticipated. He felt like a caged lion, and his growing obsession with Phoebe Landon did not help matters.