Potent Charms (12 page)

"Aye, sir," Niles said. "But what of me mule?"

Stephen ruffled the boy's hair as he stood. "I'd say you'd
best take him with you."

"Yes, sir," cried the boy, beaming.

The peddler tapped Stephen on his shoulder. "Hey gov,
you can't do that."

Stephen reacted instantly. He grabbed the man by the
collar of his threadbare jacket, twisting the fabric tightly to
effectively cut off the flow of oxygen. "It seems I just did.
Now listen well, my misguided chap. I would like nothing
better than to knock a tooth or two from your mouth. However, I shall refrain. In the future, I recommend you pick on
someone your own size rather than women, young boys or
neglected animals."

With that, Stephen discarded the peddler like a piece of
rubbish and gathered his horse. Looking at the peddler,
who lay on the ground gasping for air, Stephen wished the
man had lashed out. He wanted desperately to punch
someone. After tying his horse to the rear of Elizabeth and
Phoebe's carriage, he climbed aboard, sitting opposite the
two women. He leaned back in the seat and crossed his
arms, silently demanding an explanation.

Phoebe matched his glare with one of her own. "What
have you done with the boy?"

"I sent him to my home."

"Whatever for?"

He watched her eyes narrow suspiciously, her expression certainly more wary than a moment ago. What the
devil was she thinking now? "The boy will send for his mother and sister, then I shall move them all to one of my
estates to work. Satisfied?"

"Yes, actually. Now, am I to thank you for publicly
humiliating me?"

Lord, he wanted to strangle the woman. One moment
she endangered herself while making a public spectacle,
next she blamed him for her behavior. "Of course not. You
managed to do that all by yourself. I should be pleased.
Your behavior today likely weighted my suit by at least a
stone. I think an apology on your part might be appropriate."

"Fiddle-faddle, you arrogant--"

"Phoebe," cried a startled Elizabeth.

Stephen's voice remained aloof, distant. "It's quite all
right, Elizabeth. I'm curious to hear what she has to say."

Leaning forward, her face a lovely rosy pink, Phoebe
asked, "Would you have me sit and watch a boy be
whipped?"

Stephen leaned forward as well, his nose a mere fraction
from hers. "I would have you use that lovely head of yours
for something other than sporting a hat. I would have you
remain safe."

"Like all the other cowards who sat in their carriages
and watched a man as big as a bale of cotton beat a young
boy?"

"Truly, Stephen," Elizabeth added, her gloved hand
softly nudging his arm. "No one seemed overly concerned
with the boy's predicament other than the fact that he
delayed their arrival at the race."

"Save your explanation for Winston. I'm sure he'll have
an opinion or two on the matter."

Phoebe lifted her chin toward the sky. "Good heavens,
leave Elizabeth out of this." She turned back toward
Stephen, her eyes closed, obviously struggling to maintain
a handle on her emotions. "I know the feeling of unjust punishment, being alone to face it. That boy did not
deserve to be whipped. Neither did that poor animal. I've
felt the sting of a lash, felt the pain. I know the brand it
leaves."

That last bit of news spawned an unexpected wave of
tenderness, dwarfing Stephen's anger. The desire to lecture
vanished. Instead, he wanted to relieve her of her clothes,
discover the heinous mark and kiss any lingering memories away. He rubbed his hand over his face. "I understand
your reason for interfering. I even admire your fortitude.
God knows few people are willing to stand up for what is
right, but you must think before you plunge into something
such as this. You could have been injured. And what do you
propose to tell your aunt when word of this rumpus
spreads? I assure you, gossip will fly from mouth to mouth
faster than a plague on an infected ship."

Before she turned away to watch the activity surrounding them, a sigh heavy with acceptance slid from Phoebe's
mouth. "I know."

Everyone fell silent. Stephen realized further argument
would prove pointless. Phoebe understood the consequences but had acted anyway. She possessed a generous
heart and a moral conscience, but damn it, unless coupled
with a sizeable dollop of common sense, she would repeatedly find herself in unsuitable, potentially dangerous situations. Well, he would simply make it his personal
responsibility to ensure that she exercised caution, which
veered him back to his original thought. She needed a
keeper. Him.

"Here we are." Stephen jumped to the ground and helped
Elizabeth from the carriage into a large open field. "I recommend we banish the last half-hour from our memory
and enjoy our day. Of course you, Elizabeth, can decide to
tell Winston now or later, for surely he shall hear of your
antics."

Lifting Phoebe down, he slid the length of her body
against his. He whispered in her ear. "Is all forgiven?"

"I'm not sure. And you, sir, are too bold."

Stephen's hands still gripped her arms. "Because I want
you?"

With both feet firmly planted on the ground, she cocked
her head to one side. "Wanting does not guarantee a thing,
my lord."

He glanced over his shoulder to determine Elizabeth's
whereabouts. She stood a good five feet away, her back
turned in an attempt to offer him and Phoebe a moment's
privacy that was blatant yet greatly appreciated. Grinning, he tilted Phoebe's face toward his. "Darling, I guarantee
you pleasure and more, but do not keep me waiting too
long."

"Keep you waiting? I haven't even decided to give you a
chance."

Her mouth formed a delightful pout, the kind that made
men like him appreciate all things female. Lord, he wished
the woman would agree to his terms. And soon. He
couldn't resist the temptation to stroke the delicate skin of
her throat. To his male satisfaction, he watched her eyes
flash, felt her tremble. He rubbed his thumb across her
lower lip, slowly, finally caressing her chin. "I think you
have. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Licking the lip his touch had abandoned, she swallowed
and stepped to what she deemed a safe distance from him.
"Elizabeth invited me. Remember? And I must say, we had
a delightful and somewhat enlightening conversation."

Speculating on the subtle innuendo in Phoebe's voice,
Stephen dropped his hand to his side. He'd never expected
to keep his past concealed, but after years of censure and
gossip, and unsure of Phoebe's reaction, he automatically
felt the walls erect themselves around his pride. Why did
Phoebe's opinion even matter? Placing his left hand in his
coat pocket, his other on the wheel of the carriage, he
assumed a casual stance. "Really."

"Yes, indeed. She willingly provided facts a particular
gentleman I know deems unimportant. Minor little things
like previous marriages, gypsy curses and all."

Just as he'd suspected. Elizabeth possessed a loose
tongue when she felt her motives justified, and in her mind,
finding a wife for him was a good reason to interfere. She
knew little, but he could only guess what she had revealed.
"Elizabeth needs to learn restraint," he muttered.

Tentatively, Phoebe placed her fingers on his hand. "You can no more flee your past than I can. Nor can you predict
your future."

"But I can control my actions."

"Precisely. And, I expect honesty."

"I have not been otherwise."

"No, simply closemouthed." He clenched his teeth
moments before his expression turned flat, void of emotion. How she hated his ability to do that. Clearly, he disliked this topic. Well, that was just too bad. She had no
intention of spending time with the man if dishonesty lay
between them. "I am not accustomed to secrets and guessing games. If we're to have any relationship at all, I expect
us to be honest with one another."

Like a summer storm on the river, his mood changed
quickly and unexpectedly. His mouth softened and even
twitched with amusement as a devilish sparkle lit his eyes.
"By all means."

"Do you mind telling me what is so funny?"

"You just admitted we shall have a relationship. I see
that as a direct step into my arms."

The infernal man had a way of dulling her wits and
twisting everything she said all willy-nilly. "That is not
what I meant."

"An individual is entitled to his or her interpretation."
With that wicked grin on his face, the one that sent a ripple
of excitement flowing through her, he draped her hand
across his forearm and headed toward Elizabeth. "All right,
you can turn around now. Winston seems trapped by the
crowds. Let us go."

Phoebe stewed for all of a minute, finally admitting to
herself that Stephen was right. Somewhere along the line,
her heart and body had convinced her mind to take a
chance on him, regardless of the unanswered questions
about his past. It was no small wonder, considering all the men she had met over the last week, none of whom
appealed to her in the slightest way. She nibbled her lower
lip as she walked amongst carriages lining the dirt track
where passengers stopped to watch the race. Peddlers
hawked their wares at every opportunity while young boys
dashed around the large field, which was covered with
blankets and groups of revelers. She needed a plan. And a
good one, if indeed she intended to marry him. She shook
her head. Imagine, people believing a man like him capable of murder. And a curse? Poppycock. Pure nonsense. If
the only thing standing between her and marriage to this
man was a silly old curse, then she would simply have to
convince him otherwise.

Winston stood beside a woolen blanket near the river's
edge and waved. A bottle of red wine and four crystal
glasses were neatly tucked in a large wicker basket, along
with some fruit and a small wooden box of bread and
cheese. Forcing her thoughts to the back of her mind,
Phoebe sat opposite Elizabeth and asked, "When will the
race begin?"

Sitting beside Phoebe, leaning on one elbow, Stephen
stretched his long legs before him. He poured the wine and
said, "Soon. We shall actually witness the end of the race.
They start at London Bridge, roughly four and a half grueling miles of heavy rowing to win the opportunity to wear
the symbol of the Hanoverians."

"Whoever are they?" asked Phoebe as she sipped from
her glass.

Winston, his body practically a mirror to Stephen's,
placed his hand across his heart in mock astonishment.
"My Henry, girl, if you intend to marry a Brit, we'd best
educate you. In 1715, the Hanover line succeeded to the
throne. In honor of that miraculous event, Thomas
Doggett, a common actor, started this race."

"Today, you shall witness a - historical event as well
as a very masculine tradition," Stephen added. "Grown
men wagering wildly amongst themselves and sailors with
their hearts and wills clearly shown in their muscles and
backs."

"Then I'll try to give my full attention."

"Excuse me, Stephen," Elizabeth said, smiling sweetly.
"Isn't that Lord Tewksbury and Lord Hathaway?"

"Yes."

"Phoebe, this is perfect." Elizabeth practically clapped
her hands together, her eyes fixed on Stephen all the while.
"I understand Tewksbury is looking for a wife. Although
he's not a second son or such, he still has marvelous potential as a husband. Lord Hathaway is certainly eligible and a
younger son with two older brothers, but I'd have to think
on that. He's rumored to be a bit of a rake."

The group of men stood nearby. They cheered boisterously as two men shook each another's hands. "Which is
which?" Phoebe asked, surprised at Elizabeth's sudden
interest in her matrimonial candidates.

"The blond gentleman is Lord Hathaway. The fellow
shaking his hand is Lord Ricland, Earl of Tewksbury. A
widower. Stephen, you simply must wrest us an introduction."

"No, I must not."

Elizabeth frowned. Stephen, being his normal autocratic
self, lifted a brow, silently challenging her to argue his
decision. Fighting a grin, Phoebe turned to study the two
men. Both were handsome, but unfortunately, unlike a
mere smile from Stephen, neither made her body heat or
her pulse race. Lord Hathaway, leaner than Tewksbury,
appeared to be the same height. Lord Tewksbury wore a
navy jacket and dark trousers that accented broad shoulders and long, muscular legs.

"Winston, wave to the man."

"Elizabeth," Stephen said, his irritation clear. "Leave
Tewksbury alone."

"Whatever are they doing?" Phoebe asked.

Winston, silent up until now, answered, "I understand
Tewksbury and Hathaway personally wagered one of their
ships on the apprentices they sponsored. I imagine they're
finalizing the negotiations."

Surely she'd heard incorrectly. What manner of man
would make such an expensive wager? "I declare. A ship?"