Potent Charms (26 page)

"Be quiet, Ariana," Rhys ordered.

"Why? Because she is a lady with fine clothes?"

"This jealousy of yours is unreasonable. I'm warning
you. Behave. Miss Rafferty, come with me."

"If you think for one little minute that Lady Payley or
myself intend to go anywhere with you, think again. I want
my horse. I want it now. You said there were ways to settle
disputes such as this. What are they?"

He steepled his fingers together and studied all three
women, looking as though he might just strangle them.
"Gypsies take their treasures very seriously. They also pos secs great honor and pride. There are games of chance,
fights or races, which can be extremely dangerous. I am
sure they hold little appeal for a lady like yourself."

If he thought to frighten her, he had another think coming. Phoebe barely contained her excitement. By gosh and
by golly, she'd win Flash back. "What sort of races?"

"We ride the horses, you foolish English," spat Ariana, a
victorious smirk on her face.

"Oh," whispered Phoebe, thanking the heavens for
assumptions that ladies were incompetent once removed
from the drawing room. "How difficult could that be?"

"They have lost their collective minds. I swear I will-" In
his fury, Stephen couldn't complete the sentence. Locating
the abandoned carriage with the broken wheel had done little to appease his worries or his brewing temper.

"My sentiments are the same as yours, my friend,"
agreed Winston as he nudged the shattered wood with his
boot. "Elizabeth and Phoebe are indeed a pair to be reckoned with. The one saving grace is we know that Rhys will
keep them safe. He allows the gypsies no nonsense when
they camp on his estate."

"True, but what of Rhys himself? He has the devil's own
reputation. My God, I've witnessed the man in action. All
he needs do is utter a sentence or two in Romany and
women practically swoon into his bed."

Winston's eyes lit with amusement. "Now I understand.
I never thought to see you so possessive toward a woman
again."

"Possessive, hell. I'm furious to be inconvenienced,
that's all. Besides, I loaned her money. I'm protecting my
investment."

"Really?"

"Of course. Hildegard could truly care less about her
well being. Someone has to watch out for her."

"Rhys might be happy to accept that responsibility. I
heard he decided to finally claim his title. Odds are he
means to claim a wife as well."

"Bloody hell," Stephen muttered again. He had known
Rhys since they were fourteen years old. He was a good
man and one of the few Stephen called a friend. Rhys
would make any woman a fine husband, but blast it all, let
him find his own female. This irrational wave of jealously
irritated Stephen all the more, which he quickly excused to
prolonged lust. Noting none too happily the laughter in his
friend's voice, he nudged Cavalier into a gallop, leaving
Winston in the dust.

They crested the hill and without stopping cantered into
the camp, which seemed to be a whirlwind of activity.
Scanning the wagons for any sign of Phoebe and Elizabeth, he finally spied Rhys, who stood with his feet braced
apart and his arms crossed over his chest like a sultan.
Stephen swung from his saddle and shouted, "Where the
devil are they?"

Rhys merely grinned. "Is that any way to greet an old
friend?" He enveloped Stephen in a powerful embrace. "I
assume from your question that you come for the redhead.
Pity. She is an intriguing mix of womanhood, packaged in
quite a delightful body."

Winston joined the two men and exchanged a warm
embrace with Rhys. "Tread lightly. Stephen sees himself
as the girl's protector."

Rhys lifted one brow. "You will marry again?"

"Hell, no. You of all people know my circumstance. It's
simply.. .never mind."

"I understand. She is a handful. I also recognized your
wife, Winston. It has been an interesting afternoon, my
friends. I thought to teach the ladies a lesson. I believe sixyear-olds would be better students."

"Where is Phoebe?"

"At this moment, she prepares for her race."

"She what?"

Shaking his head, Winston said, "You'd best impart the
whole of it."

When Stephen heard the entire tale he didn't know
whether to offer Phoebe a medal for her bravery or a lecture for her foolishness. Likely she was deserving of both.
He knew one thing for certain: He wanted to see her. This
instant. "Phoebe Rafferty," he thundered. His voice
boomed across the glen.

Dogs scuttled under the wagons and children tucked
their heads in their mother's skirts. Rhys and Winston
stared in amused silence. Phoebe peeked from behind a
nearby wagon and hid once again. But not before Stephen
saw her. "Phoebe Rafferty, no point in hiding."

"The same goes for you, my dear," yelled Winston.

"Oh, spit," Phoebe muttered. Granted she was glad to
see Stephen, thrilled in fact, but the murderous expression
plastered on his face meant a lecture or maybe something
worse.

"What now?" asked Elizabeth.

"We take the offensive." Phoebe stomped over to
Stephen's side, matching his glare with one of her own.
"I've had a miserable day, Stephen Lambert, and as far as I
can tell the fault lies at your feet, so don't you dare yell at
me."

Elizabeth hobbled behind, trying her best to look dignified, no small feat with an ankle that was surely the size of
her thigh. "The same goes for you, Winston."

A snort, suspiciously like laughter, escaped Rhys's lips.
He slapped both men on their backs and walked away
shaking his head.

Phoebe felt like throwing a rock at Rhys's head. In fact, at the moment, she felt like drubbing all males in general.

"Elizabeth, do you realize that you could have been seriously injured?"

Winston's tone of voice, one Phoebe had never heard
him use before, indicated his mood. Thunderation, he was
angry too. "It's not her fault," Phoebe said. "I forced her to
accompany me."

"Humph," Winston grumbled. "Like you, she possesses
a decent amount of intelligence and common sense when
she elects to utilize them. Today, you both seem to have
lost all reason."

Elizabeth's eyes started to tear. "I injured my ankle." On
a sigh, Winston opened his arms. She curled into his chest
and winked at Phoebe.

For all of two seconds, Phoebe contemplated such a
ploy. One look at Stephen's scowl and she knew it was a
waste of time. "If you intend to lecture me," Phoebe
said, "you can just mount your horse and ride back to
London."

"I should, you know. I should ride away and abandon
you to your own devices. I don't know why I bother."

Because you care, she thought to herself, knowing he'd laugh himself silly if she offered that suggestion. "This is
all your fault anyway."

"You dare blame me for your lack of judgment? Sweet
Mary, I've been in residence all day. What the devil did I
do?"

"You exist," Phoebe snapped. His eyes rounded and his
jaw clenched. She sighed, knowing she'd have to explain
all of it. Even if she didn't, Elizabeth would likely tell Winston, who would then tell Stephen. "I came here for your
benefit. I figured if a gypsy could curse you, then a gypsy
could uncurse you."

"L.." He snapped his mouth shut. His stride devoured the distance between him and Phoebe when suddenly he
veered toward a nearby tree stump. Back and forth, back
and forth, he paced, stomping about like an angry troll.

Suddenly, he marched to Phoebe's side, gripped her chin
in his hand and claimed her parted lips. He released her
just as quickly.

"Do not think for one minute that we are finished with
this. Be careful," he commanded before he stomped, once
again, to the edge of the clearing beside Rhys to watch the
race.

Gratified to see Phoebe rendered immobile and speechless, Stephen crossed his arms over his chest. When she
realized she was standing there watching him like a frightened hare, she frowned and ran to her horse. She likely
thought him insane, yelling one minute, kissing her the
next. Truth be told, he felt as though he were teetering on
the edge of insanity, and had been for days.

Whenever unwelcome and impossible ideas of marital
bliss invaded his mind, he remembered Emily's crumpled
body, her limbs askew and broken. Any thought of Phoebe,
limp and mangled in such a manner, was unthinkable. Thus
far his resolution to have her as his mistress or not at all
had held firm. Silently, he renewed his vow.

With a mix of trepidation and pride, Stephen watched
Phoebe mount Flash. When she hiked her skirts above her
knees and tucked the fabric between her legs, he fought the
impulse to stomp across the clearing to tug the fabric back
down to her ankles. Instead, he studied the horses and the
course.

After circling the glen, the riders would ascend a hill to
the north, then travel back down again to dash for the finish
line, where Stephen stood along with most of the
observers. Three obstacles blocked their path: a small
creek, a downed tree and the wooden hitch from a wagon.

The white mare Ariana rode was magnificent, athletic
and agile with a strong, short-coupled body. Colored ribbons decorated the horse's wavy mane. As if she knew
she had an audience, the horse swished her tail with the
same arrogance with which Ariana tossed her unbound
curls.

Flash, on the other hand, was all grace and elegance
with powerful hindquarters and a deep girth for maximum
lung expansion. The thoroughbred excelled in sports
demanding great strength of will, stamina and speed.
Stephen nodded toward Ariana's horse and spoke to Rhys.
"One of your Spanish breeds, I assume?"

With his arms crossed over his chest, Rhys grinned like
a proud father. "The mare is spectacular. Like her brother,
she will breed a fine line of steeds. How well does Miss
Rafferty sit a horse?"

"I have little knowledge firsthand, but she claims to be
quite proficient. Either way, I'm sure she'll do her best to
try my patience during the race."

Chuckling, Rhys added, "You know, men and women
are like horses. With the right pairing, a fine family line
can be established."

Stephen eyed Rhys. "Do not start."

"Do not scowl so. Miss Rafferty is a package worthy of
worry, my friend. That is all." With that, Rhys signaled
Torio, Ariana's father, who stood between the two women, a
blue scarf in his outstretched arm. Both riders watched it
drift downward. The moment one corner touched the
ground, Phoebe spurred Flash into a gallop, her head low
over the horse's neck. His hooves hurled dirt into the air, his
powerful muscles pumping as he fought to give her his all.
Ariana kept pace with Phoebe, her face determined. Stephen
couldn't help but admire the skill of both women. A horse
gave its heart only to a rider who knew how to ask for it.

The crowd cheered wildly as both riders cleared the
creek together. The hill lay ahead. The animals dug their
hindquarters into the soft ground, disappearing into the
trees and, much to his dismay, out of Stephen's sight.

Birds scattered and a small rabbit scampered to safety. A
squirrel chattered noisily, protesting the invasion of its
shaded sanctuary. Phoebe ducked even lower to avoid a
branch on her right, the sound of Flash's labored breathing
music to her ears. Mercy, the horse could run. She had
sensed his power before, but today, he was running with
his heart. For her. She cooed words of encouragement into
his ear. His hooves crashed through the bracken and leaves,
climbing higher and higher. She felt as if she were soaring,
floating through the air like a bird's song.

The top of the hill came suddenly. She burst through the
trees, whirled the horse about and started down. Ariana
was right beside her. Phoebe admired the skill of the
woman and the power of the mare. Sharing a bond, the
love of the race, the thrill of freedom, both women smiled.
With a shrill cry, Ariana spurred her horse, leaping forward. Phoebe did the same, thundering down the hill and
laughing all the while. Despite the steep decline, Phoebe centered her body, her weight in the stirrups to combat the
slope of the descent. Miracle of miracles, at the bottom she
gained a slight lead.

Stephen's hand clenched about the limb of a tree as the
horses sprung from the shrubbery at neck-breaking speed,
Phoebe a hairsbreadth ahead. Flash jumped the downed
log with ease. Only the open meadow and the wagon hitch
remained. Soaring over the final obstacle, Flash's hind legs
bobbled as his feet touched the rocky ground, forfeiting
Phoebe's slight lead. Stephen's heart plummeted.

Seeing his tension, Rhys said, "Relax, my friend. Watch
her. She knows what she is doing."

"Damn reckless female," Stephen complained. "I told
her to be careful." He watched as she righted herself, gripping the reins low to the horse's neck. Her hair, loosened
by the wind, flew like a scarlet banner behind her. He saw
her lips move, knew she coaxed Flash to victory with soft
words and praise. Neck and neck, the lathered mounts
raced toward the finish. Twenty feet lay between her and
the spot where Torio stood, the scarf held high once again.
With a burst of strength and sheer will, Flash surged into
the lead. Phoebe plucked the scarf from Torio's hand and
raised her arm over her head, her face aglow with
unabashed pleasure. Her eyes sparkled with vitality and
her cheeks were flushed pink. Stephen didn't think he'd
ever seen her look more beautiful.