The Bewitching Hour Page 12

  After Patrick's deception, she wasn't certain she could trust any man who professed an interest in her. Yet Lord Stratton wasn't Patrick; not in any sense at all. He made her feel things she'd never felt before and that frightened her. She sighed and pressed her fingertips against the pulse in her temples to massage away the tension. She needed time to reason this situation out. It couldn’t be love. They barely knew one another. There was no doubt that he wanted her; the arrogant man had made that perfectly clear, but she knew he didn’t love her and she certainly didn’t want to love him.

  She heard Olivia’s voice outside her door as she spoke to one of the servants. She dropped her head and moaned. Drat. Olivia had noticed something was amiss and she was going to ask questions.

  Olivia knocked and then poked her head through the doorway. “Hello, dear. May I come in?”

  Priscilla took in a deep breath. “Of course.”

  Her companion came in and shut the door behind her. “I’ve sent our apologies to the Morleys. I have to confess I’m not sorry to miss their dinner party as Lord Mallory and Lord and Lady Harrison will be there and I’m not as adept at shutting out conversation as you are, though I think it’s a skill I will try to learn. Is your headache better?”

  Priscilla pulled her shawl up around her shoulders and nodded. “Yes,” she lied. “Thank you.”

  “Headaches can be such a nuisance. I’m pleased that you’re feeling better.”

  “I had to if I wanted to avoid Cook’s tonic.” She made an attempt to smile.

  “It is vile, isn’t it?” Olivia’s cheeks dimpled. “I must say I enjoyed meeting Lord Stratton this afternoon. I noticed that he seems to be quite taken with you.”

  Priscilla turned back to the window. “Perhaps, but Lord Stratton is also quite taken with himself. No doubt living as a bachelor all these years has made him most self-centered.”

  Olivia chuckled as she sat down on Priscilla’s bed and folded her hands in her lap. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he was the one who sent the orchids.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I thought he was very charming.”

  Priscilla moved away from the window and came over to sit on the bed beside Olivia. “He can be.”

  They sat quietly a few moments before Olivia said, “Dear, tell me what you remember about Drew.”

  Surprised by the request, Priscilla turned her head and looked at her. “I remember quite a lot about him. He was gentle and kind. He laughed at the silliest things. But I think what I remember the most is that he always made time for me when you two came to visit. He read to me, pushed me in my swing; let me serve him tea and biscuits at imaginary tea parties. He was a wonderful man. I don’t know how you managed when he died.”

  “You’re no stranger to loss,” Olivia reminded her. “You’ve had more than your share.”

  A small sigh escaped Priscilla's lips. “I still miss Papa terribly.”

  “And Patrick,” Olivia reminded her softly.

  Priscilla gave a slight nod then rested her hand on Olivia’s arm and said, “Please don’t be afraid that I’ll ever forget Drew, because I won’t. I know I was very young when he died but I remember so much about him. I loved him very much.”

  “So did I, but I have a secret to confess.” Olivia’s eyes twinkled. “When I first met him, I didn’t like him at all. I thought he was much too full of himself.”

  “Drew?” Priscilla looked incredulous. “Why would you think that about him?”

  “Because it was the truth,” Olivia said smiling.

  “But I can’t believe he was ever like that,” Priscilla protested. “It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “He wasn’t perfect. None of us are. We all have our own frailties. Drew turned out to be a kind and loving man. But if I hadn’t taken the chance, I would have missed out on the time we had together.” She stood up and rested her hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. “All I really wanted to say, dear, was don’t wait too long.” She kissed Priscilla on the forehead and left the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Stratton arrived at Rand’s townhouse the following afternoon with only one purpose. To compose another letter to give to Miss Hawthorn. He handed Edwards his hat and coat and then followed him to the small dining room where Rand was staring disconcertedly at his food. He dropped into the chair across the table from Rand and announced, “We need to write another letter.”

  Rand looked up from his plate of gray meat, congealed gravy and potatoes. “She actually believed her cousin wrote the damned thing?”

  “Not for a moment." Stratton leaned back in his chair and grinned. "But as I was sufficiently rewarded for my efforts, another letter is definitely in order.”

  “Sufficiently rewarded?” Rand picked up his knife and fork. “I find that surprising.”

  “Don't misunderstand me. I indulged in no debauchery. Miss Hawthorn remains as pure as the driven snow." He tapped his fingertips lightly against each other and smiled. "We did, however, enjoy a few minutes discussing the matter in private.”

  Rand continued to stare at his plate as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. “So you’re turning this whole thing into some kind of game?”

  “For as long as Miss Hawthorn enjoys playing.”

  Rand nodded in approval. “Clever. Must we do it now? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m dining.”

  “I was trying not to,” Stratton said as looked at the unappetizing fare. “What in the devil is that? It looks bloody awful.”

  “Mutton,” Rand said as he attempted to cut into the meat and managed to send a potato skittering across the table. “I don’t think it’s done,” he added in a sour tone. "He said he knew how to cook. Lunch seemed a simple enough meal. I thought I’d give him a chance.”

  “Bobby?”

  Rand nodded glumly as he set his fork down.

  “I know you’ve felt responsible for the lad since his father’s death, but can’t you find something else for him to do? Maybe gardening or working in the stables?”

  “He did not inherit his father’s talent for gardening. Odd, considering Robert was the best gardener we ever had,” he said. “Unfortunately, everything the boy touches wilts and turns brown and I’m not about to turn him loose around my cattle, for fear that his affliction extends to more than plant life.”

  “Excellent point. I must say that your stables are exceptional.”

  “And I’d like to keep them that way.” Rand grimaced. “Bobby refuses any offer he sees as charity. He truly wants to work. His pride is an admirable trait but not a particularly convenient one. Finding a way for him to earn his keep has proven almost impossible. Mother begged me to take him off her hands until the season was over. He can’t do as much damage here.”

  “That’s very commendable of you,” Stratton remarked. “But I still wouldn’t eat that. You’re apt to cock up your toes and depart for the hereafter.”

  Rand pushed the plate away from him. “I’m not. Would you care to accompany me to Boodles? I'm famished.”

  Stratton shook his head. “I’ve eaten.”

  Rand scowled. “What did you have? I’m sure it was outstanding.”

  “Lobster bisque, roast squab, apple dumplings. And it was better than outstanding.”

  Rand stood up and threw his napkin on the table. “Selfish bastard. You could have invited me. Let’s go write your bloody letter. I’ll go to Boodles later.” He smiled suddenly. “I think I’ll pay a visit to Miss April Lamont on my way home.”

  Interest aroused, Stratton said, “April Lamont? A new mistress?”

  Rand nodded. “I met her one evening at Drury Lane. She was on the arm of Lord Milton. Man keeled over two weeks later and I moved in before anyone else could. The woman’s a trollop, but she’s so damned luscious. Long silky black hair, violet-blue eyes, breasts that spill over a man’s hand.” He held out his hands, fingers curved. “Her body, sweet Lucifer; it’s amazing the things she does with her body. The delight she brings.” Wi
th obvious effort he stopped himself. “I’ll probably skip Boodles.”

  Stratton laughed. “A new mistress and you’ve said nary a word about her.”

  “If you’re interested she has a friend you might like.”

  “I’ll pass,” Stratton said evenly as he followed his friend down the hallway.

  Rand abruptly turned to face him. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on celibacy while courting Miss Hawthorn?”

  Stratton shrugged.

  “Hell and the devil, Stratton, it isn’t normal. Celibacy for a man goes against the laws of nature. And even if it didn’t, living as a monk has never been one of your aspirations. I don’t see how you’re to manage. I, for one, would be a bedlamite in a week’s time.”

  “Only because you have no self-discipline. Try chopping wood. You’d be surprised at how much tension one can burn off chopping wood.” Stratton wasn't certain how much longer he could manage either, but he had no intention of admitting it.

  Rand looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “That’s sheer idiocy. And there is a shortage of wood in London to chop.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You can’t just go without.”

  The viscount sighed. “Priscilla has me completely done in. I don’t want anyone else.”

  Rand opened his mouth as if to say something, then quickly shut it and shrugged. “If you change your mind about April’s friend, let me know.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, you’re a better man than I.” Rand pushed open the door to his study. “But if I find you hacking up the furniture with an axe, I’m knocking you out cold and carting you over to Rosie’s. Best brothel in town.”

  “You’re a good friend to have,” Stratton said. “I would do the same for you.”

  “I appreciate that,” Rand returned. “By the way, Cecelia seemed to have a grand time at the Sutter’s ball. She’s turned into a fine looking young lady.” He looked up at Stratton’s face and grinned. “Don’t look at me like that. I have no designs on your little sister. I was simply remarking that she’s very easy on the eyes. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. They were lined up three deep to beg a spot on her dance card. I noticed you put more than a few of them in their place.” He headed toward a side table. “Sit down and I’ll pour you a brandy.”

  Stratton settled himself in a comfortable chair and propped his feet up on the desk while Rand poured their drinks. “I was bored stiff. I grew weary of dancing with simpering young ladies and I had to do something to amuse myself.”

  “I doubt Cecelia much appreciated your efforts. I saw her glare at you on more than one occasion.”

  Stratton shrugged. “I don’t think she was overly distraught. If so, she’ll get over it. Your sister had the same issue with you.”

  “Rubbish,” Rand snorted.

  “Oh?" The viscount's eyebrow lifted. "I seem to remember holding you back when you wanted to call out Timothy Mason for attempting to steal a kiss from her behind the potted palms. He still ended up with a black eye. The lad begged me to keep you away from him. Felt sorry for the bugger. You had him shaking in his boots.”

  “That was an entirely different situation." Rand lifted the stopper from a cut glass bottle and poured their brandy. "Elizabeth wasn’t much more than a child at the time and not near old enough to be kissed. The bloke was out of line and somebody needed to point it out to him.”

  “She was eighteen,” Stratton pointed out. “Older than Cecelia.”

  “Barely,” Rand muttered.

  “Old enough to be married a few months later,” Stratton continued. “And she had her first child the following year. She obviously progressed past the kissing stage.”

  “Shut-up. I’ve managed to convince myself that her three brats were dropped on their doorstop in a basket and her virtue is still intact. Don’t destroy my illusions.”

  “Sorry.” He reached out and accepted his drink from Rand. “They probably were left on their doorstop in a basket, but if I’m not mistaken, isn’t the oldest the spitting image of her husband? Has he been busy elsewhere, or is this mere coincidence?”

  “Good God, Stratton. That’s even worse. First you ruin my luncheon and now you’re ruining my afternoon.”

  “I didn’t ruin your luncheon. It was ruined before it left the kitchen. As for ruining your afternoon, Miss Lamont will soon set that right.”

  “True enough.” Rand opened the top drawer and pulled out paper. “Shall we spice this one up a bit? The first missive we wrote was pretty mild.”

  “I need to play my hand carefully. I don’t want to scare her off.” He drummed his fingers on the chair arm as he thought. “Assuming we’re still composing this from Miss Dearborn’s point of view, how much does a young lady of that age even know?”

  Rand picked up the quill and twirled it around in his fingers. “Very little, I would think.”

  The two men gazed blankly at one another.

  “We’re highly unqualified to approach this task from a fifteen year old girl’s point of view.” Stratton tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling. “What could a virginal young female put in a letter that would ruin her reputation? Unless she grew up on a farm I wouldn’t think she’d be knowledgeable enough to be overly forward.”

  “She could quote Byron, I suppose,” Rand suggested.

  “Possibly, though I doubt she would even understand what she was quoting. In addition, that would require our reading Byron to find the appropriate passages.”

  Rand looked completely appalled. “I’d rather eat Billy’s cooking.”

  “I don’t think I’d go quite that far.” Stratton shifted in his chair. ”It seems our limited experience with young innocents is proving to be a stumbling block.”

  “Our limited experience with young innocents? I believe you’ve experienced one quite recently.”

  “Go to the devil, Rand. I assured you Miss Hawthorn is still chaste. My only reward was time spent in her company.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it quite like it sounded. Your experience with virgins is limited. Mine is nonexistent.” Rand took a drink of his brandy. “As enjoyable as teaching a pretty young thing might be, I don’t make a habit of defiling virgins.”

  Stratton stared at him a moment. “You’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

  “Of course, I am.” He paused. “In what way am I brilliant?”

  “Hand over quill and paper and I’ll show you.”

  A few minutes later as Rand sat reading the short missive a smile slowly crossed his face.

  When finished, he set the sheet down, looked up at Stratton and remarked with a complete lack of humility, “Damn it all. I am brilliant.”

  Priscilla rose from her chair in the drawing room, bobbed a curtsy and held out her hand. “Lord Stratton,” she said softly.

  “Miss Hawthorn.” He took the hand she offered and bowed over it, then bowed to Olivia. “Mrs. Hutton.” He held out two bouquets of mixed posies. “For two beautiful ladies.”

  “They’re lovely,” Olivia exclaimed. She took both bouquets from him. “Thank you, Lord Stratton. If you will excuse me, I’ll see that they’re put in water.”

  He waited until she had left them before turning back to Priscilla. She couldn't help smiling. “It was thoughtful of you to bring us both flowers.”

  “Mrs. Hutton deserves flowers, as do you." He took her hands in his. "She’s an exceedingly thoughtful person proven by the fact that she has arranged for us to be alone a few minutes.”

  Ignoring the feeling that he was likely right, she said, “Nonsense. She is only fetching vases for the flowers.”

  “She could have rung for a servant to do that.”

  Still, she argued, “Perhaps she had particular vases in mind. We’ve quite a few. My mother loves flowers.”

  “Hush, Priscilla.” He bent over and captured her mouth kissing her gently and that single touch was almost her undoing. Her breath caught and when he pulled away, all sh
e could do was blink and stare.

  He grinned. “I think you have missed me.”

  She smoothed the folds in her dress and stepped back toward the sofa. “Nonsense. Only a few days have passed since we last saw one another. There hasn’t been enough time to miss you.” Nodding at the chair he had used on his previous visit, she said, “Please, sit down, my lord.” She waited for him to take the chair, but instead he plopped down on the settee and pulled her down beside him.

  “We shouldn’t be sitting this close together,” she protested. “When Olivia comes in…”

  “She’ll be pleased we’re getting along so well,” he finished for her. “And you must refrain from my lording me every other sentence. It isn’t at all what I want to hear from your lips.”

  He seemed to be in rare form today. She threw him a dubious look. “I will refrain if you move over.”

  “If you insist,” he said grudgingly. But as he moved, he stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, his hand resting firmly on her shoulder, keeping her trapped by his side.

  “You’re trouble,” she said.

  “From the time I was in leading strings. But I believe we’ve already discussed my childhood.” He began to massage her shoulder. “I found another letter, Priscilla.”

  She had the most absurd need to giggle. “Did you bring it?”

  “No." He leaned his head toward hers and said, "I’ll bring it to the ball this evening. If you want it, you have to meet me there.”

  “I believe you’re bribing me.” She tried to inch away from him. And failed.

  “I am.”

  “There’s no need. I had planned to attend.”

  They heard Olivia coughing loudly as she came down the hall.

  “Mrs. Hutton is wise as well as thoughtful,” he murmured softly as he removed his arm from her shoulder, moved over a little and settled back against the sofa. “And I believe I will set my cap for her if you continue to refuse me.”