The Bewitching Hour Read online

  He glanced at her, then careful not to disturb Cecelia who had fallen asleep and was resting her head on his shoulder, he reached over and nudged his aunt. “Aunt Mirabella,” he said quietly. “It’s late and I believe you’re talking Lady Williams’ ear off. I’m sure she could do with a few minutes of quiet, as could I.”

  “Oh.” Lady Fitzberry sounded nonplussed. She turned her head and looked at Lady Williams. “I do apologize, my dear. It’s only that I enjoy these evenings immensely and so, of course, I like to talk about them. It’s only natural don’t you agree? I suppose I could wait until morning, but by then I would forget half of what I wanted to say.”

  “We should be so lucky,” Stratton muttered beneath his breath.

  “Don’t mutter,” she scolded. “If you have something to say, Eugie, say it out loud.”

  “I asked if you could please grace us with a few minutes of silence.” His voice was laced with warning.

  “Very well,” she responded in a hurt tone. “I will endeavor to remain silent.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Mirabella. I appreciate that very much.”

  Lady Williams watched as he adjusted his position to better accommodate his sleeping sister. He seemed to care a great deal about Cecelia and was far gentler with his aunt than the loathsome creature deserved. He was more of a family man than she had realized and that could be problematic. Particularly with an aunt like Lady Fitzberry who noticed everything and couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Cecelia wasn’t too worrisome. The chit would soon be married off and breeding. But what she needed to do now was gain Cecelia’s and Lady’s Fitzberry’s friendship and support.

  “I’m afraid I am a bit weary,” she said graciously to Lady Fitzberry. “But I would very much enjoy talking to you at another time when the hour is not so late.”

  “Lovely,” the older woman said happily. “Would you care to come for tea. Perhaps next week?”

  “Thank you,” she replied demurely. “That would please me very much.”

  “Cook makes delicious almond cake. And her lemon tarts are heavenly.”

  Stratton cleared his throat and his meaning was not wasted on his aunt. She harrumphed and turned her face to the window as the streets of London rolled by. They soon came to a halt in front of Lady Williams' house. Stratton gently shrugged his sister awake, goodbyes were said, and then he jumped down to the walkway and helped Lady Williams descend the steps.

  She placed her hand on his arm and said, “You have a delightful family, Lord Stratton. I’ve not had the opportunity to get to know them before now.”

  “You’re very kind to say so, but I suspect you would not find a steady diet of Aunt Mirabella all that delightful. I love my aunt dearly, but she can be exasperating at times.”

  She produced a rich throaty laugh. “That may be true, but she has a good heart and that’s what matters most.” They stopped on her front step and as Stratton rapped on the door she held her breath hoping that Newman hadn’t fallen into too deep a sleep. Moments later the door was opened by a sleepy looking young man in black and gold livery.

  She turned to Stratton. “Thank you, my lord, for coming to my rescue. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”

  “I’m happy to have been of service.” She held out her hand and Stratton took it and bowed, but did not bring it to his lips. “I bid you good night.”

  She inclined her head slightly and murmured, “Good night, my lord.”

  She narrowed her eyes and watched as he strolled down the short walk and leapt back into the carriage. He was powerfully built, with heavily muscled thighs and broad shoulders and, she remembered, possessed of a great deal of stamina. What he could see in a little mouse like Priscilla Hawthorn was beyond her. The evening had not ended on the note she had strived for and, in truth, she was quite bewildered. Was he that taken with the chit? With an imperceptible shake of her head she pushed past Newton and headed for the stairs.

  “Send Jill to me,” she snapped. “Tell her to bring up a pot of tea.” Anger churned inside her. A short time later, she was sitting at her dressing table yanking hairpins from her coiffure.

  “You seem a little agitated, Melissa.”

  Startled, her hands fell to her sides and she turned in her chair. “Damn you, Philip. What are you doing here?”

  Philip sauntered out from behind her changing screen. “Such language. And from a lady of gentle breeding. Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

  “Did Newton let you in here?”

  “Don’t blame the servants. I let myself in. The lock on your back door is frightfully easy to pick. You might want to have that looked at.”

  Pins clattered to the floor as she abruptly rose from her chair. “You had the audacity to break into my home? I’ll have you thrown out of here, if I have to search out a Bow Street runner, myself.”

  He didn’t appear the slightest bit worried. “Where’s your hospitality? Is this any way to treat a guest? Particularly, one who bears good tidings?”

  “You’re not a guest. You’re a despicable cretin who stays so deep in his cups that he has to…” His last words reached her conscious mind. “What do you mean by good tidings?”

  Before he could answer, a knock came at the door.

  Blasted servants! She frantically waved him toward the three paneled screen.

  “What do you want?” she called out.

  The door creaked open a few inches and a small, timid face peeked around the edge. “I was told you sent for me, milady.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Go back to bed.”

  “But, milady, I ‘ave your tea and the buttons on the back of your dress are too ‘ard for you to reach.”

  Melissa’s jaw tightened. “Bring me the tea and go.”

  “But, milady, your buttons.”

  She rushed to the door and snatched the tray from the girl’s hands. “Just go! I'll send for you when I need you.”

  Once the maid had left and the door closed, Philip stepped out from his hiding place and offered a graceful bow. “Allow me to help you with your buttons, my lady.”

  “In your dreams, Philip.” She placed the teapot and cup on her dresser, sat back down and picked up her hairbrush. “Now, what good tidings have you brought me?”

  “Sometimes, my dear, you’re no fun at all.” Sighing audibly, he settled into an upholstered chair and stretched out his legs.

  “Just tell me what you came to tell me.”

  He pressed the tips of his fingertips together and smiled. “Our lovely Miss Hawthorn has a rather shocking secret regarding the young man she was once engaged to marry. One that will suit our purposes nicely.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The following morning dawned with ground fog as thick as soup. By early afternoon most of the mist had lifted but the sun stayed hidden and the air was clammy and damp. It would soon be drizzling, but Stratton was not in a mood to notice or care. At present, he was single minded in his purpose. He was about to ask Miss Priscilla Hawthorn for her hand in marriage. Last night had been a proposal of sorts, but he decided the right thing to do was to go down on bended knee, tell her he loved her and put an engagement ring on her finger. As Priscilla’s mother and stepfather were out of the country, he would go through the formality of speaking to Mrs. Hutton, but Priscilla was of age and there was no need for anyone’s permission.

  He strode up the short walkway and knocked on the front door. Seconds later, the front door swung open and he was presented with the butler’s expressionless face.

  “Good afternoon, Beldon. I’ve come to call on the ladies.”

  The butler allowed himself a faint look of surprise. “I’m afraid Mrs. Hutton is out visiting, my lord.”

  “Miss Hawthorn expects me. I presume she’s at home?’

  “Yes, my lord. Come in.” Beldon took his hat and gloves, then led him into the drawing room. “Please have a seat and I’ll tell Miss Hawthorn that you’re here.”

  Stratton stood by the fireplace a
nd checked his pocket, making certain the ring was still safely inside. He knew that Priscilla would likely be suffering a few pangs of guilt. He was certain that in her mind, the marriage, or at the very least, the marriage proposal should have come first, but passion rarely took heed of its victim’s preconceptions. It mattered little. He would propose and she would soon be his bride.

  “She isn’t receiving visitors, my lord.” Stratton looked up. The butler’s face gave Stratton no indication of her reason.

  He frowned with concern. “Is she ill?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then why isn’t she receiving visitors?”

  “She didn’t say. She requested that I escort you to the door.”

  Escort him to the door? Confused and angry, Stratton swiftly crossed the room but when he reached the corridor, he turned in the direction of the staircase instead of following Beldon to the door. “I assume Miss Hawthorn’s chambers are on the second floor?” he called out over his shoulder.

  “You mustn’t go up there.” Beldon trailed behind him doing a plausible imitation of a mama bird protecting her young. “My lord, this isn’t proper.”

  Stratton grabbed the banister and climbed the steps two at a time. He reached the top of the steps and stared down the long corridor. The irony of the situation struck him. They had done much the same last night. He threw the first door open and seeing it was empty went to the next.

  “I must ask you to leave, my lord.” Beldon scurried past him and stopped about halfway down the corridor. He looked defiantly at Stratton who was opening and slamming doors shut as he progressed down the hall. “Miss Hawthorn isn’t receiving,” the butler said raising his voice enough to be heard over the racket Stratton was making.

  A bitter smile stretched across Stratton’s face. Unwittingly, the butler had just led him to Priscilla. He strode over to the door closest to Beldon and wrenched it open.

  The chamber was a small parlor with pale yellow walls and blue upholstered furniture. Priscilla sat on a blue and white settee, a crumpled handkerchief in her lap. She remained seated as she gazed up at Stratton with a somber expression.

  “Good afternoon, Priscilla,” he said.

  She inclined her head. “My lord.”

  Beldon’s apologetic voice came from behind him. “I’m terribly sorry, miss. I wasn’t able to prevent him from coming in.”

  She nodded. “I understand. You did what you could. Lord Stratton can be very demanding. You may leave us, now.”

  “And shut the door,” Stratton added.

  Beldon stood pensively outside the doorway. “Miss, might I be so bold as to suggest the doors remain open?”

  “No, you may not.” Stratton reached over and shut the door in Beldon’s face.

  “That was very discourteous,” Priscilla remarked.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” He waited ten seconds, then yanked the door open and Belton stumbled forward. “As is listening at the door. Thank you for all your help, Beldon. I assure you that no harm will come to your mistress. Now, if you would please excuse us, Miss Hawthorn and I wish to speak privately.”

  Beldon looked at Priscilla who nodded her assent. “Certainly.” He bowed stiffly.

  Stratton watched him retreat down the hallway, before shutting the door. He reached up and felt along the door ledge until he found a key. “You should do a better job of hiding your keys, Priscilla,” he said as he locked the door and slipped the key in his waistcoat pocket. “Anyone could find it.”

  “I hadn’t realized that I would be locked in. Am I a prisoner?”

  His jaw tensed as he turned back to her. “Until I get some answers, yes. Now, why in God’s name did you tell Beldon to send me away?”

  She sat very still. Her lips trembled slightly and she pressed them together as if to stop the trembling. Her finger clutched at her handkerchief. “You're angry.”

  “Of course, I’m bloody angry! You told Beldon to escort me to the door without a word of explanation. What kind of nonsense is whirling around in your pretty little skull? You have me at my wit’s end. After last night I suspected that you would suffer a pang or two of guilt, but to send me away is unfathomable.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Enlighten me, Priscilla. Make me understand.”

  She took in a deep breath and stared at her lap. “Last night...”

  “Look at me, Priscilla. Whatever it is, the least you can do is tell me to my face.”

  She lifted her head until her eyes met his. There were red-rimmed and swollen. That he’d been happy as a lark for most of the day while she had obviously been crying, didn’t sit well with him. But nothing was sitting particularly well, at the moment.

  “I made a mistake last night. I can’t change that, but I won’t let it happen again.”

  “A mistake?” Those were the last words he wanted to hear. “Please explain.”

  Her face was very pale. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

  “Are you referring to our making love?” He made no effort to soften the caustic edge in his voice. “Making love.” He repeated it slowly. “It isn’t that difficult to say.”

  ”Last night, I wanted you so badly I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. I allowed things to happen that I never should have.”

  “There’s no need for guilt or recrimination.”

  “There is." Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. "I don’t blame you. You took what I offered. This is my fault, not yours. I know how difficult it is for men to control their--their baser urges.”

  “We’ve no more self control than a field full of bloody rabbits. Is that it?” His voice was mocking. “If that were true, I would have ravished you in my garden, the first time we met.”

  Her breath caught on a hitch as she looked away. “I simply can’t be around you anymore. You do something to me that I can’t explain. You make me feel things I shouldn’t feel. You make me want things that go far beyond what’s appropriate. It’s dangerous to be with you. I cannot trust myself.”

  His anger began to dissipate. If she hadn’t looked so miserable he might have laughed. He crossed the room and sat down on the settee beside her. “Why do you believe making love such a mistake? I know it brought you pleasure. There’s no shame in passion.”

  She hesitated a few moments before answering. “I could be carrying your child, couldn’t I?”

  “It’s possible.” He touched a strand of blond hair that had escaped its topknot. “I want children. You would make beautiful children. You would be a wonderful mother.”

  She brushed his hand away. “An illegitimate child would suffer greatly as would my family.”

  He couldn't believe she had thought this of him. “Good God. What kind of a person do you think I am? I have no intention of siring a bastard.” He knelt down on one knee and tightly captured her hands in his. “Miss Priscilla Hawthorn, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She lowered her head, but he caught her chin and brought it back up again. Her eyes glistened with tears. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t marry you.”

  His patience was nearing its end. “Why not?”

  She blinked and a tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t love you.”

  Feeling as if he had taken a blow to his heart, his hand dropped to his side. “How unconventional of you to make that an issue,” he said. “Amongst our peers, love is rarely a requirement for marriage.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s what I wish.” She pressed her lips tightly together. “Chances are, I may never marry.”

  “And if you find you’re with child?”

  She lifted her shoulders and looked away. “I don’t know. I suppose I'll deal with that if it happens”

  Without warning, he sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap. When she offered no resistance, he snaked a hand beneath her skirt and touched the lush, damp heat between her thighs.

  “Tell me you don’t love me, Priscilla.”

  “You’re confusing lust w
ith love.” Her words came in an uneven whisper.

  “Tell me you don’t love me,” he whispered. “Say the words.”

  She made no move to remove his hand, but rested her forehead against his shoulder.

  He continued to caress the damp flesh beneath his fingertips and skimmed his lips along her jaw stopping to kiss the little indentation beneath her ear. Her pulse was skittering wildly and she clung to him.

  “Tell me you want me to stop, love.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice came as a cry.

  He quickly covered her mouth with a kiss while his fingers continued their work. He stroked her slowly, without entering her, teasing her desire, gently letting the sensations gradually build within her until her breathing became ragged and she began to move against him. Once inflamed, she was exquisitely uninhibited in her passion. He broke their kiss to watch the joy on her face. But when her expression tightened to one of desperate intensity he knew she was close and sealed her lips with a kiss to keep her from crying out. He felt the convulsive tremors in her soft moist flesh and heard a low shuddering moan as she found her release at his hand.

  Breathing heavily, she fell against him. He had intended to stop at this point, but he was hard and throbbing with need. He lifted her and turned her around until she was resting on her knees straddling him. Beneath the pale green canopy of her skirt he unfastened his pants, parted her with his fingers, and eased himself inside her. “Do you want this?” he whispered hoarsely. She rested her trembling hands on his shoulders. Eyes closed, she bit her bottom lip and nodded her head.

  Thank God. He placed his hands beneath her hips, easing her up and down slowly at first until they found their rhythm. When he couldn’t hold back any longer he put his hand between them, stroking the center of her desire, thrusting against her until she came a second time. A few heartbeats later, he groaned and shuddered as his own release followed.