The Bewitching Hour Page 5

  “As do I.”

  He had to be the most vexing man she'd ever met. Even Lord Mallory didn't hold a candle to this man's persistence. Her tone sharpened. “No, thank you. I live nearby and there’s no need for you to bother.”

  “You’re perfectly safe with me, Miss Hawthorn. I promise. We’ll be in plain view. I couldn’t so much as kiss your hand without the world knowing.”

  "I believe I said no, thank you." She attempted to move past him, but he had managed to place himself squarely in her way. "Would you please step aside so I can retrieve my belongings?”

  He didn’t move.

  “I could scream,” she threatened.

  He grinned. “Go ahead. It would stir up a great deal excitement.”

  A sound of exasperation escaped her lips. “This is ridiculous.”

  He broadened his grin. “I can be very determined, Miss Hawthorn. If you decide to leave without me, I’ll only follow you.”

  She didn't know what to make of him. What sort of game was he playing? “Must you always have your way?”

  He paused a moment before answering. “When it’s important.”

  Deciding that it would be preferable to allow him to escort her home than continue to argue the matter, she said, “Very well. I’ll fetch my maid, but I warn you, you'll find me a poor conversationalist and even worse company.”

  He smiled. "I'll take my chances, Miss Hawthorne." He stepped aside and gracefully motioned for her to pass by him. She quickly made her way to the back. With her maid trailing closely behind her, she returned a few minutes later wearing a chip bonnet tied with blue satin ribbons.

  His gaze moved over her. “You have exquisite taste in hats, Miss Hawthorn.”

  Her face and chest warmed at this scrutiny. Why did he make her so uncomfortable? It wasn't as if he were the first man to take note of her. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making further comment about my personal appearance.”

  He grinned at her. “Must I?”

  “Yes, you must. And please remember that Sally will be right behind us,” she said. “And, it will be a very short walk.”

  Pulling a long face, he said, “I’m crushed. You don’t trust me at all, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  “My lord!” The breathless voice of the shop girl reached them. “Where should I send the hat that you purchased?”

  He rubbed his hand across his chin and appeared to give it some thought. “Mmm. After careful consideration I believe you should burn it.”

  Priscilla brought her hand to her mouth to cover an inelegant snort of laughter.

  The girl's eyes had gone wide. “Burn it?”

  “Yes, please. As quickly as possible before anyone else has the misfortune to lay eyes on it.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Stratton settled Priscilla’s hand on his arm and by the time they had taken a few steps, the sound of laughter rang out behind them. “Silly woman,” he whispered as he swept her out the door. “One would think I was the first customer to request that she burn a hat.”

  “I believe she finds you entertaining, though I can’t imagine why.”

  He looked quite astonished. “You don’t find me entertaining?”

  She did, but rather than admit it, gave him a sour look and said, “I find you forward and ill-mannered and I can’t imagine why I’ve allowed you to see me home.”

  He chuckled. “I’m most grateful for your lapse in judgment. I pray that it continues. I do enjoy your biting wit.”

  A retort formed on her tongue, but she quickly thought the better of it. They'd only taken a few steps before they were forced to make their nods to a group of passing pedestrians. The cobblestone street was rapidly filling up with carts and carriages and she knew it was likely they would be noticed by someone of their acquaintance. The thought that they might be linked together was disconcerting.

  "A lovely day, don't you think?" he said. "London has so few of them. I much prefer the country."

  Curious, she forgot her decision not to encourage conversation. "Why did you return?"

  "Familial duty. My parents are in France and I returned to escort my sister for the season. She's coming out this year and I couldn't allow her to face the season with only Aunt Mirabella to look after her. That would have been heartless."

  He sounded genuinely fond of his sister. Perhaps she had misjudged him. “I would ask you for a favor, my lord.”

  “I would do most anything for you, Miss Hawthorn.

  She almost believed him. “If there’s any chance you do possess those letters, or that you might run across them, would you let me have them? I could send them to my cousin and I believe that would take care of the problem.”

  He carefully led her around a small pile of debris on the walkway. “As I told you before, I don’t have them. But even if I did, I don’t believe I would give them to you.”

  A sound of exasperation escaped her chest and she came to a stop. “For heaven's sake, why not?”

  “Once you have the letters, I might never see you again and that would make me very sad.” He gave her a mournful look. “It’s quite possible I would fall into a decline.”

  A smile tugged at her lips as she visualized him reclining on a chaise lounge with a cool compress on his forehead and a bottle of foul-tasting tonic at his side. “Good.”

  “Why, Miss Hawthorne, I’m devastated. One would think you didn’t care for me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I hope to change that.” They walked in silence a few moments. “Do you really believe I would use these letters to ruin your cousin?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I suppose not.”

  He patted her hand. “I truly don’t remember receiving any letters from Miss Dearborn. I’ll sort through the correspondence in my files, but that’s the most I can do.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to be happy with that.”

  “Will I see you at the Danfield’s ball?”

  Drat. Of course, he would be there. She hadn't thought that far ahead. “It might be best if I didn’t attend.”

  “And why is that?”

  She glanced down before meeting his eyes. “It isn’t wise.”

  “But I so wanted to share a dance with you.”

  “That’s why it isn’t wise.”

  He grinned. “Ah, I see. Then by all means, you must attend.”

  "Perhaps." They had reached a fashionable, well kept, red brick townhouse set back a few feet from the walkway. It was four stories high and quite regal with ivory shutters and a large paneled front door with a brass knocker set in the center. She turned to him and said politely, “Thank you for escorting me home, my lord.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  The front door opened and a black-garbed little man hovered protectively in the doorway. He looked directly at Stratton and said, “Do you need assistance with your purchases, Miss Priscilla?”

  “No, thank you, Beldon. Sally has my packages.” She looked over her shoulder. Her maid was still trailing a good distance behind them. “She’ll be here in a moment.” She lowered her voice and said to Stratton, “If I didn’t know different, I would think you had bribed her to keep so far behind us.”

  He raised his brows in mock surprise. “Miss Hawthorn! What an unjust remark to make. I’m entirely innocent of that particular misdeed.”

  “But guilty of a good many others, I’m sure,” she commented.

  “I fear you are correct in that observation. But a man can always change.” He bowed over her hand, bringing it almost to his lips.

  “One can hope,” she murmured. “Though, in this particular case, I have my doubts.”

  When he lifted his head, he was laughing. “Good day, Miss Hawthorn. I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “Good day, Lord Stratton.”

  She watched as he turned and headed cheerfully back down the street. Sally came up and stood beside her. “
Sally,” she said. “There was no reason for you to lag so far behind. You might as well have not even been there.”

  Sally curtsied. “Yes, miss.”

  “Don’t let it happen again.”

  The maid grinned happily. “Yes, miss.”

  “And quit grinning like a loon.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Priscilla looked up at Beldon and was shocked to see that he was also smiling, though he quickly replaced it with a very proper look when he caught her gaze. In the twenty years he had been their butler she wasn’t certain she had ever seen him smile. “Good heavens,” she said as she stomped inside. “I do wish everyone would stop being so cheerful!”

  “You’ve got it bad my friend.” Rand had just settled himself in a large leather chair on the other side of Stratton’s desk in his study.

  Stratton set down his quill, looked at Rand and scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “I come into your office unannounced and find you staring into space with a lovesick expression on your face. In addition, you’ve dripped ink all over your paperwork. I hope it wasn’t important.”

  Stratton swore as he saw the blotches of ink on correspondence he had just received from his man of affairs. “I’m suffering from unfulfilled lust, not love.”

  Rand snorted. “Rubbish. It’s more than lust. You are completely besotted with Miss Priscilla Hawthorn. It’s enough to make me ill. But as your friend I want to see you happy, so I suggest you consider marrying her.”

  Stratton’s mouth dropped open. “Good God! Marry her? Isn’t that a bit premature? I’ve seen her exactly twice. I barely know her.”

  “It makes perfect sense. Her background is perfectly acceptable and you do need an heir. You have to get married some day. It might as well be Miss Hawthorn.”

  “At present, she thinks I’m forward and ill-mannered.”

  “Excellent.” Rand nodded approvingly. “It’s best that she understands that now instead of finding out once you’re married.”

  “It would be a rude surprise, wouldn’t it?” Stratton agreed. “I don’t know, Rand. I honestly can’t stop thinking about her. It’s beyond my scope of experience and a damnable situation to be in.”

  “She’s not the type to dally with. The way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can court her or you can stay away from her.”

  “I don’t think I can stay away from her.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “Oh, hell. It’s complicated isn’t it? This ridiculous situation with Bertram and these elusive letters will have to be taken care of. I'm not certain I can court Miss Hawthorn and dodge Bertram, all at the same time.”

  “You’ve never figured out what this Miss Dearborn’s talking about?”

  Stratton shook his head. “I haven't the vaguest idea. I don’t remember receiving any letters from a fifteen year old female and I certainly don’t have them now.”

  Rand tipped his chair back on two legs, felt it wobble, quickly caught the edge of the desk and saved himself from falling flat on his back. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed.

  “Impressive reflexes,” Stratton commented. “Don’t know that I could have done as well.”

  Rand leaned over and saw that the bottom of one leg appeared to be well chewed. “You do realize, don’t you, that those damned dogs are eating your furniture?”

  Stratton ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “Yes. I’ve had to start locking the door in here. For some reason, the beasts don’t like closed doors. They’ll whine and cry until it’s so blasted annoying that someone opens the door. They have taken over the house. It’s ludicrous.”

  Rand got up to switch chairs. Then he headed over to a side cabinet to pour himself a brandy. “Any idea when your parents will be back?”

  “No, but I’m afraid it will be some time. The baby’s not due for another three months, and I imagine they will stay another three or four months after.” He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “At least when I’m in Surrey, I can talk to the tenants and see what’s happening. This is stifling.”

  “I would suggest that you get used to it.”

  Stratton frowned. ”Why would you say that?”

  “Because it’s fairly obvious that over the past few years your father has been handing more and more of his responsibilities over to you. If I’m not mistaken, there’s very little remaining that you haven’t taken over. You’re past the point of simply being groomed for your earldom, my boy. Do you really think that the Earl is planning to take on these duties again once they return? I’d make a bet that he’ll relinquish his seat in the house to you next year.”

  “He’s already done so,” Stratton admitted. “He knew he wouldn’t be here and it didn’t make sense to have no voice at all.”

  “The way I see it, he’s entitled to spend his remaining years doing what he loves most. Traveling and spending time with your mother.”

  “Only God knows why. I love my mother dearly, but she’s almost as loony as Aunt Mirabella. I guess I should be grateful that she doesn’t own dogs or wear clothing that makes her look utterly ridiculous." He stretched his arms over his head and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders. "Pour me one of those, would you? Good Lord, Mother and Father have to come back sometime, don’t they?”

  Rand set out another glass. “Did you ever stop to think that your parent’s absence insures your residence in London for the season? You know as well as I that your mother’s concerned about your unmarried state.”

  “That’s preposterous,” Stratton protested. “They wouldn’t stay away just to trap me here. This will be their first grandchild and Mother wants to be there. Is my sister’s condition a part of this plot?”

  “Or just a bit of luck, as far as your mother is concerned.” He set a brandy in front of Stratton.

  “Damn. The idea of living with Aunt Mirabella until Cecelia gets married is more than I can bear. And at the moment she says she’s not planning on getting married anytime soon. I must say, she’s picked an inconvenient time to assert her independence.”

  Rand sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Face it. You’ve been appointed lord and master whether you want it or not.”

  “Hell,” Stratton muttered.

  “Cheer up. You’ll see Miss Hawthorn this evening at Mother’s to-do.”

  “I hope so. She’s somewhat reluctant to attend any social function that might require her to dance with me.”

  “Dislikes you that much, eh?” Rand grinned. “Well you are forward and ill-mannered.”

  “Exceedingly,” Stratton agreed. “There’s always the chance that young Bertram will be there. He’s still hounding me to divulge my misdeed. How is he doing? Any improvement? Should I be in fear for my life? He’s certainly persistent.”

  Rand shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone so inept with a pistol. I don’t understand what he can possibly be thinking. The boy’s completely ham-fisted and I don’t think he’ll get any better.”

  Stratton picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink pot. “I wonder if she’s worth it,” he mused as he signed the top document with a flourish.

  “Miss Hawthorn?”

  “No, Miss Dearborn,” Stratton answered. “Bertram’s ready to take a bullet on her whim. I can’t see how she could possibly be worth it. So far, it looks as if all she does is cause trouble.”

  “Bertram seems to think she’s worth it. Love is a peculiar thing. Does odd things to its victims. I’m grateful I haven’t fallen prey.” Rand shuddered. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like.”

  Stratton shrugged and went back to his paperwork.

  “You know you’ve got to set up your nursery in the not too distant future and since you’re completely done in by Miss Hawthorn, you might as well make a match with someone who can make pretty brats,” Rand said. “The lady will get away from you if you’re not careful.”

  “Have you forgotten that she thinks me forward and ill-mannered?”

&n
bsp; “Compromise her. She won’t have a choice then.”

  A surge of anger shot through Stratton. His hands clenched. “Don’t be a bloody idiot. You said yourself she isn’t the type to dally with.”

  “I didn’t say you had to copulate with her. You know as well as I do, that it doesn’t take much more than a kiss to force a marriage.”

  “Bugger off, Rand.”

  “You always could turn a phrase.” Rand drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought. Then his face brightened. “I’ve got an idea. A brilliant idea.”

  “God save me." Stratton's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "How many times did your brilliant ideas almost get us expelled?”

  “We’re not in school any longer. Being expelled is no longer a concern.”

  Stratton heaved a very loud sigh. “I’m almost afraid to ask. What mischief have you plotted?”

  Rand's lips slowly stretched into a smile. “We’re going to write a letter.”

  “Priscilla.”

  Surprised by the interruption, Priscilla looked up from the needlepoint she was doing. Olivia rarely disturbed her when she was in her parlor and for a moment Priscilla thought something must be wrong. But her companion’s face was beaming with pleasure. She smiled back at her. "You seemed pleased. What is it?"

  “Someone has sent you orchids,” Olivia said.

  "Drat." Priscilla stopped, hoping she was wrong.

  Olivia looked at her strangely. “What, dear?”

  “Nothing important. I was thinking out loud.” Priscilla set her needlework to the side. “Did Lord Mallory send them?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, they aren't from Lord Mallory, dear. You know he’s much too stingy to send something this exquisite. And he always signs his cards. This card wasn’t signed.”

  Blast. Priscilla stood up, straightened her skirts and tried to keep a pleasant look on her face. “Are you certain they're for me? Lord Hamilton has been quite attentive to you of late and he's a very generous man.”

  “Yes, of course, I'm certain. Your name is on the card.” Olivia continued to chatter as Priscilla followed her along the corridor and down the stairs. “I believe someone new has set his cap for you. I only wish we knew who it was. How terribly exciting.”