Bewitched (17 page)

Dick made a face at his brother. “Father went to Cambridge. And grandfather, too! And great-grandfather—”

“Went to Cambridge as well,” Lady Rawdon finished as they walked past the staircase that led to the guestrooms on the floor above. “No doubt, in ten years’ time you will be the next generation of Stapletons at Cambridge.”

It made Amy wonder why Fox had chosen to go to Oxford instead. Had his real father attended university there, perhaps?

They entered the next room—The King’s Salon, the countess called it. Done in pale greens, the chamber was dominated by a large portrait of an aging Charles II. The coal black curls of a wig framed his face and formed an intriguing contrast to the lines age had burrowed into his skin.

Pip stopped in front of the portrait and peered up at the larger-than-life man, then threw a look back over his shoulder. “When the king visited Norfolk, a wheel of his carriage broke and Rawdon Park was the nearest house. And so he spent the night here."

“He liked the food here so exceedingly well that he stayed a fortnight,” the countess added, a little wryly. “He sent this portrait as a thank-you present.”

“There’s a naked lady, too.” With a mischievous grin Dick pointed at a portrait in the portrait.

Isabella gasped, and for a moment Amy feared she was going to faint again. But Isabella must have thought better of it given that there was no Lord Munthorpe present to catch her.

Shaking her head, Amy stepped next to the boys and gamely inspected the naked lady in the small oval portrait that leaned against a wall and was half hidden behind the king’s left leg. At the saucy, provocative look on said lady’s face, Amy couldn’t help chuckling. “Charming.”

“We think it might be Nell Gwynne, the actress,” Lady Rawdon said. “Or perhaps the fashionable Barbara Castlemaine. Did you know that she was his favorite mistress by the time he married? Makes you feel pity for poor Queen Catherine, doesn’t it? Even though she was Catholic, of course. Now, if you will come through here?”

They walked through two more rooms before they reached the spiral staircase of one of the towers. In contrast to the beautiful and elegant trappings of the rooms they had seen so far, the walls here were only whitewashed, with the brickwork still shining through. “This used to be one of the back stairways,” Lady Rawdon explained, “but we decided to put the nursery and the schoolroom up in the second floor because these are among the sunniest rooms in Rawdon Park.”

They left young Richard and Philip upstairs with the nursemaid and little Annie, who waved and shot a beaming smile at Amy. “Another hour of Latin vocabulary,” the countess instructed cheerfully. “Your father will test you this evening. Huh,” she added as she closed the door on the children, “I will be glad when Mr. Ford comes back. He has a firm hand and has so far managed to rein in my sons’ more unruly moods.”

The rest of the tour passed without interruption, and they concluded it an hour later in the South Drawing Room, where tea and light sandwiches already awaited them.

And Fox.

Amy’s face lit up, and she thought she must surely have floated to his side. Smiling down at her, he pressed her hand. “Missed me?” he whispered.

“Always,” she whispered back. How could she not?

~*~

Over the next few days they settled into a comfortable routine as all house parties are wont to do. Fox got used to country hours again, and in the mornings he and Amy always took a stroll around the park and gardens. They briefly talked about their wedding plans—a spring wedding it should be—but it all seemed part of a too distant future. The present proved a much greater lure: they lost themselves in the moment, in each other—and made good use of the small pavilion. Fox had not tried to kiss Amy’s foot again; instead he had shown her the delight to be found in kisses strewn across her neck and throat and the curve of her shoulder. Once he had even talked her into wearing a rather low-cut dress—much too low-cut for taking a walk at this time of the year. Still, her pelisse had kept her warm until they had reached their pavilion and he…

And he…

And he had unbuttoned the pelisse, torturously slowly. Was it any wonder then that by the time the garment had fallen open, her breath had been coming in short, sharp puffs? With infinite tenderness he had trailed the backs of his fingers across her upper chest, raising goose bumps and making her shiver. Finally, his forefinger had slipped into the valley between her breasts to tickle her there. Laughter and lust had melted into one, and their mouths had fused with hungry passion.

At the back of her mind a voice clamored that she was behaving in the most improper fashion, but the delight Amy found in Fox’s arms quickly quieted that annoyance. Perhaps it might be considered strange how effortlessly she cast off her inhibitions when she was with Fox, but then she loved him—oh, how she loved him! Propriety and common sense might dictate that she should not grant him any liberties until they were husband and wife so as not to court possible ruin. Yet this was
Fox
. So why wait when love, the most sacred emotion of all, already bound them together forevermore? Nothing could ever part them.

And so they kissed and caressed, and deep in her bones she knew that soon mere kisses and caresses wouldn’t be enough. For day after day, her hunger for him increased like a burning fever in her blood. Thus, day after day, propriety and common sense became less and less important. Amy sometimes wondered that none of the others seemed to see. It appeared to her that all her love and passion must be a flame that lit her from the inside out.

But no, to all appearances none of the others noticed anything unusual. The world around Amy and Fox revolved in a comfortable country house routine.

In the afternoon they usually all came together in the South Drawing Room and played cards or read. Isabella found a fortepiano and chose to brutalize Beethoven. In the late afternoon the children were sent in, and while Fox taught Dick to play chess, Pip played hare and hounds with Amy. Annie, doll clutched to her side, sat next to them and watched the proceedings with wide eyes.

One evening Sir Richard Bedingfield and his wife were dinner guests at Rawdon Park, and a few days later he returned the compliment and invited them all to Oxburgh Hall. He also had invited other guests, so there was a big enough party for impromptu dancing after dinner. Footmen rolled up the carpet in the drawing room, and one of the ladies sat down at the piano. Because it was such an informal affair, nobody appeared scandalized when Fox stayed glued to Amy’s side through most of the evening. Daringly, they even danced the waltz together. While they swirled through the room in three-four time, Amy had ample opportunity to feast her eyes on his face, on the sprinkle of freckles, on his blue-gray eyes, which shimmered softly in the candlelight. At that moment it seemed to her that she must have done this once before. Indeed, she was almost certain she had, yet the memory remained hazy.

She frowned.

Why, she almost thought she had been put out that first time! How extraordinarily strange!

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain, but then the waltz ended and Lord Rawdon laughingly stepped up to them and demanded the next dance with his future sister-in-law. Afterwards she danced with the admiral, then with Sir Richard, before Fox came to reclaim her with obvious, and rather satisfying, impatience.

On another day Lady Rawdon, Amy, and Isabella went out in an open carriage in order to enjoy a turn about the flat countryside. Unfortunately, it soon started to drizzle and they were forced to turn back. They had more luck on the day they visited the Roman ruins. The wide arch of the sky remained bright and clear while they admired the architecture of bygone ages.

A few days later, however, the drizzle turned into fat snowflakes that dusted the land like glittering flour.

“Oh dear,” Amy sighed as they took their walk in the gardens that morning. “I’m afraid we will have to do without our pavilion today.”

“Miss Bourne!” Fox breathed in tones of deep shock. “You surprise me. That a respectable young lady like you would—”

Amy thumped his arm, which only resulted in making him grin.

“Would contemplate—”

“Fox!”

“Would contemplate to—”

“
Fox
!”

“Oh, all right,” he conceded. “I shall be magnanimous. Just this once, mind you!”

“You’re too kind, sir.”

He nodded smugly. “That I am.”

Amy did her best to hide her smile. “And way too full of yourself as well.”

“What?”

With a squeal she darted away and let him chase her down the garden path.

“And much faster than such a flighty little thing like you!” Fox laughed as he caught her from behind, one hand slung around her waist so he could draw her snugly back against his body. “I’m afraid I will have to exact revenge, madam,” he muttered, just before he closed his mouth over hers in a deep, drugging kiss.

Hilarity, the excitement of the chase, and passion all mingled and made her heart slam against her ribs. She moaned a little when Fox started to unbutton her pelisse. “You can’t possibly—”

“Shhh.” His lips covered hers once more. While his tongue swirled through her mouth, he fingered the neckline of her dress.

“Drat!” He sounded so put out that Amy couldn’t help giggling. “You’re wearing one of these blasted high-necked dresses again!” He frowned down at her. “Will you stop laughing?” And kissed her again.

She leaned against him, but—

“No,” he muttered and held her back. “Let me…” The rest was lost as she finally managed to snatch yet another kiss.

She loved how his mouth moved over hers, the way he nibbled and chewed on her lips, how he tasted on her tongue. She loved running her tongue over his lips, over the satin-soft skin inside his mouth. With satisfaction she heard his deep, heartfelt groan and redoubled her efforts. She wanted to enslave him as he had enslaved her, she wanted to—

“Oh, thank God, it’s only held together by a ribbon!”

All at once a cold breeze wafted over her upper chest. With a sharply indrawn breath, she tried to pull back.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he murmured against her lips. “Stay!”

“Fox!” she protested. “You can’t!” She looked down and her eyes widened: the upper part of her dress gaped wide open, wide enough to reveal the top of her stays.

An appreciative smile curved his mouth. “Beautiful.” He reached out to touch her breast, but this time she managed to evade him.

Hastily, she drew the edges of her dress back together. “We can’t possibly!”

“Can’t we?” He took a large step toward her, forcing her to step back.

“We’re in the middle of your brother’s garden, for heaven’s sake!” Another step back.

“We’ve already done all of this in my brother’s garden, if you remember.” His smile had taken on a decidedly wicked quality.

“Ha!” She took a step back. “But not in the middle of the garden path!”

He raised his brow. “No?”

Step back. “No.
Fox
!” And she bumped into one of the dratted statues.

“I like it how my name sounds on your lips when you’re a little annoyed,” he purred. “And just a little…” He stepped even closer until they stood knee to knee.

Or rather, knee to shin
, Amy thought somewhat desperately as she arched away from him, curving her back over the cold stone of the statue.

“Just a little…” He leaned over her.

At that point Amy considered it best to close her eyes so as not to yield to the temptation of his mouth once more.

“Just a little…” His breath feathered over her face. A shiver ran through her body and, dear heavens, her breasts ached. “…
aroused
.” His lips covered the pulse point at the base of her throat. A heartbeat later she felt the sting of teeth. It was delicious.

“Oh dear,” she panted. “Oh, sweet… oh…”

“All right, this will not do,” Fox groaned. The next moment he had hauled her upright.

Her eyes snapped open. “What are you doing?”

His hand firmly closed around her wrist, he strode down the path.

“What…?” She stumbled after him. “Fox?”

“Shh. Or else I’ll ravish you here and now.”

Her mouth hung open. He couldn’t mean—could he?

“I swear, you’re driving me deranged,” he continued in an urgent tone. “But you’re right, of course, there’s no privacy on these paths. Anybody could walk by. I wouldn’t want my brother’s head gardener to box my ears for ravishing a young lady in his gardens.”

“Ravish?” It came out as a squeak.

Fox threw her a crooked smile over his shoulder. “Of course, ravish. What else have I been doing just now? What else did I do all these past days and weeks? Gracious, if my family ever finds out about this…” He shuddered. “Seducing a gently bred lady under their very roof, even if she is my fiancée! Richard would flay me alive!” He turned his attention back on the path. “So you have to promise never to tell them,” he said drolly. “This way.” He turned right. “I have to say this is all quite uncharacteristic behavior for me.” He threw her a somewhat worried glance. “I wouldn’t want you to think I make a habit of ravishing young ladies in gardens.”

“Oh, don’t you?” Amy murmured weakly.

He shook his head. “Indeed, not. You must know I’m renowned for my cool and serious demeanor in London.”

Oh yes. Cold as a—what?

“But not when I’m with you.” Fox beamed at her, and the memory teasing at the back of Amy’s mind evaporated. “I’ve discovered a fondness for such clandestine affairs. And even better: I know exactly the right place for this kind of thing.”

“Oh. Do you?” Amy mumbled.

The smile he flashed her this time could only be called triumphant. “Oh yes! The Muses’ Coffeehouse!”

“The what?” She nearly stumbled and fell, but effortlessly he drew her to his side.

“It’s a temple, really. My great- or great-great-grandfather had it built on the other side of the park. Temple of the Muses. Nicely tucked out of the way.”

“Oh,” Amy said and walked a little faster.

He threw her a hot, sideways look. “It’s perfect.”