Bewitched (22 page)

“It would be better if she returned to London soon.” Lady Rawdon finished her sentence. “You are quite right. It would be wrong to keep Miss Bentham from her family any longer. Who knows what kind of winter we will get this year! If I think back to 1814—” She shuddered. “I will talk to her today, so that if she so wishes, we can prepare for her departure before there is more snow.”

And thus, one potential danger would be removed from Raw don Park. Amy breathed a sigh of relief.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The men stayed out shooting, so the countess made sure they were sent a hamper with rolls and cold meat for their luncheon. In the afternoon, Amy sat awhile with little Dick before she joined the other ladies in the drawing room for a game of cards. She was relieved to find Isabella absent and to hear her tormenting the fortepiano in the music room with something that again sounded vaguely like Beethoven. Conversing with Isabella was difficult at the best of times; with Amy now harboring suspicions as to Isabella’s motive for staying at Rawdon Park, any sort of conversation with her would only have been stilted, if not downright disastrous.

And so the women played until the men returned and it was time to get ready for dinner. Throughout the meal, Amy kept her eyes trained on her plate so that she didn’t have to look at Fox across the table. But later, when she excused herself at the earliest possible moment, she could not prevent him from offering to accompany her to her room once more.

“Naturally, we will be waiting for you to come downstairs again, Sebastian,” the countess pointed out wryly, which caused everybody to chuckle.

But Fox only shrugged and held out his arm to Amy. How could she possibly reject him while everybody else obliquely watched with gentle amusement? It would have been too cruel to say no to his offer and embarrass him in front of his friends and family.

No, she couldn’t do this to him. Yet the sight of the hesitant smile he gave her when she nodded cut her deeper than any knife. Oh, how she wished she could simply run away from it all!

A bittersweet moment came when she slipped her hand into the familiar place in the crook of his elbow, when her wrist rubbed against the inside of his arm. She didn’t want to remember how she had run her hands over his naked arms the night before, how she had reveled in the hard strength of his muscles; yet, unbidden, the memories rose to taunt her.

“You were very quiet today,” he finally said as they walked up the stairs. “Tell me, please…” He stopped and turned toward her, anxiously searching her face. “Have I offended you in any way?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what—” He shook his head. “Your eyes are overbright with unshed tears.” With a gentle finger, he brushed the tears away when they finally overflowed. With a groan, he drew her into a tight hug.

Closing her eyes, Amy hid her face against his chest and listened to his heart hammering against her ear. She buried her front teeth into her lower lip to hold back her sobs while he rocked her back and forth. A kiss fell on her hair.

“What is it, my sweet?” he whispered. “Can’t you tell me?”

Never
. Because which man in his right mind would believe her?

She pulled back. “I am sorry.” She dashed her hand across her eyes before she turned, and continued walking up the stairs. He fell in step beside her. “I am…” she tried. “Oh, Fox, we got so carried away last night.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “That we certainly did.”

“We shouldn’t have.”

“No?” His face fell.

They turned into the corridor that led to her room.

“Then, you didn’t enjoy—”

“You know I did,” she cut in quickly. She had enjoyed it so much that, even now, she wished she could simply drag him into her room and let him have his wicked way with her until she forgot everything but the scent and taste of him, the weight of his body on hers. “But it is unseemly,” she continued. “Think of it: under your brother’s roof! What if your family finds out about this? Didn’t you tell me yourself how irate the earl would be?”

His brows drew together. “I-”

Of course, as the love potion had apparently lowered all their inhibitions and done away with all sense of propriety, he might no longer care what his family thought. Hadn’t they both considered it more sensible to stop their love play yesterday morning? Then, only a few short hours later, that had all been forgotten in face of overwhelming passion.

Amy grimaced. “And what if I should become, you know, with child?”

“Oh.”

They had reached the door to her room. She stopped and turned, her hand on the latch.

“I have not thought of this,” he admitted, a little shamefaced. The next moment, though, his eyes lit up again. “I will think of something.” He reached for her hand and flashed her a grin. “There are ways…”

Oh heavens! She stared up at him in dismay.

“Oh, there’s no need to look so worried.” His smile became tender as he pushed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “It’s nothing that will hurt, I swear.” He put his hand on the doorframe above her and leaned closer. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight?” It came out as a squeak.

“I could just hold you in my arms. Or we could—”

“No,” she said quickly. She had a fine idea of what else they could do. After all, she had already caressed him quite intimately. Doing it again, with a love potion still raging through his system? “No. The temptation would be too great.”

“Would it?” His hand slipped from the doorframe to curve around the side of her throat. His fingers slid into her hair and massaged her neck, while his thumb brushed over her lower lip.

With devastating effect.

Amy sucked in a breath.

“You are so sweet,” he murmured. “Sweeter than a ripened peach.” His head descended.

Yet she couldn’t possibly let him kiss her. “Good night.” It came out as another undignified squeak, but she was beyond caring. She fumbled with the latch, pushed the door open, and stumbled into her room.

“Amy…”

Hastily, she slammed the door shut behind her and slid the bolt home. Her heart hammering, she stood stock still and listened as he heaved a big sigh and finally walked away.

Amy closed her eyes.

~*~

In the following days she learned to avoid him, or at least learned to avoid being alone with him. Ruthlessly she suppressed the pain she felt about missing those morning walks with him in the park. And just as ruthlessly she suppressed any remorse at Fox’s bewilderment over her thorough-if subtle-rejection. She could not afford to dwell on it if she wanted to get through the day.

She often sat with young Baron Bradenell, but after three days of lying in bed, he was allowed to get up again and limp through the house on crutches. The children now frequently spent the whole afternoon in the drawing room, where Admiral Pickering regaled the boys with stories of maneuvers on the high seas, and they quizzed him about the manner of living onboard a ship, the regulations, the work, the clambering around high up in the sails. Afterwards Pip would hurry to fetch their tattered copy of the Navy List, and then he and Dick would huddle close together on one of the sofas and pore over the list to find out the names of all the ships the admiral had commanded during his long career. Of course, they had already marked all the names, but they seemed to take much delight in listing them all again and asking him endless questions about each and every ship.

More snow fell, and all three children impatiently awaited the day when the lake would be frozen and the ice thick enough for skating. At the same time, they greatly lamented the fact that the boys’ tutor had not yet returned, for it seemed he was the one who had taken them onto the ice in the past. But it seemed that Mr. Ford was snowed in up in Scotland, and would not be able to return for a several more weeks. When this news reached them, the children’s expressions were so woebegone that Amy finally promised them she would go with them in the tutor’s stead.

“You can skate? On the
ice
?” Open-mouthed, Pip gaped at her.

“Spiffing!” Dick exclaimed, while Annie simply beamed at Amy in silent adoration. The stone skipping had indeed been a great and long-lasting success.

Abruptly, Amy’s cheerful mood vanished. It would have been better not to encourage the children’s affections.

A moment later Fox sat down next to her on the sofa and nonchalantly leaned back. From the corner of her eye she watched him brushing his hands over the front of his coat as if to remove invisible specks of dust—a betraying little gesture, which revealed his offhand manner as a mere facade.

She could have wept as she realized how well she could read him. Or at least, read that part of him that was befuddled by the dratted potion and hence besotted with love. Of the real Fox—the cool, aloof man about Town—she had caught only glimpses and didn’t know him at all.

He leaned closer until his breath caressed her cheek. “I see you have utterly charmed my niece and nephews, Miss Bourne,” he murmured, his voice deep enough to send delightful ripples through her body.

Amy bit her lip.
It’s an illusion
, she fiercely told herself.
Only an illusion. Remember? You called him Mr Carrothead to yourself. If it weren’t for the magic, he would only give you one of these haughty stares.

His warm hand slipped into hers and gently squeezed her fingers. “Don’t you want to work your charm on their uncle, too?”

Amy stared at their hands, at his large fingers, which easily engulfed hers.
But a charm is
already
working on you
, she thought miserably.
And I haven’t the slightest idea when it will wear off or how to shake you out of it right now. I don’t even know how to cleanse myself of its influence. And I no longer know what is real and what is not
. If only there were a possibility to contact her family!

Fox turned her hand, cupped the back of it, and drew his thumb in fiery circles over her palm, skin gliding on skin without even the flimsy protection of gloves. Despite herself, her breathing quickened.

She didn’t need to look at him to know that his mouth curved into the small smile she so liked. His hand drew back, his fingers spread wide, inviting her to twine her fingers with his.

She should have resisted the temptation. Yet her stomach was hollow with longing and worry, and she missed the closeness they had shared, and so, in the safety of the drawing room, where enough people were present that nothing else could happen, she allowed herself to brush her hand against his until their fingers were firmly entwined, palm pressed against palm.

For a short moment Amy closed her eyes and allowed herself to forget everything but this: his warmth and strength and the love that poured from him.

But as she looked up again, she caught Isabella watching them, her mouth curled into a sneer, and abruptly all feeling of remembered bliss fled. A sliver of ice touched Amy’s heart.

She was certain that Isabella knew about the charm and the potion. Yet what purpose did the magic serve? To what end had it been planted? And what sort of man was Bentham to embroil the niece of a friend in such an intrigue?

She must warn her uncle. Indeed, the fact that she had not received any sort of reaction to her engagement from Aunt and Uncle Bourne should have alerted her much earlier. What if Bentham had never sent a letter to them to inform them about the engagement in the first place?

Amy tried to remember whether anything about the upcoming nuptials had been put into the papers. But she had spent the days and weeks after Fox’s proposal in such a state of bliss she wouldn’t have noticed even if the Thames had suddenly changed its course, and so she couldn’t be sure.

That evening she therefore tried to pen another letter to her family in her room. Yet as before, the ink melted away and left the paper creamy white and pure. Tears of frustration burning in her eyes, she laid her head on the table.

She was alone, all alone, and there was nobody in whom she could confide.

She was never more happy than when Isabella finally left Rawdon Park at the end of the week. As they all stood on the front stairs and waved at the carriage that would take the young woman home to London, Amy couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her.

Whatever putrid influence the young Miss Bentham had brought to Rawdon Park, it was gone now, and with luck all danger to the Stapleton family was removed as well.

Amy threw a last look at the carriage before it disappeared behind a group of trees. “Good riddance,” she murmured.
And never come back again!

Chapter Eleven

The weeks passed and there was still no news from Amy’s family. Several times she had now tried to write letters to them, but it was all in vain: her uncle’s spell was still firmly in place. If the Ladies Rawdon ever wondered why she received no notes or mail, they never commented on it, even though Amy now spent more time with them in an attempt to avoid Fox as much as possible. Fortunately, the winter weather presented her with a perfect excuse to stay inside.

November brought ever more snow, and the temperatures steadily dropped. Soon an icy crust covered the lake and began to thicken, much to the children’s delight. The gardeners now daily checked the ice to see if it would carry weight. And then, one day, it did.

Mist had risen that morning and wrapped the world in clogging white. When it receded sluggishly, reluctantly, toward midday, it revealed trees and bushes white frosted, looking as if they had been transformed into fragile confections. Young Baron Bradenell, his ankle all healed, climbed onto the window seat in the library where Amy had settled with
The Horrible Histories
in hand. For a moment or two he stared critically out of the window, before he turned around to announce to the world, “It’s perfect for skating!”

“Hm,” Amy said, for just then the Wicked Sorceress Jewellyn had bonked her wand on Maid Maiken’s head and dragged her off to drink the virgin’s blood to be granted everlasting youth. Who would save the fair maiden from a most gruesome death? Only one man…