Potent Charms Read Online Free

passed.
    Finally, he broke the silence. "It's time to return."
    She found herself oddly disappointed when he stepped
back. Once the ability to move returned, Phoebe silently
followed the duke, admiring the play of his leg muscles beneath his well-tailored pants, the grace with which he
walked.

    They halted beneath a large elm. Bright lights shone
through the windows, casting shadows about the garden.
The stone steps leading to the red brick mansion beckoned
as if commanding her to return and do her duty.
    Pulling a cigar from his coat pocket, Lord Badrick
struck a match and lit the tip. He leaned insolently against
the trunk of the tree. "If anyone asks, claim you came outside to enjoy a bit of air. All will be well."
    "What about you?" she asked.
    "I'll be along shortly. It's best for you not to be seen
with me. Trust me on this. Go."
    Her shoulders heaved and her mind whirled with possibilities. Lord Badrick claimed to be unattached. He was
handsome and charming and aside from the mysterious
comments about his character, he appealed to her as no
other man had. Her breath exhaled in a rush. "I imagine
you'll find this atrociously bold, but I ride in Hyde Park
every morning about seven. In case you're ever out that
early."
    "I'll keep that in mind." He lifted her hand to his lips and
placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Good-bye,
Phoebe Rafferty. Good luck with the hunt."
    It was a wonderful turn of phrase, and it gave Phoebe
hope. She was the huntress like the mythical Diana, a
female warrior who controlled her destiny with dignity and
pride. Her small steps toward the house, although labored,
were resolute. Another notion, though whimsical, gathered
clarity in her mind.
    Fantasy or fact, she needed to find a husband. And
quickly. So far, during her first week in England, she had
met a bushel of men, none of whom were even remotely
attractive to her.

    The idea swarming in her mind seemed unreasonable,
irrational and foolish. Yet, as far as she was concerned, her
predicament was all those things, too. Deciding she had
nothing more to lose, she skipped back to the duke's side
and grinned. "Perhaps, Lord Badrick, I'll hunt you."

     

Dumbfounded, Stephen could have sworn the chit giggled
as she fled. She skipped across the lawn, and up the steps
to the top where she stopped, turned and dropped in a perfect curtsy.
    He swore. How had he become a candidate for marriage? He wanted a mistress, not a blasted wife. After
killing two wives, he had no intention of entering the state
of matrimony ever again. The Badrick line as well as its
infamous curse would die with him.
    He flicked his cigar to the ground and crushed it with the
heel of his boot. Deciding he had best discover more about
Miss Phoebe Rafferty, he marched at a clipped pace toward
the house in search of Winston. The man was a diplomat
and Stephen's closest friend; he would have some information.
    He found his friend leaning against a pillar in the corner,
the man's broad shoulders nearly as wide as the marble. He
wore a look of contained annoyance.

    Circling from the back, Stephen leaned over Winston's
shoulder and said, "You look ghastly. I warned you love
and marriage led to misery."
    The scowl on Winston's face deepened. "Humph. I'll be
far happier once Wyman makes his toast to our continued
happiness. Then I can drag Elizabeth home. Where the
devil have you been?"
    "Around and about." Like the matching half to a pair of
bookends, Stephen mirrored Winston's stance and leaned
against the opposite side of the pillar with one leg crossed
at the ankle.
    "In other words, you found someplace to hide. Can't say
I blame you. The rumors that accompany your name constantly amaze me. I overheard Lady Tisdale tell Lord
Peltham you post the skulls of dead animals about Badrick
Manor to ward off gypsies. Did you know you also sleep
with ropes of onion and dill about your neck? Thank goodness you no longer behead