The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4)

by Paullett Golden

  Duncan raised his glass to toast alongside the other guests, hearing only half of what Annick said since his attention was otherwise engaged. His gaze locked on Mary, standing on the opposite side of the room, talking with a group of ladies. They had spoken before and after the musicale, but only briefly. She was obligated to circulate, she had said.

  He made a point to stand in a corner of the drawing room and not move, this not being his scene. The curious part was nearly every person in attendance had sought him out for one reason or another, some hearing from Charles of his heroism on the battlefield, some hearing from Annick he was Mary’s betrothed, and others wanting an introduction for no obvious reason he could discern.

  The women were the most peculiar aspect of the evening. Everywhere he looked, female eyelashes batted. More than once, he cast a puzzled glance at his person, wondering if they could see something he could not that would warrant such flirtation. As far as he knew, he was outranked by all, a commoner amongst peers of the realm. And yet there were those fluttering lashes everywhere he looked.

  With each round his eyes made, they landed on Mary for suspended seconds, and each time she caught his gaze he saw no fluttering lashes, but instead a coy smile from the woman he felt held the secrets of the world, or at least to him. He pushed himself off the wall, his destination Mary.

  Before he could take a single step forward, a woman appeared at his side. She was one of those who had asked to be introduced to him, or so Charles had winked to him afterwards. In her early thirties, or thereabouts, married to one of the toffs in attendance, the one without a chin, if he recalled correctly. For the life of him, he could not immediately remember her name. Not that he cared. She was an attractive woman, he supposed, though she could not hold a candle to Mary—strawberry ringlets, charcoaled eyelashes, rouged cheeks, full lips also rouged, slight of frame, and with a dangerously plunging décolletage that made Duncan cough to wonder what might happen if she breathed too deeply.

  “Colonel Starrett,” she said on a wisp of air.

  As she slithered next to him, her shoulder rubbed against his arm. Her attention was on him, but her body faced the room. When he turned to look at her, all he could see was the top of her head and the heaving bosom below it. Intentional positioning, then? He suspected so. Smirking at her wasted wiles, he turned back to the room.

  “My lady,” he said.

  “Letty, please. My friends call me Letty. And we’re destined to become good friends.”

  “Are we? I hadn’t realized there was a fortune teller in our midst.” He caught Mary’s glance across the room and winked. She arched a brow, her judgement sweeping over dear Letty.

  The woman tittered. “And a sense of humor, too. My my. You are a perfect package.” Lowering her voice to naught but a whisper, she said, “I’m staying in the green room, third floor. Come to me tonight.”

  Had he been in any other setting, he might have sputtered, coughed, or laughed. As it was, his jaw hardened, and his expression blanked.

  “And your husband?”

  That tinkling titter again. She sent a cold shiver down his spine.

  “He would never enter my bedchamber at a house party.”

  “And my betrothed?”

  “My lips are discreet. She’ll never know. What you need is someone who appreciates a man such as yourself. Allow me to appreciate you.”

  This was rich. He could not wait to tell Mary. Surely, she would be as amused by this as he. Such propositions were not new to him, though he had never experienced them in quite this setting or while being affianced. The officers’ wives during his time in service were notorious for browsing. For whatever reason, they always targeted him first. Until they learned better, of course.

  “I take it Lord Altonwey has put in a good word for me?”

  “Let’s say your reputation on the battlefield precedes you. Not that I need such enticement. One look at you tells me everything I need to know. The green room. Tonight.”

  Just as she made to slip away, he said, “Oh, Letty, my dear. You should know that until a week or so ago, I was in a wheeled chair. Full disclosure is best in these circumstances, don’t you think?”

  She turned back to look at him. Gaze roaming over his figure, she frowned, and then broke into a laugh that sounded none too different from breaking glass.

  “That humor again! You are a living doll.”

  “Not a jest, my lady. I’ve only recently begun to walk again. It’s not without its challenges, but full recovery is on the horizon. If I’m feeling fatigued this evening, I’ll need to make use of the wheeled chair. Shall I have a footman wheel me to the green room, then?”

  The look of horror on her face was one Duncan would have painted if he had the skill.

  Her head swiveled. “My mistake.”

  With a quick glance about her, she left him alone in the corner. All he could do was smile at her receding back. What a louse. If this was a glimpse of Mary’s world, it was no wonder she was so willing to join him in his. He humored himself with a vision of the rather erotic things he could do in a wheeled chair with Mary poised on his lap.

  The smile lingered until he felt a slap to his shoulder.

  “My good man. Gratitude is in order. I witnessed your conquest, and of course, you have me to thank.” Charles’s wine sloshed in its glass.

  “Do I? You failed to mention my injury and recent recovery. She was none too eager for a liaison once she heard about the wheeled chair.”

  “Good God. You didn’t mention that, did you? Why the deuce would you say that? No one wants a cripple. Listen to me, now; I’ve ploughed the field for you. There’s not a woman in this room who does not know of your heroism, not that you need the help. Women swoon over muscles, take it from me.” The man guffawed.

  “I’ve done you a favor, then, for you’ll have more ladies for yourself.”

  It was funny how memories worked. Duncan recalled with fondness the campfire camaraderie. As the former Major Brumley spoke, the clearer his memory became of just what conversation had been over the campfire, and how the only aspect about it he had enjoyed was the close bond of soldiers after a day evading death. He had never enjoyed the conversation, had he? Disenchanting.

  It was not in this moment that he would be thankful for life’s perplexing turn of events. That would come later upon reflection. But he did feel an inexplicable relief that life had barred him from returning to duty. With an aching yearning, all he wanted was Mary at his side, Bernard in hand, and a stable full of horses.

  She saw Duncan first, making his way around the perimeter of the Red Drawing Room. She wondered if he had any idea how much attention he was garnering this evening. Aside from the obvious overtures of Lady Carrol, she thought he did not. Though he was not a peer of the realm, all eyes were on him, especially the female eyes. He was magnificent.

  While all the other men wore padding, Duncan’s physique was very much his own. He wore silk of dark wine, the shoulders tailored to hug his powerful frame, the waist tapered to emphasize narrowed hips, the breeches snug and fitted to his legs, every sinew seemingly visible to the naked eye. His dark hair was slicked back, his cologne light but enticing, his expression smoldering. She licked her lips at his approach.

  The gaggle of ladies around her simpered.

  “Ladies,” he said.

  His bow caused a collective sigh.

  He turned, then, to the gentleman beside him, “Allow me to introduce my betrothed, Lady Mary. Mary, this is one of my former fellow officers.”

  As the girls nearly swooned around her, she nodded at his companion, only realizing in alarm when Duncan spoke his name that it was the Earl of Altonwey. The earl took her in with a look as lecherous as his father’s. She felt undressed, exposed, dirty. Yes, she recalled his father quite clearly now, as well as the sons. Shuddering, she allowed, albeit begrudgingly,
the man to bow over her hand.

  “We’re acquainted,” he said, blue eyes probing hers, “but I’ll never turn down an introduction to such a vixen.”

  Mary bristled. How dare he say something so vulgar. Before she could respond with a reprimand, albeit lighthearted given the audience, he spoke again.

  “You dastardly dog, Duncan! Betrothed to the unattainable Lady Mary. You know how to pull military rank when you want something, don’t you?” He slapped Duncan on the shoulder before turning to the ladies. “We served together; I’ll have you all know. I was but a humble Major Brumley then, heir to the earldom.”

  The ladies tightened ranks, spying a new conquest. Lucky for them, this one was available, eligible, and all-too-clearly willing, though Mary doubted he had marriage on his mind.

  He continued his monologue, an arm resting on Duncan’s shoulders, although Duncan stood at least a foot taller. “We were not the type to sit back and shout orders. No, we were the first to lead the charge, swords drawn, determined to be heroes. Colonel Starrett, here, always came out the victor, a real hero, and dare I say a hero with the ladies, as well.”

  Duncan cleared his throat and said, “I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I must refute the charge. The men who served beneath me were the true heroes.”

  “Modest, too!” the earl said to his avid audience. “The only other man on the field half as brave, myself excluded, of course, was Lieutenant Colonel Wesley. He fought with ferocity at Boxtel, though in a line infantry regiment while we were on horseback. I know a man with a fine military career ahead when I see one, and I knew when I saw Wesley and Starrett both, they would be heroes of whom we would tell tales for decades to come. There is no place in this world for such men except the battlefield.”

  The earl carried on, entertaining the ladies with exaggerations of daring, or at least Mary assumed they were exaggerations as the depiction entailed a caped crusader defeating enemies with a single glare. All the while, she observed Duncan’s expression harden, much like it had during the church sermon. Though the earl was crass, she could not see fault with his words. They cast Duncan in the very best light, and in doing so, made himself look all the better not only for fighting at the colonel’s side, but for bragging about someone other than himself. Sly, but it was working wonders on the ladies.

  A voice behind her interrupted the conversation. “A few of us are set for the billiard room. Care to join?”

  Mary turned to find Winston standing behind her, a tired smile trained on her before including Duncan in his invitation. The present party misunderstood, and all clamored their delight at being invited to such an exotic place as the billiard room. So much for being rid of Lord Altonwey’s company. Winston looked as thrilled as she.

  Leaving the soiree behind where they would doubtless not be missed, Mary and Duncan paired, slowing their pace behind Winston and the earl, both of whom were surrounded by the fawning women. Up ahead of them were a few gentlemen, friends of Winston’s, also heading upstairs.

  When they were far enough behind not to be overheard, Duncan said, “I’m not a hero, you should know.”

  Well, that was not how she expected to start the conversation.

  “You look heroic to me. You’re walking, need I remind you. How many men at this silly party could do the same in a similar situation?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he protested. “I’m not a war hero. War is not about heroism. It’s men like Charles who warp the whole of it for accolades. It’s about survival. By his definition, is the enemy any less heroic? They, too, want to bring home pride and honor, just as all soldiers do. We’re all equals on the field, fighting for survival, not for glory. I went in wanting the glory, Mary. I wanted to impress you and your family. I learned quickly the error of such thinking. Only young pups think that way.”

  Mary touched his arm. “People need heroes. They need someone to believe in. The Crown believes you to be a hero, or the baronetcy would not have been awarded. I believe you to be a hero, even if for different reasons. You may not feel heroic, but you are.”

  He grunted, staring daggers at the group ahead of them, making their way through the gallery with brief pauses to point at paintings.

  “It’s a wonder anyone makes it out alive. Did I ever tell you of my captain when I was an ensign? Nothing more than a twelve-year-old boy. He’s fortunate we didn’t see a battle. It’s better than the captain who still needed a wet nurse, but not by much. I rose in ranks because I needed to. I was not going to be led by children.”

  “And what a hero you were to the soldiers you led. No more of this talk about not being a hero. Now, I want to talk about a far more serious matter while we have this moment alone.”

  He glanced at her sidelong.

  “I’ve heard whisperings from the guests that you are the handsomest man in attendance. How smug am I?”

  When Mary looked him over with a flirty smirk, he said, “Let’s find out.”

  As the group ahead of them turned the corner to follow the stairs to the billiard room, Duncan latched an arm around her waist and spun her into a room at the foot of the stairs. He closed and locked the door behind him, pulling her against his chest.

  The room was dark except the low glow of a fire in the far corner, readied in case guests wanted to make use of the room. She knew them to be in the stag parlor. Palms flat against the embroidery of his waistcoat, Mary slipped her hands beneath his coat until she found the hem of the waistcoat. Inching under it, she fondled the linen shirt beneath, the heat of his flesh warming her palm. She caressed his sides and laced her hands at his back.

  With a sharp intake of breath at the stroking of her fingers, he leaned in to kiss her.

  Their lips met in a fevered embrace, his tongue slipping between her lips to explore the planes of her mouth. The familiar hardness thickened against her thigh, sending waves of hot longing through her body until she angled her hips to rub him.

  His hands cupped her cheeks, sinking his fingers into her hair. He deepened the kiss. Their tongues tangled in a duel, each trying to establish dominance.

  And then his hands released her, freeing strands of her hair in the process. Reaching down, he grasped her buttocks and drew her to him, chafing her against him.

  “My God, Mary,” he muttered against her mouth. “I can feel you.”

  She laughed between his kisses, “Of course you can.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I can feel.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  His hands still cupping her bottom, he turned Mary to press her back against the wood paneling, rubbing himself to the apex of her thighs, creating a friction she had never experienced before but of which she wanted more. His lips moved to her neck, peppering moist puckers against her skin. The world spun as she clung to him.

  Voices in the gallery beyond stilled them both.

  They froze, his lips hovering above her skin, her body throbbing with desire.

  The volume of voices increased, approaching the parlor.

  Silently, Duncan released Mary and stepped back. Mary, in turn, released her hold about his waist and made her own retreat. As the voices drew closer, Mary adjusted her dress and walked in the semi-darkness to the table where she knew a candelabra stood. With deft hands, she freed a candle, took it to the fireplace to ignite, and lit each candle in turn. The voices paused to talk outside the door as Mary remedied her fallen hair in a mirror. She did not look at Duncan but suspected he was adjusting his own clothing.

  The handle on the door jiggled.

  Mary nearly leapt out of her shoes. She leaned against the table, ready to face the intruders. The handle jiggled again. Locked.

  In short steps, the voices receded, moving down the gallery and up the stairs to the billiard room. Not until silence engulfed them did she breathe.

  With a shaky laugh, she looked
to Duncan, who leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

  “That was the closest I ever want to come to scandal,” Mary said. “Now, let’s talk for a moment before we join the group. We don’t want our absence noted, but neither do we want our guilt branded on our cheeks.”

  “Wise.” Duncan looked at her from half-lidded eyes.

  “Let’s begin from the end and work our way backwards. You said you could feel?”

  A low chuckle tickled her ears. “Only in, er, certain parts. Not the best topic if we’re trying to recover before leaving.”

  “Oh. I see. Yes, good point. How about Lady Carrol? Would that douse you with cold water?”

  His brows knit. “Who?”

  “The trollop who was showing you her bosom.”

  “Ah. Letty. I’m to wheel myself to the green room for an evening tryst. Third floor. Footman optional.”

  Mary laughed. “I can’t leave you unattended, can I? Women are throwing themselves at you.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Should I be?” She looked at him from beneath half-lowered lids, a grin on her lips.

  “Fortunately for you, they’re not much competition,” he teased. “None would be interested in marrying beneath them when there are titled bachelors to win. They have something, shall we say, different in mind for me.”

  “Oh, I know. The house party is annual, after all. There is no mystery to me what happens behind closed doors, though I daresay, most of the unmarried ladies would be shocked to learn the truth.” She batted her eyelashes, exaggerating the effort for his amusement. “I wish you were staying here this week. I might have something different in mind for you, as well.”

  Coughing a laugh, Duncan uncrossed his arms and propped a hand to the wall. “We’re trying to leave, remember? No more of such talk. New topic. You know Altonwey?”

  She frowned. “If there’s one name that will curdle my insides, it’s his. I can’t believe you’re friends with the man.”