Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  Oblivious to his fiancée’s ire, Drake plowed his way through the throng of guests in search of his young cousins. Uneasiness stirred in his gut, and he sought a footman to see if any messages had arrived for his blasted cousins.

  All thoughts of the Monsards fled, however, upon sight of the towering Michael Jasper leaning attentively over petite Eileen as he assisted her in blotting a drop of wine from the French lace at her elbow. Her stunningly simple gown of gold velvet, adorned with cascades of white lace at throat and sleeve, had a décolletage that made Drake chew at his cheek in anger. Jasper was apparently taking full advantage of his height and viewpoint.

  Before Drake could proceed in their direction, Eileen lifted her full skirts and left through the portals to the music room. He would never have seen her path in this crowd had not Michael’s height marked it clearly as he kept to her side. Noting their direction for later use, Drake returned to his search for the idealistic idiots.

  Out of the press of company, Eileen slowed to a more ladylike pace, surmising Drake would not try to follow her now. In a crowd as large as this, she could avoid him all night. Gazing through the French doors to the pampered garden, she lay a hand on Michael’s coat sleeve.

  “The evening air would be refreshing, but you might take a chill.” Michael easily interpreted her wishes.

  She knew he, too, would be glad to breathe night air after the stench of unwashed and heavily perfumed bodies inside. With a determined gleam in her eye, Eileen lifted the lid to the cushion-covered window seat beside the door. She knew this house well enough to know her way around without help. Rather than ask the servants to run upstairs every time she felt chilly, Diane kept wraps at hand. The window seat produced a length of neatly crocheted wool, excellent for a chilly evening. Triumphantly wrapped in the warm mantelet, Eileen waited for Michael to open the doors.

  He grinned at her incongruous attire, but in these past weeks, he’d learned better than to argue with her eccentric attire. She knew he objected to the stares her unpowdered hair collected, but he’d ceased to object to the attention as well. He was a man who preferred to live quietly and discreetly. She was sorry for that.

  They strolled almost sedately through the courtyard gardens. Eileen had never quite learned the knack of moving slowly, particularly outdoors, but her heavy skirts hampered her. Taking advantage of this rare occurrence, Michael waited until they were hidden from sight of the house by a tall hedge, then caught Eileen’s shoulders and brought her to a halt.

  She turned to him expectantly. Michael seldom put himself forward, but she had learned to listen in respect when he did. Good common sense and sound intelligence hid behind his natural uncommunicativeness.

  “Eileen, have you had time enough to consider your feelings toward me?” His square face hid any anxiety he might have felt in the question.

  Eileen’s heart skipped a beat as she realized the moment she had dreaded had finally arrived. Even she could feel the restlessness of spring stirring in her veins, and she knew she could not postpone the moment much longer. The first scents of woodbine perfumed the air, and the feverish urges Drake had taught her made sleep impossible. If she did not consent to Michael’s offer, she would of a certainty fall victim to Drake’s.

  With a finality that deserved the recognition of tolling bells, Eileen nodded her head and reached to caress her escort’s rough cheek.

  “Do I have your permission to ask your uncle for your hand?” His large hands slid persuasively to her waist.

  Now was the time, and Eileen took a deep breath. She knew Michael could be trusted, but revealing much of herself came difficultly. She must learn, however, if she would make this marriage work.

  “If you don’t mind a wife who holds her tongue too long,” Eileen murmured.

  Startled, Michael took a step backward, but he did not loose his hold on her. “You will tell me the story of your silence someday?” More a command than a question.

  “Someday,” Eileen agreed, and with relief she felt his hands encompass her more securely.

  “Drake knows of your speech?”

  “He was responsible for its return,” Eileen agreed again, hoping that would satisfy the questions in his eyes.

  It did not. Michael frowned. “If society knew you could speak, you could have your choice of any man. Why me?”

  Fearing the drift of this conversation, Eileen sought for placating answers. She had never needed a glib way with words, and she mourned her lack of practice. “Do you see me as a society miss, then?” She returned a question with a question.

  “That does not answer, Eileen. Drake has tried to persuade me to stay away from you, but I know that he has encouraged others to ask after your hand. Is there aught between you that I should know?”

  Eileen rested her head against his broad chest. Michael’s arms closed about her as she spoke. “Drake has been more than friend to me, just as Diane is much my sister. With you by my side, it will remain that way. Do you understand?”

  “You will excuse my bluntness, Eileen, but we must understand each other in this. When I take my marriage vows, I will abide by them. I will expect my wife to do no less. If there is any doubt in your mind. . .”

  Eileen tilted her face to meet his gaze fully. “That is why I chose you, Michael.”

  His square jaw relaxed and a twinkle lightened his eyes. “Does that give me the rights of your future husband, then?”

  With a smile of anticipation, Eileen nodded.

  His kiss was warm and tender and achingly hungry. Eileen felt swallowed in his embrace, and she clung to his shoulders as he engulfed all her senses. If she had ever had any doubts that his gentleness hid a lack of manliness, she discarded them now. His hands were firm and sure as they pressed her close, and she felt the bulge of hardness through his satin breeches. Here was the man who would salve her curiosity and give her respite from the desire that flowed in her veins. She returned his kiss eagerly.

  A voice of barely controlled fury brought an abrupt end to this embrace.

  “Bigawd, Jasper, at least have the decency to bed her somewhere private and not on the lawn.”

  Eileen swung around as if stung. Drake’s angry features confronted her. They glared at each other in silence, unmindful of the tall man in the background.

  “Miss de Lacy has just agreed to be my wife, Neville.” With no intention of being ignored, Michael strived to remain polite to his friend.

  Drake’s face paled and an angry tic jumped in his jaw. He did not take his gaze from Eileen, however. “My congratulations, Michael. You have just earned yourself a lifetime of hell in exchange for a few pieces of gold. Why don’t you hurry to her uncle and confirm your good fortune? I wish to speak with your fiancée.”

  From Michael’s tension, Eileen gauged the insults had gone too far. Turning to Michael, she touched his cheek. “I will join you shortly, Michael, I promise. Let us speak alone this once.”

  With a warning look to his friend, Michael bowed over Eileen’s hand, then, coming to parade attention, he touched the hilt of his sword. His words were for Eileen, but his look was for Drake. “I will seek your uncle, my dear, but if you do not return soon, I will know where to find you.” With a curt nod Michael strode away.

  Eileen put distance between Drake and herself, to no avail. He caught her shoulders and dragged her around with none of Michael’s gentleness.

  “Have you taken complete leave of your senses?” he demanded, his fingers bruising her beneath the wool.

  “I am not the one who is mad, my lord,” Eileen spat out. “You are the one choosing a mate with the brains of a pea-goose and the morals of a rabbit.”

  “And you possess better?” Drake exclaimed furiously. “Only a pea-goose would not see that she is condemning herself to a life of stultifying dullness, and I saw the way you kissed him. Let me show you a real one.”

  His lips crushed relentlessly against her mouth, while his hands wrapped around her waist. Eileen gasped and tried to
escape his invading tongue. He drew the breath from her throat, but as his hands cast aside her protective wrap and took possession of the curves beneath, her struggles lessened. Pushing aside the bodice of velvet and lace, he found the sensitive peak of her breast. Eileen moaned against his mouth as his fingers played her desires shamelessly.

  His other hand sought the lacings at her back. The front of her gown gave way, but she could not raise the strength to protest. She realized now that her response to Michael’s kiss had come only from the need for this one, and she drank hungrily of the eager warmth of Drake’s mouth. His hand now had full freedom to play games with her breasts. Heat inflamed her midsection and spread lower. She came close to understanding the mystery that had long eluded her, but she knew she could not solve it here. If she allowed him to continue, she would end up beneath him on the cold lawn as Drake had just accused Michael of doing. That thought frightened her into sensibility.

  “Don’t, Drake,” she whispered against his mouth as he pressed kisses to the corners of her lips.

  “Why not? If we are both mad, let us be mad together.” Drake tightened his arm against her back and bent to sample her flesh. He kissed the place where her heart pounded before moving on to sample more.

  For the first time in her life Eileen felt faint. A liquid languor stole away her senses as he bent her to his demands. Drake’s lips devoured her, but she could feel herself evolving into something new even as he consumed what was left of the old. With sudden sureness she knew her place in nature’s design. As Drake raised her hips to press against his, Eileen surrendered to the inevitable and rubbed against him.

  “Now, do you understand, princess?” Drake whispered. The hand that had once caressed her breast now cupped her buttocks and held her where he wanted her.

  She had no shame. Eileen slid her hands along his broad shoulders and around his neck while she kissed the throbbing tension of his jaw. Her breasts pressed along the velvet of his coat, and she joyfully wiggled against him.

  “Michael will kill us if I do not leave here immediately,” she murmured.

  Drake set her on her feet again and gazed longingly at her naked breasts gleaming in the moonlight—before he covered them.

  “Then you know why I cannot let you marry him. Let me come to you tonight, and I will break the news to him in the morning.” His hands caressed her back as he tightened her laces.

  A frisson of alarm shivered down Eileen’s spine as she realized where her impetuousness had led. “You cannot tell him, Drake. For my aunt and uncle’s sake, I must marry him. Please try to understand.”

  Drake stiffened, and his hands froze on her bodice. “You mean to marry him anyway?” Eileen met his gaze squarely. “You mean to marry Pamela, do you not?”

  “That is different, I. . .”

  Eileen cut him off. “You may protect your family’s honor. I will protect my family’s safety. If you cannot accept those terms, then you will find my door barred to you.”

  Drake’s hands left her waist to clench by his sides. “I will not share you, Eileen.”

  “Fine. Then Pamela may have you to herself.” With an anger and pain bordering on tears, Eileen tugged her wrap around her and fled for the stairs. She was in no state to confront Michael or anyone else.

  Chapter 12

  April, 1746

  Exhausted after weeks of fruitless search in Ireland, for evidence, and Scotland, for his missing French cousins, Drake was sick in mind and soul.

  Following the tales of the bloodthirsty massacre at Culloden, Drake maneuvered his horse into a copse of trees at sight of another troop of His Majesty’s finest riding by hunting some poor devil. The lads who had fought against King George had been of the finest houses, fighting for a cause they thought just. They had fought bravely and honorably—only to be cut down like worthless vermin. Drake could not bring himself to greet the Duke of Cumberland’s hunters.

  Bile sickened his stomach as he thought of the idealistic Monsards caught in that merciless slaughter. He sent a beseeching prayer to the heavens that the message they’d received when he was gone had arrived too late for them to join that final fray. Please, God, let them be safely on their way home now, their dreams demolished but their lives intact.

  His own hopes had dwindled to nothing these last weeks, and only his concern for the Monsards kept him clinging to the saddle. Within the week he would be married, and with nothing to stop her, Eileen would do the same. He had thought he might have time to prove her uncle’s guilt. He’d been in Ireland searching for evidence when he’d learned his wretched cousins had ridden for Scotland. De Lacy had eluded him, and Culloden had brought him back to England. There would be time for nothing else. It was over. The chance to capture a faerie had flown, as any fantasy must.

  Only a few miles from home, wrapped in morose thoughts, Drake nearly didn’t see the man darting from the bushes into the highway. He wanted nothing more than to see Sherburne again, ascertain his cousins’ safety, and collapse in his own bed and sleep for a week. He had no desire to stop as the man frantically gestured for him to do.

  Recognizing one of his own servants, Drake brought his mount to a halt. “What is it that cannot wait until I’m home, Smythe?”

  “Soldiers, my lord.” The man jerked his hat from his head and twisted it in his hands. “Lady Diane says to stay away until she sends for you. Sir John’s there. He said to watch the road for you in case you came this way.”

  Puzzled, too tired to understand, Drake stared at the servant. “Soldiers? What soldiers? Where are Auguste and Pierre?”

  The man’s eyes widened. “His Majesty’s men, my lord, looking for you. I don’t know where them young ones be at; we thought they was with you.” His careful speech slipped to its natural origins.

  “Why in hell would soldiers be interested in me? And why shouldn’t I see them?” Drake demanded, frustrated at being kept from his own damned home.

  “They’ve got a warrant for your lordship’s arrest,” the footman warned. “They say you’ve been with them traitors at Culloden, my lord.”

  Drake spewed curses. He had thought he had met the depths of despair. Obviously he was wrong. “Stand aside, Smythe. I’ll put an end to this nonsense. Traitor, bigawd! I’ll show the bastards traitors!”

  A man could only be driven so far. He was a marquess, by heaven! If those gutless excuses for men thought they could keep him from Sherburne, they did not know who they dealt with. Traitor! The thought so infuriated him, he could scarcely wait to show the fools who was master here. That Diane would have to suffer this humiliation raised his ire to new degrees.

  Drake’s tired mount provided a spurt of speed up the winding drive toward home. Thick chestnuts lined the way, hiding the first sight of the towering walls of Sherburne from his hungry gaze. Home. Nevermore would he stray. His place was here, whatever the fates decreed. Even the air seemed softer, more palatable.

  The first sharp reports echoed by him without his changing his pace. His mind could scarcely reconcile the sight of red-coated troops pouring from the trees with reality. As more bullets whistled by his ear, self-preservation kicked in. He reined in his horse and whirled about, dashing for the hedgerow to the south.

  Another loud crack and his shoulder felt as if it had been smashed with a hard mallet. Slumping in the saddle, Drake gave the horse its head and turned his concentration to outrunning bullets.

  Eileen’s skirts swished in wet leaves as she restlessly strode along the forest path. The long cloak she had worn against the drizzle now hung in her hand, dragging in the dirt. She paid it no heed, as she ignored the boiling thunderclouds above.

  The date of Drake’s wedding was two days hence, her own two months more. She did not think on it. Diane’s frantic letters of these past weeks and the news from Scotland held precedence.

  Eileen struck at a branch in her way, taking her anger and her helplessness out on an inanimate object. She wanted to cry but couldn’t, for she had no reason, not
yet. All her catastrophic experience and every instinct warned that tragedy had struck, but she fought the thought of it.

  But no other reason could explain why Drake had disappeared the night of the dinner party. Eileen cursed herself for every type of fool for denying him that night. Had she welcomed him to her bed, he would not have rushed off, and even now all might be well. But she held no hope of that now. If Drake were alive, he would have written. Never would he leave Diane to the mercy of Edmund and panic. Michael and Sir John had gone to Diane yesterday, so great had been their fear for her. She was hysterical, afraid Drake and her cousins had all gone to Scotland.

  With the news from the north, she had every right to be. The rumors of the massacre at Culloden trickled slowly to these parts, but what Eileen had heard was beyond her comprehension. No gentleman could have committed those atrocities. How could a prince of the realm? The Duke of Cumberland must have been mad. And Drake and the Monsards, dead.

  Striking out at a large limb, Eileen gave into a wrenching sob of rage. Tears poured down her cheeks, blending with the wetness of the cloudburst as she leaned her head against the massive oak.

  None of it made sense. Why would Drake run off to fight a battle he thought lost? And if he followed the Monsards to bring them back, why had he not returned? Remembering Edmund’s veiled threats of last fall, Eileen feared the worst. If Drake had been murdered, she had sent him to it.

  An arm covered her shoulders, and Eileen jerked in fear before recognizing the familiar strength. With a cry she turned into Drake’s embrace, burying her face against his shoulder as he wrapped her in his great cloak.

  “Druids shouldn’t cry, princess. They will form a lake.”

  Eileen heard his words as if from a distance, and her heart stopped as she realized she sought comfort from a man weakly leaning against a tree. He swayed and she gave a gasp of horror at the dark red stain down the front of his waistcoat.