Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  “I will make you so much a part of me that you cannot leave,” he answered roughly, and he deepened his kiss until Eileen’s arms circled his neck and her body arched into his.

  Sunlight licked their skins as Drake’s tongue penetrated the honey of her lips, demanding—and receiving—the answer he sought. Eileen responded vibrantly as his fingers shoved aside oversized shirt and frothy chemise to fill with the heavy weight of her breast. When he turned his kiss to her nipple, Eileen shuddered and held him closer, molding her body into his.

  After long, sensual moments, Drake tugged the hem of her skirt upward. He trailed his hand over the juncture of her legs until Eileen moaned. Releasing himself from the confinement of his clothing, Drake moved over her. And within the circle of greening trees, beneath the sun’s blessing, they came together hungrily, with the rush of desire too long restrained. The ground beneath them trembled as their bodies rose and fell and found the pinnacle where they could be one again.

  Afterward, when the breeze blew against their heated flesh, Drake lifted his wife in his arms and carried her to the wagon’s bed. This time they undressed and came into each other’s arms for warmth.

  Eileen kissed the strong curve of his shoulder. “Drake?”

  Head resting against the wildflower-scented softness of her hair, Drake managed only a contented, “Hmmm?”

  “How many children do you want?”

  Drake dragged himself up on one elbow and stared at her warily. “Why?”

  Having captured his attention, which was all she wanted, Eileen smiled. “Do we have to have twins this time?”

  Drake grinned, stretched beside her, and pulled her tight against him. “I think that may be the only way to slow you down, tied to the cradle. But one at a time from now on, please. I don’t think I can stand the strain of two again.”

  “One it shall be, then,” she murmured, moving provocatively against him until he had no choice but to shove her back against the mattress and capture her once more.

  Epilogue

  Sherburne, August, 1747

  Sitting in the window seat of the nursery with sketch pad and charcoal in hand, Eileen glanced up with delight as her husband’s tall frame filled the doorway. Hands on hips, he watched the activities of the three toddlers on the floor with amusement.

  At ten months, George was already pulling himself to his feet and taking his first tentative steps. He set his Neville jaw as he relinquished the safety of a table leg and strode into the room’s center, where Richard was crawling.

  Isabel sat at Eileen’s feet watching in bemusement a red ball that rolled from her hand each time she touched it. The ball had kept her occupied for some minutes with total disregard of her playmates. Richard evidently meant to put an end to that.

  His body long and wiry in comparison with George’s plump chunkiness, Richard scuttled across the uncarpeted floor, his goal obviously the bright object that kept his sister fascinated. Not quite possessing the ability to capture the ball, he did succeed in knocking it from Isabel’s reach. Isabel glanced up in surprise, her wide blue eyes opening in dismay at this ungentlemanly theft, though she made no cry of protest.

  Reaching for the rolling ball, George sat abruptly on his diapered rear, unable to coordinate walking and reaching at the same time. Eileen giggled at the surprised look on his face, but she motioned Drake to remain still until George recovered his equilibrium. He still clutched the ball, and his gaze now circled to find his cousins.

  Richard had already lost interest in the toy and had set off in pursuit of a moth fluttering against the dresser. George pulled himself to his feet again, still clutching the ball in his chubby hand. Then, with unexpected gallantry, he waddled the few remaining steps to Isabel, dropping the ball at her feet. Isabel’s face lit with amazement, not so much at the ball, but at George’s acrobatic feat. Within seconds, she was pulling at Eileen’s skirts in an attempt to right herself as George had done.

  Drake’s laughing gaze met Eileen’s as he strode into the room and swept his daughter into his arms. Over Isabel’s red curls, he grinned.

  “Don’t be matchmaking already. George is just blinded by her beauty. She’ll make mincemeat of him in a few years.”

  Isabel laughed with glee from the safety of her father’s arms and grabbed a wisp of golden hair escaping from her father’s ribbon. Drake tickled her, sending her into gales of delight.

  “Oh, I daresay there will be fights enough to come, but I think George is turning into a very gallant gentleman. He has an adventuresome turn of mind, mayhap, but you shall be proud of him someday.”

  Drake deposited his daughter on the floor and swept aside Eileen’s skirts so he might join her on the seat. Propping one hand behind her, he gazed down at her sketch. He pointed at the likeness of Richard.

  “And what do you foresee for our son, enchantress? Will he marry a princess? Destroy giants?”

  Eileen smiled. “He is a dreamer. He may invent flying horses or gamble your fortune away. I hope he will inherit his father’s talent. If you will not put your dreams to paper, perhaps he will.”

  Drake removed the pad from her hands and set it aside. Then, producing a package in paper and yellow ribbons from his coat pocket, he held it out of her reach. “And what would you give to see my brilliant tales in print?” he inquired.

  Eileen’s eyes widened in wonder as she read the truth behind his merriment. Eagerly, she reached for the package, but Drake caught her waist and held her against him, his hand sliding upward to the curve of her breast.

  “Your forfeit, madam?”

  Willingly, Eileen turned into his embrace, circling her arms about his neck and plying his mouth with eager kisses. Until his book-laden hand came down to press her closer, and she snatched the package from his grasp.

  “That was wicked, princess!” Drake protested laughingly as she tore the paper into shreds to reach the contents.

  Eileen ignored his complaint as she caressed the leather bound volume of Children’s Fantasies. Opening the cover, she discovered the dedication, “To my wife, my love, my silver enchantress,” and her cheeks flushed with pink.

  “The whole world will see this,” she whispered in delight and embarrassment. The rumors about their marriage had captured the scandalized attention of half of London last spring. Drake had pinned the cartoons and posters above his desk with amusement, but she still had difficulty fielding the prying questions of his aristocratic friends.

  Drake laughed at this estimate of the book’s sales.

  “Perhaps just the English speaking portion,” he conceded.

  “When did you have time?” Fascinated, Eileen turned the pages, finding the tales of the leprechaun army and the enchanted princess on every page.

  “Last winter, when I could not be with you and had to bide in London until the court declared my innocence. I could find no better way to fill my idle time.”

  The love and awestruck admiration in Eileen’s eyes answered his fears. He took the book from her hands and wrapped her in his arms.

  “You could not have given me a better gift,” she murmured before Drake’s kiss sealed her lips. His mouth held hers, speaking his love, promising passion in the moments when they would be alone again. Her heart swelled with the knowledge his laughing words had given her. In all those hours when they were apart, he had not turned to his former pursuits or mistresses, but had remained faithful to her. It was a reassurance she needed.

  Reluctantly Drake’s kiss moved to her brow before he settled her against his shoulder. The babies crawling about the floor did not object to their lovemaking, but the nursery was a favorite gathering place and had little privacy.

  Impatiently he muttered, “Where are their bloody nursemaids? Why are you the only one inside on a day like this?”

  The sun shone through the window behind them, accenting the coppers and golds of Eileen’s hair and melting into the rich yellow of her low-cut gown. In honor of the day’s warmth, she had worn no necke
rchief, and only the tiny frill of chemise lace hid the valley between her breasts. Drake fought the urge to reach for the tempting ribbon holding it in place.

  “Gertrude will be in shortly to take them for a walk. And Hannah will be in by feeding time. You forget, this is her day off, and if I do not mistake, it is also Quigley’s.”

  Sir John had been persuaded to part with Quigley’s services shortly after Drake had restored his family to the safety of Sherburne last spring. Eileen had become accustomed to the manservant’s nonintrusive presence and did not resent his constant companionship as she would another’s. But this mention of the village nursemaid in the same breath caused Drake to lift his eyebrows. The girl admittedly had behaved well under pressure and had been rewarded for her quickness of thought in protecting Eileen, but he had hired her as a wet nurse only. In a few months, her services would no longer be needed.

  “And what does Quigley have to do with this?” Drake demanded, knowing she only waited for him to ask.

  Eileen glanced over her shoulder to the garden below. “You need only use your eyes to discover that. She will be good for him. He’s not been himself since Ainsley’s housemaid rejected him in favor of the butler. Hannah will make him see sense.”

  Drake frowned as he followed her gaze to the couple walking hand in hand below. “Can you not limit your matchmaking to the family? We will have servants multiplying like rabbits and just as useless if you make a practice of this. I thought she was married. She’s had a child,” he reminded her.

  “The child died. That’s why she came to us as wet nurse,” Eileen chided him. “And she was not married. The boy ran off when he learned she was expecting. I will not hold that against her if Quigley does not. It happens to the best of us.”

  That touched home, and Drake had to grin at her serious look. “Perhaps this household is not safe for unmarried females. We should hire only toothless old hags. Speaking of which, where is Diane?”

  Eileen attempted to appear indignant, but she settled for insinuating her hand into the snug waistband of his breeches. Her fingers could do no more than slide along the shirt covering his abdomen, but Drake sucked in his breath with a gasp of pleasure.

  She abruptly tugged the linen of his shirt downward nearly strangling him with his cravat. “Diane is resting as ordered. You must remember you told me Michael needed a compliant wife. I think Diane suits him admirably.”

  “Which is damned well convenient since they lost no time in proposing to expand the nursery,” Drake muttered irritably. “Compliant, you call it? To whom, may I ask? She’s always done damned well as she pleased when I was around. I don’t blame Michael for this madness. Diane put him up to it, I’m certain.”

  Eileen giggled at Drake’s continued aggrieved reaction to his sister’s marriage. The wedding had been in June and the bride had announced her pregnancy at the reception. Drake had nearly fallen into his soup, and Michael had looked as smug as a new father could be. The two men had both wound up roaring drunk by evening’s end, and the battle had been fought with damage only to the punch bowl.

  Boldly she slid his shirt free from his breeches. Drake muttered wicked words in her ears, but his wife ignored them. “You need a lesson or two, my lord, if you believe Diane solely responsible for her condition. Next, you will be blaming me when there aren’t enough cradles around. How was your meeting with the duke? Is there any chance you will be able to persuade him to back the Catholic bill?”

  Drake’s breath caught in his lungs and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and not just because his loving wife had succeeded in half undressing him. He knew her too well, and what she didn’t say gained more importance than what she did.

  “And just how many cradles will we need, my love? Surely Diane isn’t expecting twins, too?” Ignoring her reference to his trip to London, he settled on the more enigmatic statement preceding it.

  Unfortunately, George chose that moment to fall over Richard. Both infants set up a wail that brought hurried steps down the hall. Drake attempted to remedy his state of undress while Eileen leapt to the rescue. In an instant Gertrude and another maid had entered to set things to rights.

  Deciding he had seen enough of his children without having to watch the process of diapering, Drake swept down upon his wife and carried her off, her protests falling on deaf ears.

  The door to their chambers had been fitted with a new lock, and Drake secured it as he deposited his wife’s feet on the floor. The mischievous look she sent him as she scurried from his reach smoldered his blood. He stalked her, cornering her between bed and washstand.

  “Now, wench, what is it you are trying so hard not to tell me that it fairly dances from your eyes? Does Diane’s doctor say twins? Must I force Quigley to marry our Hannah? Or is it Auguste? My God, I know he’s been chasing after the little Maurice girl, but she’s just a child. . .”

  Eileen’s laughter left her helpless to fight his hold. He flung her to the bed and proceeded to rip open the ribbons that had so tantalized him earlier, She could make no reply to his questions for gasping for breath, and his reckless disregard for her dress did not make it easier. With the bodice opened, Drake untied the strings of her chemise, and her breasts spilled out for his enjoyment. Since the peaks were already erect and eager for his touch, he was satisfied, and he bent to sample her lips more fully than before.

  “I will not let you go until you tell me,” Drake murmured against her mouth.

  “But dinner will be ready shortly,” Eileen gasped. “Cook has prepared something special for your return. . .”

  “Then you had better tell me quickly, hadn’t you?” In truth, Drake had nearly forgotten the question in the heat of the chase. He wanted the woman more than the answer, and his kisses prevented further conversation.

  As their clothes fell in piles upon the floor, Eileen ran her hands over Drake’s chest with satisfaction. She had no doubt of her place in his heart any longer. She had come home.

  Her body arched to meet his thrust, and all thought fled in the heated tumble that ensued. A week’s abstinence was not easily assuaged, and it was more than a few minutes before they collapsed in the shambles they had made of the bed.

  Naked and sweating and in each other’s arms, they paused for breath and to bask in the pleasure they found there. Still not believing the effect this tiny temptress had on him, Drake began a slow exploration of her slender curves. Her breasts were fuller than when they first married due to the twins, but her waist had already returned to a circumference he could easily span with both hands. As his palms drifted downward to the curve of her hip and the soft swell of her abdomen, Drake remembered the question and his breath caught in his throat.

  He turned, pinning Eileen’s shoulder to the mattress. She smiled languorously up at him, the gray of her eyes still smoky with pleasure.

  “How many cradles is the nursery going to need?” he demanded.

  Eileen’s lips curved in a sultry smile. “Is this a test? My math is not very good, I fear.”

  “Try it this way, then. How many more cradles will the nursery need?”

  Eileen wrinkled her brow in thought. “Well, I suppose George will be a year old before Diane has hers so perhaps he can be moved to a bed.” She brought her fingers up behind his back and began to count them off. “And the twins will be more than a year old by February so perhaps instead of adding a cradle, we could take one away. Unless, of course, but you promised one at a time. . .”

  Drake’s hand shook as it traced a path from her breasts to the slight mound of her stomach. His brow puckered into a frown of concern. “My God, princess, you are not telling me. . .”

  She laughed, a gay trill that put the birds to shame. “No, I am not telling you. You will have to figure it out for yourself. Will you love me still when I’m old and gray?”

  “I will love you still when I am old and gray. That should be this time next year.” Drake buried his lips in the curve of her throat and gave himself up to this waywa
rd enchantress he had caught for his own.

  Life might not be any simpler with her around, but it would never be dull.

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  About the Author

  With several million books in print and New York Times and USA Today's bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of romance's hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and historical romances have won numerous awards, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency and contemporary categories.

  A firm believer in happily-ever-after, Patricia Rice is married to her high school sweetheart and has two children. A native of Kentucky and New York, a past resident of North Carolina and Missouri, she currently resides in Southern California, and now does accounting only for herself. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Authors Guild, and Novelists, Inc.

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