Bewitched

by Sandra Schwab

  And how much delight she had felt when he had groaned and his body had shuddered under her ministrations! At that moment she had felt like the most powerful woman in all of Britain.

  Even without her magic.

  She sighed.

  This morning, by contrast, she felt like the least powerful woman in all of Europe.

  Lady Rawdon threw her a worried glance. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Bourne?”

  “Oh yes, yes,” she murmured.

  “You look indeed somewhat under the weather,” the admiral remarked. “You should take care not to catch a chill in the humid climate of Norfolk!”

  The entrance of Isabella Bentham distracted Amy, and so she only murmured something noncommittally and watched her walk to the sideboard. Amy frowned. It had been Mr. Bentham who had given them the fateful punch. Surely he must have known about its contents. He had put the potion in their glasses himself, most likely!

  Amy turned her attention to her half-eaten apple puff. Her frown deepened. Why had Fox felt it necessary to invite Isabella, too, to Rawdon Park? Had this really been his idea, or perhaps Mr. Bentham’s? Her stomach turned as she realized that it could well have been Isabella who had brought that evil charm, which Pip had found on the stairs, to Rawdon Park.

  Yet the question remained: Why?

  Lost in thought, she barely registered the rest of the breakfast conversation. Only when Lady Rawdon touched her arm and whispered, “Sebastian has asked you a question, dear. Take pity on the poor man,” did she look up sharply.

  Fox was observing her closely. A sharp worry line had appeared between his eyebrows.

  “Are you feeling all right?” His tone was gentle.

  It was the second time someone had asked her the question today. All at once, Amy felt the desperate urge to scream and rant. No! Nothing is all right! NOTHING! But of course, she didn’t. They would only have thought her raving mad.

  “I am… fine.”

  The lines of worry on his face smoothened. His eyes brightened. “Then, would you like to start on our walk around the gardens?” A boyish, endearing smile lifted his lips-and-broke Amy’s heart.

  She blinked against the sudden sting of tears. “I think…” Her voice failed her.

  “Amy?”

  Oh, how she hated to see the worry return to his face!

  She took a deep breath and, under the cover of the tablecloth, dug her nails into her palms in the hope that the physical pain would divert her from the pain in her heart. “I am sorry. Not today.” She managed a small smile. “I feel a little … tired this morning.”

  Tenderness lit his face up like a lantern. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I see.”

  Desperately, Amy tried to swallow the lump in her throat. This was awful.

  “Perhaps you would like to rest in the drawing room?” Fox suggested eagerly. He turned his head toward the sideboard. “Ramtop, has the fire in the South Drawing Room already been lit?”

  “Of course, Mr. Stapleton,” the butler replied.

  “Good, good.” Fox focused his attention on Amy again. “Would you like to read? Shall one of the footmen go and fetch your book?” Not waiting for her reply, he turned to the sideboard once more. “Ramtop, please have somebody bring—what was the title again?—The Horrible Histories of the Rhine?”

  Amy nodded faintly.

  “Please have somebody bring those Horrible Histories from Miss Bourne’s room to the drawing room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And perhaps a pot of fresh tea?” Lady Rawdon added. She turned to pat Amy’s hand. “Let Sebastian make you comfortable in the drawing room, my dear. Afterwards he can take a stroll with the earl and the admiral. Perhaps they could even go and shoot some bird or other for our dinner table. Miss Bentham, would you also like to—”

  Isabella’s lip curled. “I have got some letters to write,” she said.

  “Oh. Oh well, if that is the case…” The countess gave Amy’s hand a last pat. “I shall join you in the drawing room presently. Now off you go. You are looking a trifle wan this morning. Sebastian?”

  But of course, he wouldn’t have needed the prompt. He was already up and around the table to help her stand and then offer her his arm to escort her to the drawing room. Never had the way to the back wing of the house seemed longer to Amy! To walk beside him, almost close enough for their shoulders to brush, and to know… to know…

  It was torture.

  Just inside the drawing room, Fox finally let her go. Amy bit her lip, then made herself ask lightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask you this for ages—was it your idea to invite Isabella to Rawdon Park?”

  “Miss Bentham?” The question clearly puzzled him. “No, Mr. Bentham suggested it to make you feel not so alone among strangers.” He searched her face. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Oh yes, yes. I’m merely a little bit tired.” Again, Amy forced her lips to curve into a smile. And again that tender expression that made her want to cry suffused his face.

  “I see.” He trailed his forefinger down her cheek. “I wasn’t…” He hesitated, frowned. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

  Too rough? Last evening she had been sure he would carry her to heaven—and he had done it. It was not his fault that she had been cast into hell only a few hours later. “Oh no. Not at all,” she whispered. As she looked up at him, his face swam out of focus. “I am so sorry.”

  “Oh sweetheart, sweetheart.” He touched her chin, then his hand curved to cup her jaw. “Don’t take this so hard. It is only a walk in the garden, isn’t it?”

  Amy averted her face.

  “Isn’t it?” This time, his voice was more insistent. He tried to peer into her face.

  Miserably, she nodded. For how could she have told him? How could she have told him of the magic? The potion? The evil charm? He would never have believed her!

  His thumb rubbed over her chin. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, just before his mouth brushed over her lips in a sweet, tender kiss. “Take a little rest, and don’t worry about the walk.” A last caress down her cheek, and then he was gone.

  Amy sank down onto one of the sofas. Desperately trying to control the urge to cry, she closed her eyes and clasped her hand over her mouth. If only … if only she had never attempted the spell that had turned Three Elms cobalt blue!

  She drew in a shuddering breath and quickly let her hand fall to her side, when a footman entered and brought her book. Shortly afterwards the butler himself followed, with a tray and biscuits. “Will this be all, Miss Bourne?” he asked.

  She nodded a thank-you, and he left the room. She was alone.

  Amy didn’t know how long she sat and stared into empty space, while she turned the whole situation over in her mind and desperately tried to find a solution. This was how the dowager countess found her some time later.

  “My dear child.” Lady Rawdon walked across the room and sat down next to her on the sofa. “I have heard you are feeling unwell this morning?” She glanced at the empty and obviously unused teacup and the plate with biscuits. “Perhaps you need something more restoring. Shall I order a cup of hot chocolate for you? Cocoa is supposed to work wonders for the constitution.” Lady Rawdon made to rise, but Amy quickly put her hand on the woman’s arm.

  “This won’t be necessary, I assure you. I have been thinking…” She bit her lip.

  Lady Rawdon’s kind brown eyes rested warmly on her. “Yes?”

  “I understand that Miss Bentham accompanied me to Rawdon Park so I wouldn’t feel lonely. But how could I ever feel lonely here when you all have been so kind to me?”

  “Oh, my dear.” The dowager countess took Amy’s hands and squeezed them. “You must know that we all love you exceedingly well.”

  Oh yes, she knew. She had felt it. And it only made this whole situation so much worse. For she had to harden her heart against this affection as well. She could not afford to grow any closer to the Stapletons: in the end, they were nothing but st
rangers who must never learn about her secrets, her magic. Even though it tore her heart apart, she had to concede there was no future for her and Fox. They were too different. Why, they had detested each other! And surely he would come to loathe her again once the effects of the potion wore off. Or once she could obtain an antidote. Uncle Bourne would certainly know one. And so, before long, she would return to Three Elms, and in time would become the spinster aunt of her cousins’ children. No, she could not afford to grow any closer to the Stapleton family.

  “I have thought,” Amy continued, forcing her voice to remain strong: this was not the time for tears. “It would be so unkind to keep Miss Bentham from her family during the Christmas season. And now that it has started to snow…”

  “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 l
ist 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.