Miss Foxworth's Fate

by Kelly, Sahara

  They allowed Matcham to seat them front and center, and chatted quietly as the rest of the room filled up with whispering, laughing, talking guests.

  “I don’t think I‘ve ever seen Sir Philip Ashton in town,” whispered Eugenia to Abby, under cover of the general conversation. “But I’m almost positive he’s single.”

  Once more, Abby sighed, praying for patience, and she returned some inoffensive comment. Hopefully this wouldn’t be one more name added to her aunt’s long list of potential husbands for her.

  At last the doors were closed and a servant went around extinguishing many of the candles, leaving only those that illuminated the dais.

  Abby felt a shiver up her spine as the room was plunged into mysterious shadows.

  Then a man stepped from those shadows and mounted the dais.

  He was uncommonly tall, dressed well but in a modest style, had overlong dark hair tied back behind his neck, and what appeared to be a fine pair of legs beneath smart evening breeches.

  Abby looked up from her assessment of him, and met his eyes.

  Her world stopped dead.

  Chapter 2

  The tall man was cursing fluidly at his third attempt to tie his cravat in some sort of acceptable style.

  “Here, lad, let me do that for you.” The informal comment came from the graying valet folding clothes neatly in the suite in the Greenhough’s town house that was presently being occupied by Sir Philip Ashton.

  Philip surrendered the chore with relief. “What the hell would I do without you, Fred?” he grinned.

  “Like as not you’d have found yourself a wife to take care of this for you,” answered the man wryly.

  “Oh no, not you too.” Philip tipped his head back as Fred’s nimble fingers folded, tweaked and tugged on the cravat. “I’ve had quite enough of that from Rachel, thank you very much.”

  “And Lady Rachel’s in the right of it. You know very well it’s time you thought about settling down.”

  Philip snorted and straightened himself, glancing in the mirror at the now-respectably tied fabric beneath his chin. “We’ve been through this ad nauseum, Fred. I am settled. I am content. I have Sally in the village to take care of any...needs I may have...”

  “Yes. And damn near ruined her for the rest of the lads, you have. All that nonsense about having a woman for pleasure, and then making sure she gets her jollies out of it, too.”

  “Look, I did try to explain it all to them. Don’t you remember the time I spent trying to tell those dimwits that there was more to a woman’s body than just her...just her...”

  “Her female bits? Yes, lad. And damned embarrassing it was, too. I couldn’t nip down for a pint for two weeks after that. Shocked the hair clean off half of them, you did.”

  Philip frowned. “But it was only fair, Fred. And it adds to one’s own pleasure too, you know.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. And you haven’t even been down to Sally’s since I don’t remember when. No, it’s time for you to find the real thing, Sir Philip.”

  When Fred assumed his sternest face, Philip knew it was time to throw in the towel and admit himself defeated. The problem with having a valet who’d known him since he was three was that there was no chance at all of winning an argument with him.

  “Look,” said Fred, obviously taking pity on him. “Go downstairs, put on your show with your mezzy-whatsit, do the pretty with the guests, and then we can go home. Lady Rachel’s happy, you’re on your way out of town, and your laboratory is still, hopefully, intact and spared a visit from your sister.”

  Philip sighed.

  He loved his home and his scientific experiments almost more than life itself, but deep down inside, he was forced to admit that there was something missing. He couldn’t share the thrill of a new discovery with anyone, even though Fred tried hard to be supportive.

  His bed was cold at night, and he had his hand for company. Sally, the good-hearted whore, was usually around for when things got really bad, but it wasn’t enough. There had to be something more, something...someone...

  He shrugged and nodded. “You win, Fred. I’ll suffer through tonight. Though damn it, if Rachel parades a stream of giggling idiots in front of my face afterwards, I’ll hold you responsible and tell them where you’re sleeping, instead of me.”

  Fred chuckled. “Well, now, Sir Philip. I’d not be adverse to that idea...”

  “You’re a terror, Fred. Don’t wait up for me. God knows how long this will take, and I’m sure you’ve already got an eye on some buxom maid or another.”

  Fred had the grace to blush.

  *~~*~~*

  Philip stood behind the curtains that opened onto the dais in his sister’s ballroom and felt decidedly silly.

  All these theatrics were sure to deter from the scientific discussion he was about to present. But damn it, he was doing it for Rachel, and she’d decided that the occasion warranted all this hoopla.

  He wasn’t even an expert mesmerist, for heaven’s sake. He’d read Dr. Mesmer’s work, even glanced at Father Hell’s contributions, and dismissed the cleric’s magnetism association completely. Magnetism was an area that fascinated him, but not in connection with mesmerism.

  He’d had some small successes, helping a stable boy deal with the pain of a broken leg by just talking to him softly, drawing the crying lad’s focus away from his injury and onto himself, as he’d let a small pocket watch swing slowly to and fro in front of the boy’s eyes.

  It had worked, and he’d had other occasions to practice the same sort of thing. But he doubted that he’d exercised any kind of control over anyone’s mind. That was far beyond his abilities.

  The light behind the curtains was dimming, and that, he knew, was the signal for him to step through and commence his presentation.

  Drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly, he calmed his mind and pushed the curtains aside.

  Dazzled for a moment by the remaining candles, he received an impression of thousands of faces staring at him, and his heart missed a beat.

  Then his eyesight cleared, and he saw it was merely a few dozen, the jewels of the women glittering as the soft light glanced from their finery. His lip tried very hard not to curl as he acknowledged that this would not be a scientifically oriented evening.

  Rachel had been right. Theatrics were definitely in order.

  With an inner sigh, he moved into the light and casually glanced around. His gaze halted at the front row, and his heart thumped. Once.

  Loudly.

  A pair of extraordinary green eyes met his.

  And the breath left his body.

  *~~*~~*

  Abigail stared.

  His eyes. His eyes, some kind of odd blend of blue and gold, were devouring her. There was no other word for it.

  She forgot where she was, who she was, and every little thought in her brain lay down and went to sleep. Her mind blanked. Dear God. Now she had flutters in her belly, and the man was three or more feet away from her. What on earth would happen if he touched her?

  It seemed like years before he dragged his gaze away and began his presentation, but for Abby, the damage was done. She wanted him. Wanted, in her grandmother’s inappropriate words, to lie down, toss up her skirts and spread her thighs for him.

  She shivered.

  “Are you chilly, dear?” asked Eugenia, leaning over and whispering softly in her niece’s ear.

  Cold? She’d never been hotter in her life.

  She just shook her head a little at her aunt, anxious not to miss a word of his lecture.

  He spoke fluidly and effortlessly, his rich voice casting a spell over his audience, most of whom had come simply out of curiosity. Within a few minutes, however, Abby and the rest of the crowd were hanging on his every word.

  He touched on the history of mesmerism, the theories behind it, both pro and con, the confusion that surrounded its practice, and the realistic results of experiments that had been performed using the various te
chniques involved.

  Abby tried hard to focus, to concentrate on the science he was expounding, but for once in her life, failed dismally.

  All she could think of was the pounding of her heart and the growing dampness between her thighs as his eyes brushed hers.

  And they seemed to do that a lot.

  As the first part of the lecture concluded, he stepped forward and smiled, and Abby blinked. His smile lightened his harsh features and made her want to smile back. And get very naked, very quickly.

  Her nipples were hard against her bodice and she could feel them rubbing the fabric with every breath. She wondered if they’d actually pop out, just so that they could have a look at this man too. She wasn’t even sure if she’d mind. Perhaps he’d do something about it if they did.

  Like cover them with his hands—or even better, with his mouth. Pulling her softness between those full, sensuous lips of his. She squirmed, surprised to note that there was now some laughter and conversation around her.

  Apparently, Sir Philip was calling for a volunteer to help him in a little “demonstration” of mesmerism.

  A gentleman from the back of the room called out. “If you can rid me of this plaguey gout, Sir Philip, I’ll be your biggest supporter...”

  A general laugh rang across the room and Philip smiled once more, doing increasingly dreadful things to Abby’s pulse rate.

  “Well, step up Sir, and let’s see what can be done for you,” he replied.

  A portly gentleman limped and lumbered his way onto the dais, and Philip Ashton arranged a comfortable chair for him, seating him so that he was half-facing the audience.

  Silence fell, as Philip produced a fob from his pocket and let it dangle freely from his fingers. “Now, Sir,” he said calmly. “Simply allow your eyes to follow the movement of this fob, and listen to my voice.”

  Philip spoke smoothly and softly and the man’s eyes glazed over slightly as the fob swung in a rhythmic pattern before his face.

  Abby found herself watching closely too. Taking in Philip’s movements, his quiet tones, the way he relaxed his patient and allowed the man’s focus to center on the fob and Philip’s voice, nothing else. It was fascinating, especially to one whose mind was always open to new ideas and thoughts.

  So why on earth was she wondering about what hid behind his breeches? She snorted mentally at herself, and followed that with a good swift kick to the brain. She needed to get back into herself, and fast. She must stop being some silly ninny who had been struck dumb by a pair of fine eyes.

  “You are feeling relaxed, Sir Arthur,” murmured Philip, and indeed the man seemed to unroll his erect spine and lean back into the chair. “Any pain you have been experiencing will ease, and your foot will begin to feel warm as the discomfort departs.”

  He glanced around at the audience, as if asking them to share in this moment. “Do you feel the warmth?”

  “I do, lad. ‘Tis incredible,” answered the man, smiling slightly.

  “Excellent.” Philip paused for a moment and addressed the crowd. “As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, Sir Arthur is quite conscious, and able to respond to all my questions. I have simply suggested to him that his pain is lessening. I have not cured his condition, but focused his thoughts away from it, and onto my voice.”

  Abby found herself nodding in agreement. Once more she felt that strange thrill as his eyes glanced over at her.

  A small smile crossed his face, then was gone in an instant as he turned back to Sir Arthur. “Now, Sir, I am going to ask you to promise that you’ll forgo your after-dinner port, and stick with wine from now on. In fact, the mere smell of port will make you feel nauseous. In addition, you will feel more like getting out into the fresh air, perhaps a carriage ride at first, and then a stroll, and then maybe a nice ride on some of those fine horses I understand are eating themselves to death in your stables from lack of exercise.”

  Another laugh rippled through the crowd.

  Sir Arthur merely smiled. “What a good idea,” he said.

  “If Sir Philip can make him do that, it will be a God-given miracle,” came a woman’s voice from the back of the room. Clearly it was Sir Arthur’s long-suffering wife.

  Philip merely nodded in her direction and returned his attention once again to his patient. “Now, Sir Arthur, I am going to ask you to count backwards from ten. When you reach one, you will no longer be focused on me, but will feel refreshed, comfortable, and ready to proceed with your life—your healthier life, and ready to follow my suggestions.”

  “If Sir Philip can get him to make it all the way to one, backwards, that will be a God-given miracle,” called a wag from the crowd, to everyone’s enormous amusement.

  But sure enough, Sir Arthur made it, hesitating slightly between five and four, but eventually reaching one, and blinking around him, a slow smile spreading across his chubby features. “Demmed if the pain ain’t gone.”

  He rose and shook Philip’s hand boisterously. “Thank you, Sir Philip, thank you,” he said effusively, grinning now.

  Philip smiled and helped him off the dais.

  “How about a glass of port, Sir Arthur?” Someone called out a challenge from the crowd.

  Sir Arthur blanched. “For some reason, can’t stomach the thought of that right now,” he called back.

  Applause broke out, and Abby’s mind jerked back into itself at the noise.

  Sir Philip stood, looking smug, on the dais, and once again running his eyes over her.

  Damn him. Couldn’t he look at anyone else? She was suddenly struck with the unusual urge to slaughter any other woman who might receive that look, and she shook her head at herself.

  “Now, ladies and gentlemen, you’ve seen the serious side of mesmerism, and how it can help overcome some instances of discomfort, and even help people on the road to their recovery from an ailment. Perhaps we should conclude with another small demonstration, but this time, just a simple re-shifting of the thought processes.”

  He strolled around the stage, stroking his chin, apparently deep in thought.

  The audience was still now, waiting for his next move. He snapped his fingers, and at least twelve people jumped. “I have it. The very thing. But I will require an assistant. A volunteer. Perhaps...perhaps you, Ma’am?”

  Abby’s jaw dropped.

  He was holding out his hand and beckoning—her.

  Chapter 3

  Philip had no idea how he kept his hand steady as he held it outstretched to the golden goddess in the front row.

  She’d watched him like a hawk the entire time, and yet it had not discomforted him. Well, it had discomforted his cock, true, but her close observation had simply told him that she was interested. Very interested. And so, it seemed, was he. And his damn cock, which was thankfully hidden by his rather unstylish jacket.

  She rose slowly, after some nudging from the older woman at her side, and extended her hand to his.

  Their skin touched, and a flash of awareness shot through Philip like a bolt from one of his electricity machines. He hid the gasp that the feel of her hand brought to his lungs with difficulty, and helped her step up onto the dais. “Your name, Ma’am?”

  She blinked for a second, then answered. “Abigail Foxworth. Miss Abigail Foxworth.”

  Her green eyes were telling him thousands of things, and his body was responding to every single one. She was tall, the perfect height for him. Her head would nestle comfortably onto his shoulder, and his balls would nestle equally comfortably between those long soft thighs of hers that her dress was so softly delineating.

  He jerked his mind back into place, stunned anew by his intense reaction to this woman. “Very well. Thank you for agreeing to assist me, Miss Abigail Foxworth. If you’d be seated?”

  He helped her to the chair, allowing himself the pleasure of brushing her shoulders with his hand as he led her across the dais, and smiling as he noticed the hard nipples pushing at the soft silk of her bodice. It was an effort to refoc
us on what he was supposed to be doing and not her breasts. Very fine breasts though they were.

  Just perfect breasts, actually. He allowed himself the brief thought of what they’d look like—taste like...

  She was staring at him now, a slight frown wrinkling her brow. “What shall I do, Sir Philip?”

  Get naked. Now.

  Philip recalled himself and bit down hard on his lip, allowing the small pain to remind him of where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Lusting after Abigail Foxworth hadn’t been part of the evening’s scheduled program.

  He pulled his shredded wits back into some kind of order.

  “Well, Miss Foxworth, please keep your attention focused on my fob here, and my voice. Just as Sir Arthur did.”

  He produced his fob, and again swung it slowly to and fro.

  She seemed to have difficulty removing her gaze from his eyes, but eventually she turned her head to the fob and he launched into his routine that would relax her and allow him entrance into her mind.

  And perhaps her body too, whispered an irrepressible urge. He ignored it. “Now, Miss Foxworth. Are you quite comfortable?”

  She smiled a little, bringing beads of sweat to his brow, and nodded. “Yes thank you, Sir Philip,” she answered coolly.

  “Good. I think for the purposes of our little demonstration, we’ll travel back in time a bit.”

  A mutter traversed the audience which leaned forward to a man, entranced at the sight of the tall man and the lovely golden-clad woman, now apparently under his spell.

  “It is the great age of Elizabeth,” said Philip, “and you are the Virgin Queen herself.” His words dropped into the silence, softly, seductively, bringing a sigh to many of the women present.

  “I am Walter Raleigh, your devoted subject, and I have just returned from a successful voyage to lay its spoils at your feet.” He risked a quick grin at the crowd. They were nodding and murmuring their approval. “What say you, Your Majesty?”

  Abigail straightened in her chair and quirked an eyebrow at him. “So Walter Raleigh. I’m informed that you bring treasures to your Sovereign.”