Calypso Magic

Haversham House, Richmond, England March 1813 Where the devil was Charlotte? Lyonel Ashton, Sixth Earl of Saint Leven, strode through the wildly bedraggled Haversham garden. Charlotte wasn't there, only one servant bent on finding enough presentable early-spring flowers for a bouquet. He silently wished her luck. Lucia, his great-aunt, had suggested the stables. He sighed. Lucia didn't like Charlotte and barely hid her animosity toward Lord Haversham, whom she considered an ill-bred lout. She treated the entire Haversham family, he thought, with awful civility. He wondered why she'd insisted upon coming today. Her bland reason of the fine weather rang as false as the hairpiece she was wearing. He finally turned and walked past the drive toward the stables. Lord Haversham, as well as Charlotte, was hunting-mad and slate-roofed stables were in better condition than the house. Lyon looked first at the pristine paddock. It seemed like all the stable hands and grooms were there, but not Charlotte. He finally entered the cool stable. All of the horses were out being exercised. There was no one about. He frowned, but walked to the tack room. He paused a moment outside the closed door. Charlotte was inside, he heard her voice. A smile on his face, he reached toward the doorknob, then abruptly drew back his hand. He also heard a man's voice, low, deep... caressing. Then Charlotte, a high cry. Lyon felt the blood pound in his head. As if he were another man in a dream, he watched his hand reach out for the door handle and slowly press down on it. The door swung open slowly, soundlessly. Charlotte was on her back, her head resting on a Spanish saddle, Dancy Moressey, Lord Danvers, his buckskins pulled down to his knees, was between her widespread legs, pumping into her. Lyon walked into the room. He very slowly picked up a riding crop. Charlotte saw him in that moment, and screamed. He brought the crop down on Moressey's white buttocks. Dancy roared, jerking out of Charlotte, his face a study in horrified surprise and pain. Lyon brought the crop down again, then he threw it aside. He grabbed Moressey, pulling him upright, and slammed his fist into his erstwhile friend's face. Then again. Moressey struggled, but it was no use. Lyon hit him again and heard bone cracking. "Stop! Lyonel, stop! You're killing him!" Charlotte jerked down her skirts and dived for him. She pulled at his arm, shaking him, screaming. The dream came to an abrupt halt. Lyon stared into Moressey's battered face. He was unconscious. Slowly, deliberately, he released him and watched him crumble to the floor, his pants about his knees. Dancy could boast no rutting desire now, but his shrunken member was wet and glistening. Lyon was aware of the smells of the tack room: linseed, leather, and s*x. He turned to his betrothed. He said in an unnaturally calm voice, "I trust that you will retract our engagement in the newspapers. When Lord Danvers comes to his senses, tell him that my second will be calling on him." "Lyonel," Charlotte said, reaching her hand toward him. "Please, it's not what—" "You may keep the engagement ring. Since it's new and not a Saint Leven heirloom, I will have no use for it." He watched tears pool in her beautiful eyes. "Perhaps," he said in that same calm voice, "you'd best see to your lover. I do believe I broke his nose." He turned on his heel and walked from the tack room. "Lyonel! Damn you, come back here!" He turned, his expression cold and forbidding. "I trust, my dear Charlotte, that you intend to marry Lord Danvers? He will need you, I fancy, to attend him after I put a bullet through his arm. A pity, really, I rather thought of Dancy as a friend. As for you, well, there is really nothing more to say." His only clear thought as he walked back toward the house was, My God, what if we'd been married and I'd found her with another man? He wasn't really surprised to find his Aunt Lucia standing by the carriage. He looked at her. "I'm sorry, my boy," she said, lightly touching his sleeve with her fingertips. "This was the reason for our surprise visit?" "Yes." "The weather is very fine, as you said." "I will not lie to you, Lyon. I am relieved that you have discovered the truth before it is too late." "How did you know? You did know that she was playing me false with Moressey?" "Come into the carriage. I will tell you on the way back to London." He followed her, his face without expression. The carriage bowled down the wide drive. Lyonel didn't look back.