Into the Woods (8 page)

"I can control myself, Miss Candy," Declan said with an enigmatic smile. "What about you?"

His arrogance annoyed her, so she scoffed as she stepped into the kitchen. "I am always perfectly in control, Mr. Harper."

* * *

Declan couldn't help but grin. It was only fair; Matilda was giving him the kind of smile for which a man might wait a lifetime.

They'd taken the potion half an hour ago, drinking from the same cup of tea and then sitting back to wait. No powerful force had wracked his body, no uncontrollable urges had hit him. Instead, a warm glow had come over him slowly while he sat here with Matilda, as if he'd sipped at fine whiskey and it had seeped into his veins.

She sat in an old, engraved rocking chair, and he sat several feet away in a faded crimson wing chair that matched nothing else in the room. They faced each other directly, but they didn't speak much. Mostly they waited.

The room grew warmer and warmer and Declan began to sweat. With more than a touch of impatience, he stood and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over a hard-backed chair by the table. He loosened the top button of his shirt before resuming his seat.

There was no doubt in his mind that the potion worked; at this moment, Matilda Candy was more attractive, more appealing than ever. Candlelight made her look soft, feminine, and sexy as hell. Her breasts filled out her plain blouse very nicely, pushing against the simple fabric. Her ankles, peeking out from beneath a red skirt when she rocked, were shapely and delicate. He'd never found a woman's bare feet sexy before, but Matilda's small feet and dainty toes were somehow seductive. With very little effort he could vividly imagine her legs wrapped around him, those ankles resting against his thighs.

He glanced at the curtained doorway to his right. Was that Matilda's bedroom? What kind of bed did she have? Was it hard or soft, narrow or wide? Had any man visited that room before? He set his eyes on her again, not willing to let her see how he was affected by the love potion. Lust potion, he amended silently. Isn't that what she'd called it?

She licked her lips. He felt his body react.

"Well, Mr. Harper, what do you think?" she asked softly.

He could certainly never tell her what was on his mind. "I thought you were going to call me Declan."

"But this is business," she said, tilting her chin upward, casting him a powerful glance as she softly, rhythmically rocked. Even in this soft light those green eyes rimmed in darker blue were hypnotic. Seductive. "Mr. Harper seems more appropriate at the moment, as I ask you a professional question. What do you think of the potion I concocted for you?"

"You first," he said. "Is it working?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. At this particular moment I do find you less irritating than I did earlier."

Perhaps? Less irritating? Not exactly the response for which he was looking. "You don't find yourself the least bit attracted to me?" Are you aroused, Matilda? Do you ache between your legs for me? Are your breasts heavy, your nipples hard? "Just a little bit?"

She rocked again, gently. "Perhaps," she said softly. "I never noticed until just a few moments ago what a very nice neck you have."

His eyebrows lifted in dismay and surprise. He sat here, his pecker erect and thinking on its own as he suffered salacious fantasies about Tanglewood's witch, and the only effect the potion had on her was to call attention to his damned neck? "My neck," he muttered. "I'm so flattered."

She lifted a delicate hand and gestured gracefully in his direction. The memory of her making rose water assaulted him: the way the fragrant petals had fallen from her hands, the way the steam had wrapped around her body.

"It's a lovely neck," she continued. "Very strong, very nicely shaped. I like the masculinity of it, the width and the muscles and the perfect length." She tilted her head to one side as she continued to study him. "I should like very much to know what it tastes like."

Impossibly, his body reacted more than before; he grew even harder. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to cross the small room, pick up Matilda, lay her on the floor, and bury himself inside her. Hard. Fast. He wanted to make her scream his name.

Control, he reminded himself. This is the potion talking.

"So," she whispered, "is it working for you?"

"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly.

"You're not sure?"

Well, he couldn't very well tell her that he was painfully aroused, and he sure as hell couldn't tell her about these sexual fantasies. "I find you much less annoying than usual as well," he said calmly. "And I keep wishing you'd take your hair down," he added impetuously. "Un-braid it. Shake it loose."

"That seems a simple enough request," she said as she untied the red ribbon at the tail end of one long braid and began to slowly, painfully slowly, unbraid the long, golden strands.

Declan watched, hypnotized. Matilda had capable hands, skillful fingers. He wondered exactly what those fingers could do; he wondered what they'd feel like on his body. She kept her eyes on him as she worked her fingers through her hair, unraveling first one braid and then another. And then, when she was done, she shook her hair out as he had requested. Thick and wavy, it fell about her in a golden cloud. He wanted to run his own fingers through it; he wanted to see it spread across his pillow.

"Job well done, Miss Candy," he said as he forced himself slowly and carefully to his feet. "I'd say you have a successful formula here."

He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and slipped the vial filled with the remaining powder into his pocket. Successful was an understatement; if anything, the potion worked too well. At least he knew not to share when he slipped the potion to Vanessa. He wanted her to fall in love with him; he had no intention of making a fool of himself. And certainly not over a woman. Any woman. Not the county's most beautiful and sought-after woman, nor a seductive, pixie-like witch with a seductive smile and hypnotic eyes.

"The effects of the potion will wear off. Won't they?" They had to! And preferably soon. He couldn't take much more of this.

Matilda did not come to her feet, but rocked slowly and observed him from her comfortable chair. "Eventually."

"How eventually," he snapped, wondering exactly how long he'd fantasize about Matilda.

"A few hours at most, I would guess," she said, apparently unconcerned. "Give Miss Arrington her dose, and work your own magic, Declan." Her smile faded, the happy, seductive light in her eyes dimmed. "Let her know what your neck tastes like, how your lips feel. Let her run her fingers through that thick, dark hair. And then ask her to marry you." Her beautiful mouth worked into a frown, and she sat up straighter and ceased rocking. The spell was apparently fading, for her. "From here on out you're on your own. I can't do everything for you."

"Good night, Matilda," he said, wondering when the effects of the potion would leave him. "And thank you. I have great hopes that your potion will be effective."

As he left, he heard her mutter, "Be careful what you wish for."

* * *

Matilda slept deeply and dreamed of Declan. She dreamed that he touched her. She dreamed that she laid her lips on his neck and closed her eyes and tasted to her heart's content.

She woke later than usual; most mornings she was up with the sun. But when she opened her eyes it was fully light outside. Morning sun broke through her window and filled the room with warmth and light.

Disgusted with herself, both for sleeping late and for dreaming about Declan Harper, she threw back her quilt and jumped up. She had baking to do, an extra batch of toffee to make, and rose water to bottle. She didn't have time to lay about indulging in potion-induced dreams.

At least that experiment was over. Declan would sprinkle the powder on Vanessa Arrington's food or in her tea, she'd be overcome by an urge to taste his neck, and they'd likely be married before summer was done. She snorted as she dug through her chest of drawers for a clean blouse and her blue skirt. As far as she was concerned, those two deserved each other.

She attacked her chores with a vengeance, trying to drive away last night's memories and the remnants of her dream. Her bread was rising, the ingredients for the second batch of toffee were laid out on the marble slab in her big kitchen, and a long line of red rose petals were drying in the sun, for the rose-petal jelly she'd make later in the week. With all that done, she found herself in the garden, picking lavender. She'd hang the flowers upside down until they were properly dried and then she'd grind them into a fine powder to be used in a wonderfully scented bath oil. She brought one particularly fragrant bloom to her nose and breathed deeply. And thought of Declan Harper.

The potion she'd made for Declan was more potent than she'd expected. There was nothing extraordinary in the powder she'd prepared, nothing uncommon. So why...

"Miss Candy!" A frantic voice cried.

Matilda turned her head to see Gretchen and Hanson come running around the house. She was not concerned by the intensity of the voice that had called her name or the dire expressions on their faces. She fully expected another tale, some sad and outrageous story to wrest sweet bread and candy from her.

All they had to do was ask, perhaps offer to do chores in exchange for sweets, but they seemed to enjoy their fibbing games so very much.

"My goodness," Matilda said, setting her basket of lavender aside. "What's happened?"

Gretchen stopped near the gate, and Hanson jumped onto the lowest rung of the fence that surrounded her garden.

"Our stepmother is trying to poison us," Gretchen said dramatically. Her lower lip trembled.

Matilda smiled and resumed picking lavender. "Stella? Don't be silly. She adores you two."

The twins exchanged a puzzled glance.

"She does not," Hanson said. "She made us the most awful caramels. They were runny and burned."

"She wants to get rid of us," Gretchen said forcefully. "Can't you help us? Can't you turn her into a frog or a mushroom or a cat? Something?"

Matilda laughed. "And here I thought all you wanted was candy."

"You have candy?" Hanson asked, his eyes widening in interest. "What kind did you make today?"

"Toffee," she said with a smile.

Hanson licked his lips.

"Miss Candy," Gretchen said, not as easily distracted as her brother. "Have you ever met our father?"

"No, I haven't." She'd seen Seth Hazelrig around town, but he wasn't one of the many who came to her for cures and lotions. He'd never knocked on her door late at night looking for a clandestine exchange.

"He's very handsome," Gretchen said proudly. "And very nice, too. Or at least he was until he married her. You should come to the house sometime and meet him. I think you'd like him. I think you'd like him a lot."

Oh, dear. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "That's a lovely invitation, but your father is a married man. It wouldn't be proper...."

"But if you turned Stella into a frog, he wouldn't be," Hanson said brightly. "A man can't be married to a frog. And then you could marry Father and make us caramels and toffee and sweet bread every day of the week." He grinned, pleased with this idea.

The children no doubt thought they were being quite devious, when in fact their nefarious plan was so transparent Matilda had to put forth an effort to keep from smiling widely. She wondered how the twins would react if she could, and did, turn their suffering stepmother into an amphibian.

"I'm afraid I like Stella too much to turn her into a frog," she said calmly. "Besides, the only spell I have for such a transformation only works on the very young. It's particularly successful on small, yellow-haired children."

Hanson's eyes got wide, and Gretchen backed up a step.

"Would you like to try the toffee?" she asked, returning to her task. There was no reply, and when she lifted her head the twins were gone.

* * *

It was almost too easy. Declan had arrived at the Arrington house late in the afternoon, bearing a small gift; a bottle of whiskey to replace what he'd consumed in Warren Arrington's parlor a few nights earlier. Being a gentleman, the planter had naturally invited his guest to stay for dinner.

And then Declan had been seated next to Vanessa. How fortuitous. His plan could not be coming together more wonderfully.

It occurred to him that Arrington would probably be pleased to see his daughter marry the neighboring landowner. At least until he discovered who Declan Harper really was; that "white trash son of a drunkard."

Vanessa was beautiful and charming; he'd expected no less of her. Her gown was the palest pink, the pearls around her throat were the perfect compliment to her creamy skin, and her violet eyes were clear and bright.

Perhaps they were not as hypnotic as some he'd seen, but they were quite beautiful.

Vanessa Arrington was a real lady. Soft-spoken, attentive, demure. She was just what he wanted and needed in a wife.

The vial containing the love potion was in the right-hand pocket of his jacket. While Vanessa answered her father's questions about the meals she'd planned for the week—a blatant attempt on Arrington's part to point out what an efficient housekeeper Vanessa was—Declan reached into his pocket and flipped out the cork. He turned the vial up and poured a small amount of powder into his palm.

And while Vanessa gave her father her attention, Declan sprinkled the powder into her soup. The grains sat on top of the thick liquid for a moment, and then dissolved and sank, disappearing from sight.

"Harper," Arrington barked.

Declan lifted his head; that had been too close. If the old man had shifted his attention a few seconds earlier... but he hadn't. "Yes, sir?"

"You can spend a fortune on that house of yours," Arrington said brusquely, "but it won't be a home until there's a woman living in it."

Apparently Warren Arrington had decided his new and successful neighbor would make a suitable husband for his beloved daughter. That couldn't hurt, Declan thought. It would even add a touch of irony to the moment when he stood before the old man and told him who he really was.