“I want to feel you,” Westcliff muttered against her trembling lips, tugging in at the unrelenting obstruction of her padded basque. “I want to kiss you everywhere…”

Her br**sts hurt inside her tightly cinched bodice. She was possessed by the insane urge to tear away the quilted lining of her corset and beg him to soothe her tormented flesh with his mouth and hands. Instead she threaded her fingers through the thick, slightly curling locks of his hair while he kissed her in a fever of rising need, until her thoughts were no longer coherent and she was shivering with desire.

Suddenly the heady stimulation ended, as Westcliff tore his mouth away and thrust her back against a fluted half column. Breathing raggedly, he half turned from her, and stood there with his fists clenched.

After a long time, Lillian collected herself sufficiently to speak. The perfume had worked rather too well. Her voice was thick and scratchy, as if she had just awoken from a long sleep. “Well. I …I suppose that answers my question. Now…as to my request for sponsorship…”

Westcliff did not look at her. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered, and strode from the orangery.

CHAPTER 7

“Annabelle, what happened to you?” Lillian asked the next morning, joining the other wallflowers at the farthest table on the back terrace for breakfast. “You look dreadful. Why aren’t you wearing your riding habit? I thought you were going to try out the jumping course this morning. And why did you disappear so suddenly last night? It’s not like you to simply vanish without saying—”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” Annabelle said testily, folding her fingers around the delicate bowl of a porcelain teacup. Looking pale and exhausted, her blue eyes ringed with dark shadows, she swallowed a mouthful of heavily sweetened tea before continuing. “It was that blasted perfume of yours—as soon as he caught one whiff of it, he went berserk.”

Shocked, Lillian tried to take in the information, her stomach plummeting. “It…it had an effect on West-cliff, then?” she managed to ask.

“Good Lord, not Lord Westcliff.” Annabelle rubbed her weary eyes. “He couldn’t have cared less what I smelled like. It was my husband who went completely mad. After he caught the scent of that stuff, he dragged me up to our room and…well, suffice it to say, Mr. Hunt kept me awake all night. All night,” she repeated in sullen emphasis, and drank deeply of the tea.

“Doing what?” Daisy asked blankly.

Lillian, who was feeling a rush of relief that Lord Westcliff had not been attracted to Annabelle while she was wearing the perfume, gave her younger sister a derisive glance. “What do you think they were doing? Playing a few hands of Find-the-Lady?”

“Oh,” Daisy said as comprehension dawned. She regarded Annabelle with unmaidenly curiosity. “But I was under the impression that you liked doing…that …with Mr. Hunt.”

“Well, yes, of course I do, but…” Annabelle paused and turned red. “That is, when a man is aroused to that extremity—” She stopped as she realized that even Lillian was paying keen interest to her words. Being the only married member of the group, she possessed a knowledge of men and intimate matters that the others were exceedingly curious about. Generally Annabelle was quite forthcoming, but she drew the line at disclosing private details of her relationship with Mr. Hunt. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Let’s just say that my husband does not need the influence of some potion that increases his physical appetite even more.”

“You’re sure it was the perfume?” Lillian asked. “Perhaps something else set him off—”

“It was the perfume,” Annabelle said unequivocally.

Evie broke in, looking puzzled. “But wh-why didn’t it stir Lord Westcliff when you wore it? Why did it affect only your husband, and n-no one else?”

“And why didn’t anyone take any notice of Evie or me?” Daisy asked, disgruntled.

Annabelle drained her tea, poured some more, and carefully stirred a lump of sugar into her cup. Her heavy-lidded eyes regarded Lillian over the china rim. “What about you, dear? Did anyone take notice of you?”

“Actually…” Lillian studied the contents of her own teacup. “Westcliff did,” she said grimly. “Again. Of all the luck. I’ve found an aphrodisiac that works only on a man whom I despise.”

Annabelle choked on a swallow of tea, while Daisy clapped her hand over her own mouth to stifle a fit of laughter. After Annabelle’s spasms of mingled coughing and giggling had subsided, she regarded Lillian with slightly watery eyes. “I can’t begin to imagine how upset Westcliff must be to find himself so attracted to you when the both of you have always fought so terribly.”

“I told him that if he wanted to make amends for his behavior, he could ask the countess to be our sponsor,” Lillian said.

“Brilliant,” Daisy exclaimed. “Did he agree?”

“He is lending some thought to the matter.

Leaning against the arm of her chair, Annabelle stared thoughtfully into the distant morning mist that en-shrouded the forest. “I don’t understand…Why would the perfume work only on Mr. Hunt and Lord Westcliff? And why would it have no effect on the earl when I wear it, whereas when you do…”

“Maybe the magical part,” Evie speculated, “is that it h-helps it to find your true love.”

“Balderdash,” Lillian remarked, offended by the notion. “Westcliff is not my true love! He’s a pompous, superior ass with whom I’ve never managed to have a civil conversation. And any woman unlucky enough to marry him will end up rotting here in Hampshire, having to account to him for everything she does. No, thank you.”