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
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
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