Epilogue
Marcus held his baby girl, a cloth between him and her because she really liked to cast up her accounts, usually on his shoulder. He looked over at Cecelia and winked. “I think she’s getting hungry again,” he warned. His daughter wiggled in his arms, and he adjusted his grip on her so that he could look into her face.
“Just because she made a noise doesn’t mean she’s hungry,” Cecelia declared. “If you want to look at my breast, you just have to ask nicely.” She leaned across the picnic blanket and kissed him softly.
“Haven’t you two figured out that’s where those things come from?” Allen asked, looking toward Marcus’s new daughter. Allen’s eyes shone brightly and he appeared more relaxed than Marcus had ever seen him.
“There’s more to it than kissing, little brother,” Marcus teased. “Do you need for me to educate you?”
“Yes, please!” Ainsley cried, from where she lay with her head upon Allen’s knee. His hand rested on her swollen belly. “Because we have no idea where babes come from.”
Ainsley and Allen had married almost nine months ago to the day. And she was heavily pregnant with their first child. Allen couldn’t be happier. And Ainsley was glowing. Though she was a bit uncomfortable at this point.
“At least ours will not be a miracle birth after only seven months,” Allen scolded.
His mother called out from where she raced down the stream with Lady Anne, Sophia, and Claire’s older children toddling behind them. “Seven-month babes are the thing now. In fact, Marcus was so brilliant that he had to be born after a mere seven months himself.”
“Oh God,” Marcus groaned. “Can we change the subject?”
“Yes, please,” Cecelia said as she took the baby from his arms. He wrapped his arms around them both. There was nothing better than having his daughter and his wife in his arms at the same time. He’d thought Cecelia made him complete, but it just got better as time went by.
Claire and Phineas helped to keep the small children from the river. Sophia and Robinsworth had left to walk alone down the river some time ago. Marcus’s youngest sisters, Hannah and Rose, sat on a blanket, both taking turns holding the newest additions to the family. Both Sophia and Claire had new babies.
“I love it when we’re all together,” Marcus’s mother said as she ran past them, chasing one of the toddling babes.
“It exhausts me when we’re all together,” Lord Phineas said. He scooped one of the children into his arms, making him squeal. Marcus couldn’t tell them all apart. Not when there were so bloody many of them.
Marcus’s father lay in the grass, making a chain of daisies. He leaned over and placed it on Marcus’s daughter’s head. She looked up at him, blinking her blue eyes at her grandfather.
They spent a lot of time in the land of the fae. Marcus and Allen took turns handling their father’s lands in the other world, and they split their time in the land of the fae as well. They made time, however, for days like this when they could all be together.
Cecelia’s father sat down on the blanket beside Marcus and Cecelia and held out his hands. “Let me hold her. You two can go take a walk or something.”
Cecelia wiggled her brows so only Marcus could see it. He grinned and pulled her to her feet.
“Wait,” Lord Phineas said. “We were supposed to be next.”
“Too late,” Marcus teased. “We have someone to watch our one child.” He pointed to where Mr. Hewitt held his daughter. “The joy of having only one child, Finn. Too bad you’ll never experience that feeling again.” He chuckled loudly.
“I’m going to call it,” Allen called toward their retreating backs. “Another babe nine months from today!”
Marcus certainly hoped so.
Cecelia walked over to the sign that stood by the riverbank and dragged her fingers along the raised letters.
Unpardonable Errors
1. Never let a human adult see you in faerie form, unless that human is your spouse.
2. Never let your dust fall into the hands of the untrained.
3. Never share the existence of the fae with anyone who might betray the fae world.
4. Never use your magic to cause harm.
5. Never be afraid to fall in love with a human.
The unpardonable errors had changed only subtly, but they had changed, and for the better. Marcus and Cecelia had worked hard in their positions as two of the Trusted Few, and change had overcome the land.
Beneath the sign were written the words:
Love deeply.
Live passionately.
Magic abounds.
Marcus slid his hand into Cecelia’s and she squeezed it gently. They looked back at the group gathered on the hillside. The magic between them was stronger than ever, and it would last well past their lifetimes.
Read on to discover more magical Regency stories by Tammy Falkner:
A Lady and Her Magic
The Magic of “I Do”
Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca
From A Lady and Her Magic
August 1817
If the Duke of Robinsworth had known it would be so difficult to raise a daughter alone, he never would have killed his wife. He would have coddled her, wrapped her in lace and taffeta, and put her on a shelf so the whole world could view her beauty.
Even though he’d never admitted it, everyone knew he’d killed her. And though he refused to share the details, they were all correct.
His daughter broke him from his reverie when she stomped her foot and demanded that he purchase not one, but two, sweets from the vendor.
Ashley was quite used to the antics of his daughter, and although they were annoying, they never bothered him overmuch. When she became too unruly, he simply left her with a nurse. If it happened at home, he left the manor. He’d even left the country once. But she was always there when he returned, always just as petulant as she had been the day he left. He’d resigned himself to the fact that she would never change.
Anne was a perfect re-creation of his late wife. Her long blond curls danced around her face. Her porcelain skin and blue eyes reminded him of a doll he’d seen once in a shop window. The only difference: the doll didn’t have a temper like Anne. Yes, she had inherited that from her mother, too.
When Anne was younger, she would drop to the ground and kick and scream when she didn’t get her way, flopping about like a fish out of water. Now she simply scrunched up her pert little nose and screeched.
Ashley winced as she shrieked out the words, “I want it!”
He took a step toward the child, fully prepared to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back to her nurse, who waited on a park bench nearby, when a woman stepped forward. His breath caught in his throat as she entered his line of sight. She was the opposite of his late wife, who’d been blond and thin and fragile.
His gaze traveled over the woman’s rounded hips to her ample breasts, nearly hidden among the frills and folds of her light-blue gown. He lingered there, imagining how she would look in a gown that didn’t have quite so many trimmings hiding her curves. When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, her flashing hazel orbs held censure. Ashley coughed into his hand in a horrible attempt to hide the smile that wanted to erupt. It had been years since he’d been so well scolded. And she’d yet to even speak to him.
Before he could say a word to her, the auburn-haired nymph looked down her nose at his daughter and said, “Ladies do not shriek.”
His own little termagant rolled her eyes in a horrid display of social ineptitude.
The woman raised her eyebrows at Anne and said, her voice a bit crisper, “Ladies do not roll their eyes.”
“But I want another,” Anne snarled, stomping her foot.
The beautiful woman smiled at his daughter, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. People very rarely smiled at Anne because she was so obnoxious that most gentlewomen turned from her in disgust.
“May I tell you a secret?” she asked of Anne. Then she looked at Ashley, who nearly fell over trying to avoid leaning toward her so he could hear her soft voice as she spoke to Anne. “Do you mind?” she asked, smiling as she asked him for permission to speak to the girl.
“No,” Ashley said, waving his hand negligently. “You may disclose all the secrets you wish.” He wanted to add that she could whisper a few in his ear as well, but he assumed she’d take that as an insult.
She knelt down to Anne’s level and whispered in her ear. Anne’s nose turned down slightly until she suddenly smiled. She covered her mouth with her fingertips and giggled.
“Go on.” She nudged Anne forward. “Try it.” She shot Ashley a quick look that encouraged him to play along.
Anne tugged gently on his sleeve. “Yes, Anne?” he said quickly, finding it painful to tear his gaze away from the stranger long enough to look down at his own daughter. But when he did, he was surprised to see the pleasant smile that curled her lips.
“Papa, may I please have another treat? I regret to inform you that they are pitifully small.”
Ashley glanced up at the lady, who smiled at what must have been his perplexed look. He stared at her for a moment, unable to draw his eyes away, until Anne tugged at his sleeve and whispered, “I should like to grow up to be as sweet as the lady someday.”
Ashley turned to the street vendor and asked for two more treats. He promptly gave one to his daughter, who was delighted by her newfound ability to win her father’s favor. Then he looked over at the lady who’d transformed his daughter and winked.
***
Sophia felt certain she turned ten shades of red when the man turned and winked at her. It was such a masculine gesture, and not one that was commonly tossed in her direction. Of course, considering that he was the Duke of Robinsworth, Ashley Trimble, to be more exact, it was completely fitting.
It did gratify Sophia a bit to see that the child took her advice and approached her father in a gracious and respectful way. She smiled softly when he placed the treat in the girl’s hands and bent to kiss her forehead.
Sophia turned to walk away but heard quick footsteps behind her. “Miss?” The child called for her. Sophia looked down at her smiling face. She held up a second treat and said, “My papa said this one is for you.”
Sophia hesitated for a moment before she took the wrapped square from the child. “Thank you very much.”
“Wait.” When the girl’s father’s voice reached her, it hit her like a runaway horse, making the hair on her neck stand up and her belly drop toward her toes. His quick footsteps hurried across the cobblestone walk toward her. He stopped, his blue eyes darting to and fro in the nearly empty park. “If your chaperone sees me speak to you, I fear she’ll steal you away almost as quickly as you appeared.” He let the last trail off as he waited for her to fill the empty space.
Quite the opposite. Her grandmother had contrived the scheme so they could meet in the first place. “I appreciate the flattery, but I have not required a chaperone for a number of years. We do things differently where I’m from, you see.”
“And where might that be?” His blue eyes danced at her.
Unpardonable Error Number Three: Never share the existence of the fae. “I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Should she extend her hand to him? Try as she might, she was unable to remember all the social proprieties this world was based upon. Her grandmother had repeatedly tried to drill them into her throughout the years. And failed. “My name is Sophia Thorne, Your Grace,” she finally provided.
His gaze grew shuttered at the words “Your Grace,” almost as though a heavy curtain dropped between them that was difficult to see through. She wished she could bite the words back as soon as they left her lips.
“My reputation must precede me,” he said as he looked away. Sadness suddenly overwhelmed his features. “I’ll let you be on your way.” He bowed slightly and turned from her.
“Your Grace?” Sophia called. He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, no hint of the playfulness she’d seen earlier present in his gaze.
“I’ve never rested much faith upon the opinions of others, Your Grace,” she said slowly. “I prefer to draw my own conclusions.”
A sardonic smile broke across his face. “You could very well ruin your reputation by being seen in my company, Miss Thorne.”
She shrugged. “One must have a reputation in order to ruin it, Your Grace. And to be more succinct, one must care.”
A smile that might be genuine slowly lifted the corners of his lips. “I thank you for the help with my daughter. How did you do it?”
She shrugged again. She’d simply treated the child with respect and firmness, both of which the girl was surely lacking. But that was neither here nor there. “Most women learn to manage men at an early age,” she laughed. “It appears as though your daughter has not.”
“Not until today.”
“I was happy to help.” Sophia held up the wrapped square of candy. “And these are my favorite,” she admitted, unable to keep from smiling at him.
The little girl tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Can we go home now, Papa?”
The duke pulled his watch fob from his pocket and flipped it open. “Actually, I do have some things to attend to,” he said apologetically as he touched the top of his daughter’s head. “Tell Miss Thorne good-bye and thank you,” he instructed her.
Instead of dropping into a curtsy, the girl locked her arms around Sophia’s waist and squeezed. Sophia was almost too surprised to return the embrace.
“Perhaps I’ll see you again another day,” she said to the little blonde.
“I can only hope,” the duke said quietly, his gaze meeting hers only briefly before he turned away, took his daughter’s hand, and started down the lane that led to the entrance of the park.
Sophia took a moment to catch her breath. It wouldn’t do for her to swoon in the middle of the park. Not at a mere suggestion from the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth. The man was a walking scandal. A walking scandal that made her pulse pound so loudly she could hear it.
“Well, that went better than I expected, dear,” her grandmother said as she stepped into her line of sight.
“Better than I thought,” Sophia lamented.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to feign the mannerisms of the British ton. But you did fairly well.”
She certainly still had a lot to learn about this world. The land of the fae might look similar, but none of its magic was present in this world. Here, people wore full clothing, and not a single one of them had wings or pointy ears the way she did. Just willing her own wings away was difficult and not something she usually had to concentrate so hard to do.
“He seemed discontent about my lack of a chaperone,” Sophia said. “Do you think I need one, to look like one of them?”
“Perhaps we should have Margaret shadow you a little more,” her grandmother suggested.
Sophia moaned. The idea of Margaret watching everything she did made her nervous. The house faerie didn’t like this world or anything about it, including its people. The maid wouldn’t say why, but she had a feeling it had something to do with Sophia’s mother. “I need to learn to walk like them.”
“Stiffly and unyielding?” her grandmother said with a laugh. In their world, comfort reigned. Clothing was serviceable. There were no layers worn simply for show. In order to fit through keyholes and slide under doors, one must be appropriately attired.
“Maybe I should have saved this mission for Claire after all.” Indecision rose within her. No. She could do this. She could help the Duke of Robinsworth’s daughter.
“You must learn to use your senses, your mind, and your heart more than your magic. You can do it, Sophia. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come if I didn’t believe it.”
“Oh, come now,” Sophia cajoled. “You wanted an opportunity to come through the portal, to see the fish.”
“I’d love to know their crimes. Knowing they were once fae scares me a little.” Her grandmother shivered lightly.
“They seemed amiable enough.”
“Only because you had something they wanted to trade for passage. Otherwise, we’d still be at home waiting for the night of the full moon.”
The fish that guarded the portal were granted a reprieve on the night of the moonful, the night the midnight wind swirled, carrying passengers from the fae world to this one. Any other night, wary travelers must trade something of value to get past the fish and away from the land of the fae.
“This mission is very unlike my others,” Sophia said, more to herself than to her grandmother.
“Most missions don’t include a handsome duke.” She grinned. “A duke who makes one’s heart go pitter-patter.” For some reason, her grandmother’s mild, cherubic smile sent fear skittering up Sophia’s spine, making her wonder what devious plot was hiding behind her grandmother’s innocent facade.
***
Ashley stepped through the front door of his home to find his butler, Wilkins, standing at attention in the entryway. The regal, spry old servant rushed forward to take his hat and coat.
“Any news for me, Wilkins?” Ashley asked absently as he shrugged out of his jacket, took the correspondence the butler placed in his hands, and sorted through the stack of notes quickly.
“Your brother awaits you in your study,” the butler said.
A smile broke across Ashley’s face. “I imagine he’s sampling my best whiskey?”
Wilkins smiled, then added glibly, “Not since I removed all the decanters upon his arrival, Your Grace. You should be aware that he partook of more than his share of spirits before he arrived.”
His brother had never been one for taking spirits in moderation. Ashley chuckled. “That bad, is he?”
“Worse, Your Grace,” Wilkins said, nodding his head slightly.
“Oh,” Ashley said as he turned and held up a finger. “Did you have any luck finding a suitable governess for Anne?”
The man sighed. “Unfortunately, no. The agency refuses to send another of their applicants. Not after what happened the last time.”
Ashley tried to remember. “Remind me of what happened last time.”
“Lady Anne set the governess’s hair on fire. On purpose.”
“Oh, yes. I remember. There was a stench for days.” Wilkins’s lip curled as he obviously remembered the same smell. “Are there other agencies you can try?”
“I’ll keep looking.”
“Thank you.” Ashley smiled as he walked down the corridor and turned the corner to enter his study. There, seated in a deep leather chair, was his younger brother, Lord Phineas, or Finn, as his friends called him. “I heard a rumor that you were in my study and that evasive maneuvers had to be taken to keep you out of my stock,” Ashley said, extending his hand.
Finn rose to his feet unsteadily, grasping for the arm of his chair as he lost his balance. The man looked positively miserable, his eyes rimmed with red, his face blotchy and pale. “Ah, yes. But he forgot the bottle you keep in your private stash,” Finn said as he held up a glass, lisping a little on the last word.
Of course, his brother would feel free to invade his private space at will. Never one to mince words, Ashley said, “You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell,” Finn grumbled back.
“Dare I ask what the matter is? It’s a bit early in the day to be so deep in your cups.” He urged his brother to sit before he toppled over. He was nearly as big as Ashley, so it would take at least two footmen to bring him back upright.
“Oh, I had a bit more enjoyment than I’d planned,” Finn groaned as he adjusted himself in the chair.
Ashley sat behind his desk and steepled his hands in front of him, waiting for the man to tell him what the matter was. It didn’t take as long as he thought for his brother to unburden himself.
“Do you remember the chit I set up in Mayfair?”
“Vaguely.” If Ashley remembered correctly, there was nothing truly remarkable about the girl.
“She’s up and left me.”
“And?” Certainly, worse things could happen to a man. Like being shunned for killing one’s wife.
“And she started a bit of a rumor.”
“About?”
“My lack of physical attributes and attention to her needs,” Finn mumbled.
Ashley tried to hide his chuckle behind a cough into his closed fist.
“It’s not amusing,” Finn pointed out.
“Certainly, it is,” Ashley said, laughing a bit louder.
“How do you deal with it? The whispers behind your back? The constant judgment from your peers?”
Ashley shrugged. “One becomes accustomed to it with time.” He’d had seven years to learn to accept his lot in life. The only time it rankled was when he met a lady like Miss Thorne. Then he wished he was anyone but himself.
Finn reached for the whiskey bottle again. Ashley intercepted it and moved it out of his brother’s reach. “Drinking any more will be a waste, because you’ll not remember the taste of it when you wake up.”
Ashley stood and called for Wilkins. The man appeared within moments. “Let’s find a room for Lord Phineas and help him to it, shall we?” he asked of the butler.
Wilkins nodded his head and called for footmen to assist. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the rest of London should know what a good man you can be,” Wilkins said.
“I prefer to let them think the worst.” Ashley sighed. “They’ve no expectations of me that way.”
Ashley returned to his study and began to open his correspondence. Despite his sordid past, he was a bit too well connected to be ousted completely from society. For the first two or three years following his wife’s death, he’d been avoided as though he had a communicable disease, as though the propensity to murder was contagious.
Then the few friends he had, namely his brother Finn, Matthew Lanford, and Jonathon Roberts, whom he’d met at Eton many years before, had rallied around him and forced him to resume his place in the House of Lords and step back into society. They all believed him innocent of any wrongdoing. It was unfortunate that they were all incorrect.
The clip of quickly moving slippers in the corridor made him groan and hang his head. Within seconds, the Duchess of Robinsworth flung open his door and burst inside his sanctuary, without even the good graces to knock.
“Mother,” was his only response as he looked down at the note before him. “What brings you to my home?”
“You really should replace that butler,” she scolded.
“And why should I do that?” he asked as he closed his ledger. She obviously had a purpose for visiting. And would most likely get to it as soon as she got over whatever slight Wilkins had given her. He would curse the man, but the butler seemed to be one of the only people who could keep his mother in line.
“He’s impertinent. And rude.”
Said the pot about the kettle.
“He blocked my entrance to the old library. The one in the west wing. He stood right there in the doorway and refused to let me pass. Of all the nerve.” She harrumphed and dropped into a chair.
That wing of the old house had been closed for longer than Ashley could remember. Since before his father had died when he was a boy. “And what purpose did you have for visiting the west wing, Mother?” he asked as he poured himself a liberal dose of the whiskey Finn had left behind.
“It’s awfully early to be drinking, dear,” she scolded.
“It’s awfully early for you to be visiting, Mother,” he returned. His mother never rose from bed before the luncheon hour. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping off the excesses of the night’s activities?”
“I wouldn’t call them excesses,” she mumbled.
He fished a note from the pile of correspondence Wilkins had given him. “You do not find one thousand pounds to be an excess?” he questioned.
“Give me that.” She held out her hand and leveled him with a stare that would have made him quake in his boots when he was younger. With her icy glare and pinched brows, she could freeze him in his tracks when he was a boy, but no longer.
“I think not,” he returned. Then he took a deep breath and dove directly into the issue at hand. “I believe it’s time for you to move back to the Hall, Mother.” He would hate having her underfoot, but he couldn’t keep an eye on her if she wasn’t at hand.
She pulled back and turned up her nose. “I’ll do no such thing. My town house is perfectly acceptable.”
“You mean my town house,” he clarified.
“It’s mine in theory,” she huffed as she sank primly onto a chair across from him.
“The amount of money you’re losing at the gaming tables is tremendous,” he said as he withdrew more notes from his drawer. They arrived nearly every day. From people his mother had gambled with and lost. They all knew she wasn’t good for the debts. Yet they played with her anyway because the Duke of Robinsworth never left a debt unpaid. His presence in their drawing rooms might not be valued. But his purse certainly was.
“I’ll take those,” she said again.
“Why, Mother? You cannot begin to pay them.”
Her face fell. “I do not know why you feel you have to be so cruel,” she said as her eyes welled up with tears.
“I do not understand why you gamble with money you don’t have.” He tapped the cards on the table. Then he made a clucking sound with his tongue. “But I’m prepared to pay them in full.”
“As you must, Robin,” she said quietly, using his childhood nickname.
“On one condition,” he amended.
Her face contorted slightly. “Which is?” she said from between gritted teeth.
“I’m closing the town house effective immediately. You’ll be moving back to the Hall.”
She jumped to her feet. “I will do no such thing,” she gasped.
He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I will reconcile your debts. Every last one of them. Then you will cease gambling with money you do not have. You may use your pin money any way you see fit.”
“But there’s not enough,” she protested.
Still, he continued. “You will spend nothing more than your pin money. You will move back to the Hall. You will assist me with my daughter.”
“Anne hates me.”
Anne hated everyone. “You will assist me with your granddaughter. She could use a feminine presence. You will behave respectably and set a good example for her.”
“You need a wife,” she snapped. “It’s unfortunate that no one of respectable breeding will have you.”
Oh, his mother knew how to throw the barbs that would hurt the most. “Then I am free from the wife search, it seems, since no respectable woman would pay me her favors.” He leveled her with a glare. Though Miss Thorne had graced him with a smile and no fear in her eyes.
“It took years for me to get over your past deeds. To find my way back into society. You have no idea how arduous the task was.” He couldn’t gather sympathy for her, despite the look of anguish in her eyes. “If I move back to the Hall, I will once again be cast beneath your dark cloud of suspicion.”
“Do you think I killed my wife, Mother?” he clipped out.
“Of course not,” she rushed on.
“Then I would assume a mother who finds no fault with her son will be quite content to return to the family estate.”
“My friends won’t know what to think.”
“Quite frankly, Mother, I don’t give a damn what they think,” he drawled. “I’ll have Wilkins begin the preparations to move your household.”
“And just when do you think this will take place?”
“As soon as I bellow down the hallway,” Ashley replied. Wilkins would take great pride in ruffling the duchess’s feathers.
“That man hates me,” she grunted. “When I’m in residence, I’ll expect him to treat me as befits my station.”
“He’ll treat you as well as you treat him, Mother.”
“I’d prefer being dropped into a vat of hot oil over being nice to that man.” She jumped to her feet and headed for the door.
“I’m certain that can be arranged,” Ashley called to her retreating back.
From The Magic of “I Do”
Autumn 1817
A faerie without magic was about as useless as a carriage without a horse. If Claire Thorne had known that this would be her reward for trying to save her sister from the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth, she never would have gotten involved in her sister’s mission. She would have stayed at home. The land of the fae was so much more comfortable than the land where others resided.
Claire refused to look at her abductor. She refused to acknowledge his presence, although he did have her magic dust. It was in his pocket at that very moment. Despite the fact that she’d warned him it could explode in untrained hands, he’d taken it with no hint of hesitation. And now he refused to give it back. Claire lifted her chin and stared out the coach window. If anyone had told her a sennight ago that Lord Phineas would take her hostage, she would have laughed in his face. Yet here she was, at his mercy.
“Oh, blissful silence,” he said. He must have said it to himself, because he certainly couldn’t be talking to her.
“You really should return my dust to me before it does you harm.” She didn’t look at him as she talked. She continued to stare at the changing landscape. They’d left behind the bustle of Mayfair and were headed toward… nowhere, it appeared.
“And just what kind of harm might a little bottle of shimmer do to me?” He looked much too composed.
“It could explode and blow off an arm.” She finally turned to look toward him and found him grinning at her unrepentantly. That man had a smile that could stop a lady’s heart. Though it had no effect on hers. Well, almost no effect. His sparkling blue eyes made him look impertinent enough to annoy her to no end.
He held out his hand and appraised his arm with a critical eye. “I can live without an arm.” Lord Phineas swiped a lock of hair from his forehead and lowered his arm back to his side. He arched a golden brow at her as though taunting her to continue her threats. He hadn’t seen threats yet. Just wait until she turned him into a toad. Or a pig so that his outside could reflect his inside.
Claire let her gaze roam up and down his body slowly. “It might blow off something you use on occasion.” Her eyes stopped at his lap. He fidgeted in his seat. “It’s really quite volatile in the hands of the untrained.”
That wasn’t true. Not in the least little bit. But he didn’t need to know that. In his hands, the dust was useless. Just shimmery flecks of shiny things he didn’t understand. In her hands, however, it was quite useful. If she wasn’t afraid to commit one of the Unpardonable Errors—never use your magic to do harm—she would take a chance and wrest it from his possession. But if she had the dust in her hands right at that moment, she would use it to harm him. In a most satisfying way.
She forced herself into a casual shrug. “Take a chance. Blow off an appendage. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and it’ll be the smallest one. One you probably don’t get to use much.”
His smile vanished. “I can assure you there’s nothing small about my appendage.”
She grinned. “That’s not what she said…” She left the taunt dangling in the air. His face flushed. She must have touched a sore spot. But since he was holding her hostage, he deserved to be just as uncomfortable as she was.
***
How the devil could a faerie be aware of his problems with his mistress? Katherine had only left him a few weeks before. It wasn’t his fault that she’d spread a bit of a rumor about his prowess in the bedroom. One that was completely unfounded upon reality. He narrowed his eyes at Miss Thorne. “Are your people omniscient?”
She didn’t answer. She simply turned to look out the window again. Blast and damn. The woman was already driving him toward Bedlam and he’d only had her in his possession for a few hours. His brother, Robin, would owe him dearly for this. Very dearly.
The carriage hit a rut in the road and she bounced in her seat. She uttered a most unladylike oath as her head bumped the roof of the carriage. “Beg your pardon?” he asked. He cupped a hand around his ear. “I didn’t quite hear that.”
“If I’d meant for you to hear it, you would have heard it.” She adjusted her skirts, settling back more heavily against the squabs. The bounce had left her looking a bit disheveled, with a strawberry blond curl hanging across her forehead. She blew the lock of hair with an upturned breath.
She really was quite pretty if one could get over the shrewish behavior. Her body was tall and willowy, her limbs long and graceful. Her heart-shaped face would probably be beautiful if she ever graced it with a smile.
“Just where are we going?” she asked. She still didn’t look at him. She gazed out the window with the countenance of someone who had the weight of the world upon her shoulders.
“My house in Bedfordshire.”
Her shoulders stiffened and then she exhaled deeply.
“And just what recommends such a place?”
“It has bars on the windows and heavy locks on the doors.” It didn’t. But she didn’t have to know that.
“It will take more than bars and windows to keep a faerie under lock and key.” She sniffed and raised her nose in the air.
“Then thank God there are ropes aplenty. I will tie you to my side if I must. I did promise Robin I’d take care of you.” That was a bit of a long and sordid tale, and he still didn’t understand the half of it. “Pray tell me how you people came to exist.”
She arched a delicate brow at him. “The same way you did.” Her face flushed scarlet. “Do you really need me to tell you about reproduction?”
Damn her hide. He didn’t need her to explain anything about reproduction. This lady knew how to jab him where it hurt, though. He would have to take great care with her. He grinned slowly and leaned forward. “Please do. If you’re lacking anything in the telling of how babes are made, I’ll fill in the blanks for you. Certainly, you have questions about it.”
“Should any pressing questions arise, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She looked back out the window. Damn, he hoped that Robin finished up his business soon so he could free the harpy.
“How long do you plan to keep me there?”
“As long as it takes for Robin to finish his business.” The sooner, the better.
“I’m certain he’s done by now. So we can turn around and go back to the city.” She looked quite pleased by that idea. A smile tipped her lips and the beauty of it nearly took Finn’s breath away.
“He’ll send word when he’s done. I’ll set you free not a moment before.”
She laughed lightly, and the sound raked over his skin like silky fingertips in the night. “Only an idiot would think he can keep a faerie confined.” She snorted lightly. It was a most unladylike noise, but he found himself biting back a grin at the sound.
Finn leaned over and looked out the window at the cloud-filled sky. If he couldn’t keep her confined, the inclement weather would. Unless he was mistaken, the snow would begin to fall before they reached their destination. Then she would be as confined by the elements as she was by him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to tie her to him. He’d have to wait and see.
***
Robin had sent a messenger to the house to ready it for company before he’d left for… wherever it was he’d gone. But that didn’t help Finn at the moment. Evidently, they’d arrived before the messenger did. None of the staff greeted them at the door. Where the devil were they? Mr. Ross should at least be nearby. He never left his post. And Mrs. Ross, the cook-housekeeper, should have been there to greet them as well. Blast and damn. Finn moved to pull off his gloves but changed his mind. It was damn cold in the house. And dark. And empty.
“Hullo,” he called. His voice echoed around the empty foyer.
“Looks like no one is home. Let’s head back to London,” Miss Thorne chirped. She started back toward the door.
“Something is wrong,” Finn murmured to himself. “Wait here,” he muttered as he started toward the kitchen. Certainly someone would be in the kitchen. But that room was empty as well. “Where the devil is everyone?”
“It appears as though your house isn’t quite ready for company,” Miss Thorne said, a satisfied smile on her face. “I believe we should make the trip back before the weather gets any worse.”
Just then, the back door opened and a tall man stepped through it. He had an apple clenched between his teeth and bit into it viciously. He stopped short when he saw Finn and Miss Thorne standing there. “Beg your pardon,” he said around the mouthful of apple. He held up one finger as he chewed and swallowed so hard that Finn could hear the gulp across the room. “My lord,” he finally croaked out. He bent at the waist, and that was when Finn finally recognized him.
“Benny?” Finn asked. That man with shoulders as broad as the doorway couldn’t possibly be Benny Ross, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Ross. The last time he’d seen Benny… He couldn’t remember the last time.
“Yes, my lord,” the young man said. “It’s a brisk day, isn’t it?”
If brisk meant cold enough to freeze a man in his tracks, yes, it was. “Where are your parents?” Finn asked. “Did you receive the notice that I would be arriving?”
“Yes, my lord. We received it. That’s why I’m here. Papa took a fall down a flight of stairs a few days ago.” He held up a hand when Finn began to protest. “Don’t worry. He’s going to recover. Just got a nasty bump on the head and a sprained ankle. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“And Mrs. Ross?” Finn asked. Certainly she was on the premises.
“She has refused to leave Papa’s side.”
This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He had a house with no servants. An offended faerie and a house with no servants.
“That settles it,” Miss Thorne chirped. “We’ll be going back to London.” She waved at Benny and said, “It was nice meeting you.”
Benny looked to Finn for confirmation. “You’ll be leaving, then?”
Benny looked much too happy about that. “No,” Finn sighed. “We’ll be staying.”
“I was about to say, you don’t want to get caught in this storm.” Benny parted the kitchen curtains to look out. “It looks to be a nice one.”
“Is there anyone else who can come and take care of the house? One of your sisters, perhaps?” If Finn wasn’t mistaken, Benny had five sisters, all of whom were older than he was.
Benny flushed. “Oh no, my lord. Papa suggested that, and Mama said it wasn’t a good idea. What with you being a bachelor and all.”
Mrs. Ross thought he would defile one of their daughters? He shrugged. One of them was quite attractive.
“But I’ll be here for you. Mama sent a cold lunch. And I’ll go back and get the evening meal before the storm sets in fully.” He looked quite pleased with himself. He pointed toward the front door. “Shall I go and take care of the horses?”
“Build a fire, first, will you?” It was growing colder by the second. Even the kitchen, which was always hot as blazes, was cold enough to make his face numb. “In the sitting room, the library, and the bedchamber.”
Benny’s brow rose. “One bedchamber, my lord?”
Finn nodded. “Yes, just one.”
***
One bedchamber? Was the man daft? There was no possible way Claire was going to share a bedchamber with him. “Have you lost your senses?” she hissed as Benny stalked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. “I will not share a bedchamber with you.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Miss Thorne,” Lord Phineas drawled. “Trust me, the idea of it doesn’t settle well with me, either.”
He didn’t like the idea of sharing a bedchamber? She highly doubted that. A small part of her was momentarily offended by his comment. She’d been told she had striking features. “Why don’t you want to share a bedchamber with me?” she asked impulsively. She wanted to bite the words back as soon as they left her mouth.
“I tend to favor a warm bed partner, Miss Thorne. Not a cold one.” He stalked past her and into the corridor.
Her offense at his lack of interest was absolutely absurd. But it niggled at her more than a little. She shoved the thought aside and forced her attention back to the facts at hand. “I think we should go elsewhere. At least an inn would have staff.”
“They have staff where you come from, Miss Thorne?” He continued down the corridor toward… Where was he going? “In your land, Miss Thorne?” he prompted.
Of course. Her land was structured much like his, except hers was prettier. And in hers, things tended to be a little more fanciful. “My grandfather is one of the Trusted Few, my lord. Do not doubt my origins.”
“Trusted Few?” he parroted, his brow quirked at her. A grin tugged at his lips. Why was that amusing?
“The governing body in our world. Much like your aristocracy. The House of Lords.”
“Only you have a house with a trusted few?” He chuckled. “Certainly, you do.” He finally came to a grand room lined with books, which must have been his library. Claire gazed at the overstuffed shelves. One of her favorite pastimes was reading, and she nearly salivated at the thought of looking through all the books. She forced her attention back to him. “When will we be leaving?”
“When Robin sends words that his business is concluded.” He dropped into a chair behind his desk and began to sort through a stack of correspondence. “Is Ramsdale really your father?”
“No.” She didn’t say more than that. Just the single word.
“Robin says differently.”
“We were raised by our grandparents.” She turned and pretended to peruse the shelves. Talking of her parents still hurt a little. She had never met them. She’d been raised with the fae, along with her brother Marcus and her sister Sophia. There were never any parents in their lives until Sophia stumbled across the Ramsdales. They’d lived in London all her life, right where she could have found them, if she’d only known they existed. Claire still hadn’t met them. Nor did she plan to. Nor did she plan to meet her human brother and sisters. The children her parents had kept.
“Would you prefer that I call you Miss Thorne? Or shall we throw out all social constraints and call one another by our first names, Claire?” he asked, a crooked grin lifting the corners of his lips.
“Miss Thorne will do nicely.” she corrected.
“You may call me, Finn, Claire.” He was taunting her. She was well aware of it. And he was enjoying it.
Benny bustled into the room with an armful of wood. “My lord?” he asked quickly. Lord Phineas motioned with an impatient hand toward the hearth. Benny began to stack wood in the grate and lit it with a quick flick of his flint.
“There,” he said, dusting his hands together. “I’ll take care of the bedchamber next.” Lord Phineas nodded, obviously distracted by the contents of his correspondence.
“Thank you, Benny,” Claire said. The boy flushed at her praise.
“I put your things in his lordship’s bedchamber.”
“That will be all, Benny,” Lord Phineas barked.
Benny bowed to her quickly and fled the room.
“You need to clear up the boy’s misconception.”
“What misconception would that be?” He looked up at her, his blue eyes flashing.
“The lad is under the impression we’ll share a bedchamber.”
Lord Phineas stood up slowly. He crossed the room to stand in front of her and bent down by her ear, where he said softly, “My darling, we are going to share a bedchamber.”