by Gina Kincade
“Lord and Lady Sanderly should be safe. I did everything within my power to make it so before I left.”
“For the moment it will suit my purposes to say I believe you.”
“I am getting to the secret, I promise.” He stumbled a bit as if trying to tie together all the thoughts going through his brain. She felt him struggle, wanting to freely admit to her a harsh truth he had not shared yet. “Bear with me. All I have to say will hopefully explain the secret a little more in the end. Let me share with you first that I had thoughts of my childhood…in my confusion…as the beast. I was so angry and confused things started to feel… Well, it was more like déjà vu. When I was a young boy, weird things would happen around me when I became troubled or vexed. My mother found these events contemptible. I was punished severely, and every strange incident was explained away. With my family, what others think comes first and love comes second.”
She caught the sudden change in the vibrations of the room. His sadness clouded everything. The room started to shake. The things on the shelves rattled together. He stood up and began to back out of the room like a frightened child. At that moment, she believed he honestly did not understand what he was doing.
“It is all right, Edmund. It is your emotions. Your anger is shaking the room. You are magical whether you know it or not. If you tame your feelings, it will stop.”
“I can not! This has not happened to me since I was a child. Why would it happen now?”
“It has to be this island. It has an energy center along with years of undisturbed magic. It strengthens anyone’s powers. Even if you stifled yours long ago, this island would bring them out again. You are a witch, and after transforming yourself, one powerful enough to be a shifter, too.”
“A shifter?” he asked. His question had diverted his attentions enough to allow the room to return to a peaceful state.
“A shape shifter? Do you not know what a shape shifter is?”
“I vaguely remember a gothic tale about such a thing. Lady Dalysbury, of course, threw it into the fireplace. I know what a shape shifter is. It is some sort of mythological being that can change from a human form to an animal form. I mean no offense, but I have never troubled myself to wonder if such beings existed outside of stories.”
“They are not mythological at all. Many powerful shamans can transform themselves. Witches usually cannot transform themselves. On the other hand, we are capable of spells to shift others for our own protection.”
“I am sorry, but I am still struggling, despite everything that has happened, to believe I am a witch, let alone a shifting one.”
She continued her explanation, wanting to calm him before she resumed her inquisition. “When anyone becomes vexed, they display beastly ways similar to the instincts and actions of wild animals. So the idea of a human transforming into an animal is not out of the realm of possibility. I have heard it proposed that murderers are shifters who are acting on their animal instincts without the physical transformation. Think about it. Who among us has not lost their temper, and during the outburst erupted with uncontrolled emotions that made them feel as though they are something not human? I daresay the brain is powerful enough to be capable of manifesting even physical characteristics with its thoughts. That is essentially what I did to you, is it not?”
“I consider myself a Libertine, a free thinker, unrestrained by morality, yet, this is much. I am willing to see your argument, but why would I be able to do it?”
“As I said, this island holds great magical energies from all the spells of my ancestors who once lived here. My ancestors’ magical abilities profited from the great energy vortices on the island. You were able here to tap into great powers with your…” She put her head down as she felt her face flush, and crossed her legs to squeeze herself closed in an attempt to stop the tingling there.
“With my want of you," he finished for her, "because I was attracted to the most tempting armful I have ever laid my eyes upon.”
His smile intensified the heat already rising in her face.
“I just do not understand how I could have never felt the magic in you before. When witches touch, there is an extra sensation, a spark.” She began to lift up her hand, and paused before lying it back down on the table only to cover it with her other one.
“The things that happened when I was a child were not magic or even magical. They were dark and wrong, evil. I fought it with everything in me to bury it, to extinguish it so it could happen no more. It was not something I was proud of. What I experienced was nothing short of vulgar.”
“Those are your mother’s words, are they not? This is what she told you about your gift?”
“It was no gift; it was a curse. And, yes, my mother was not happy about it. How would it look to the ton?”
“Can you provide me with an example of one of these strange events which occurred when life became not agreeable?”
“Of course. Things would move or tremble like just a moment ago. I remember one time when I was made to sit with a plate of cold food in front of me, not allowed to leave the table until I finished it. I was not such a good eater, and my mother fretted I would look sickly. That would just not do at all. I mean how would she look as a mother then? So, she often left strict instructions for me to eat. On this day when I refused, the kitchen maid had called in my mother. I contemplated throwing the food at her, and the plate suddenly flew across the room.”
She watched him as he got lost in the tragic moment of his past. His expression clouded as if saddened.
“I did not have time to realize I had caused it. My mother was displeased with me for throwing the plate. When I said I did not…well, she could really ring a fine peal over me, and what commenced was quite bleak.”
Her heart broke for the boy whose powers had been stifled by a mother who probably knew all along what was happening. Somewhere in the bloodline, the woman knew of someone having powers. Yet, due to her fastidious standards, she had chosen to beat the magic out of her son rather than let it develop. Aubrey wondered where his powers had come from to begin with, and how he had managed to snuff them out so completely that she'd never sensed them. Of course, his being so young, he may not even know the answers to her questions.
“You did not know of anyone in your family who had any type of powers? Your mother must have.”
“No, I had never heard any such thing. But, there is that secret I have not told you.”
She braced herself waiting for him to speak.
“In the ton, family secrets are kept quiet for fear of an ill-favored scandal. I daresay, I am relating to you nothing new. I am not excusing her either.”
“I know. Please continue,” she offered.
“When I confronted my mother about your departure, our argument escalated, especially after I told her in no uncertain terms I would be marrying you.”
Her head jerked up, and she couldn’t hold back her smile at the vision of Lady Dalysbury’s face contorted with anger.
“Yes, she was not pleased. In fact, so much so that she started ranting on like I have never seen her do, and I had thought I had seen her at her worst. She started by saying she could not allow me to make the same mistakes she did by being with someone of inferior birth and obscene ways. I pressed her as to what and to whom she was referring, hoping in the end to gain some ammunition to fire at her. It proved a worthwhile tactic. As I continued on about my love of you, she finally became so distressed and ill-composed that she told me a truth. Doubtless, she was grabbling for anything to scare me away from you. She told me the truth of my conception, and all she had sacrificed to gain me status. She had married quickly so I would be believed the son of a Marquess.”
A vacant laugh tore from him, and he continued, “She assured me that no one could prove me not to be the man I call father’s true heir now after all of these years, as if it mattered to me at all. She claimed to have assured my future with her advantageous marriage, and now I was just throwing it all a
way. She begged me to marry Lady Elizabeth, or all she did would be for naught. When I asked her why she would want a loveless marriage for me, too, her answer was to claim she eventually came to love the Marquess for all he gave us.”
“Lord Dalysbury is not your father?”
“No. Apparently not.”
“I am so sorry, Edmund. How distressing this all must have been for you to find out right before your travels. Did you find out who your real father is before leaving?”
“No, there was not time for such things. I had to get to you. All I could think of was the dangers of travel, and what I would do if something awful happened to you. The horror of never seeing you again…”
“Edmund… I…”
“I know. Forget it. Let me continue with the sordid tale I've recently become privy to. It started the Season my mother would have come upon the market. When The Marquess of Dalysbury first encountered my mother, Lady Dorothea Cantor, in the gardens outside of a ball, he found her crying silently upon a marble bench. I do remember when he was alive that he would ardently say that even with swollen eyes and a reddened face she could shine every other woman down. Anyway, that night, he went to her unbidden and fell in love with her before he even chanced a greeting. Of course, the first of many lies in this pathetic story has to do with why she was crying. I believe the faradiddle to be a disagreement within her family. As you know, my mother was born a Lady.”
He paused before going on, and she sensed the truths went much against the inclinations that had been browbeaten into him. The formal manner in which he had spoken of his parents showed his distaste for the whole situation. She was indeed impatient, waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under her. Silently, she sat fighting the urge to comfort him, sitting upon her hands lest they disobey her by any means.
“The truth behind her tears was she was saddled with a child, which was not going to go over well with her family for several obvious reasons. The worst of her scrape concerned the paternity of the father. Being a benish girl, she had taken up with a man her family would have despised. After being sheltered for years within the ton, as a green girl, she had found the danger of him exciting. Claiming to Lord Dalysbury that this rake had imposed upon her inexperience, she did not intend to be leg shackled to a man of such low standing. She also feared being cut by society due to her inappropriate breeding. I am sure she never had any intention of telling me. And, I am sure she only told me it all now hoping I would somehow have my eyes opened and learn from her mistakes. Anyway, I am a sideslip with a rake for a father. Lord Dalysbury married my mother, quickly telling the families he had gotten her pregnant. The grand alliance was agreeable to both families, so their plan went off without a hitch. To answer your question, I was shut down when I asked about the identity of my dangerous father. What she did say of the man was there was none such as he. I cannot imagine he was as bad as coming from Bedlam, but she is a woman given to extravagant drama. Anyway, I was bid not to be ungrateful for the father who had chosen to raise me as his own by asking about some rake who only shares my blood. So, no, I do not even know his name.”
“I am sorry, Edmund.” She touched his hand briefly before the fires burning within her joined with his and actually sparked in the room.
“What was that?” He pulled his hand away from her as if he had been burned.
“Our combined powers,” she said, leaving out a few embarrassing details.
“That did not happen the first time you touched me outside. I mean, I felt something, which I thought was just from our time apart. But, nothing was visible.”
“It must be your heightened emotions. Your real father must have been a witch. It is the only explanation I can find. However, how your magic was stifled all these years I don't get, unless, at some point in your childhood she had another witch cover them with a shielding spell. Then, maybe my magic along with the island's undid the old spell. Just guessing here.”
“I guess that would easily explain everything, but I can not see my uptight mother with a witch.”
“If that is the case, it must have been quite the rebellious phase,” she said, letting out a giggle.
“Do you believe me now?” His voice had quickly fallen again to a sober level.
“I do.” She could not see a reason not to. Yet, some part of her had been so abused she still could not let her entire guard down, even as much as she wanted to.
“Then, I can now find a reason to be grateful for the whole mess. If it is all right with you, I do not wish to discuss this any further today. I am exhausted, as I am sure you are. The sun is setting, so I suppose I must spend the night.”
When he rose as if to kiss her, something still wary in her made her stop him. “I still need a little time to adjust to all of this, Edmund. A lot of information has been thrown my way today. I wish to comfort you, but I know if I but touched you there would be no point of stopping. Can I have just a little more time without confusing everything with physical relations?”
“As I said, I will do anything for you. Is there another villa I can stay in? When I was flying, the island looked as if it had been wiped out.”
“This is the only partial villa I found livable. Everything else was destroyed in a violent storm some time ago. My needs for shelter were meager, which is why only a portion of the villa did fine for me. It provided me enough of a kitchen and room enough for a place to sleep and an altar.”
“All right, well then…I guess I can sleep beneath the stars.”
She knew she could not let him sleep under a tree or something, but the thought of controlling the urges he'd re-awakened within her, with him in the same residence, frightened her beyond measure, making her shake with just the thought upon it. She wondered where he would even sleep with the options being the small bed with her, as in her fantasy last night, or right beside the bed on the floor.
“No, you will stay here. We do not have many options. I have an extra blanket, but only one bed or the hard floor.”
“The floor under a roof is better than the dirt and stars shared with whatever crawly vermin exist here. I promise you, I will respect the distance you set. Nothing will happen you do not want to.”
She laughed, despite herself, at his seductive smile, her hands wringing together betraying her farce of control.
“Thank you. Let us get you a blanket. It has gotten late, as you said, and our candle is getting low.”
Once Aubrey lay there but a mere foot from his body, her thoughts once again filled with the man’s image. In her mind, he rose off of the floor with the moonlight highlighting the muscles in his chest. She wanted to play in the shadowed valleys as much as she did the lighted crests. He did not hesitate to pull back her cover, and cover her body with his own.
Once he'd moved on top of her in her twilight dream, his earthen eyes held the sure promise of his love. He touched her cheek before tracing her mouth. The larger pads of his fingers brought her skin to life. With his weight crushing down on her, she knew with utter certainty that she belonged with him. His lips extinguished all doubts, a shattering sensation which allowed the heat of passion to melt together their destinies.
In her vivid imagination, she rubbed herself against his bulge as she had desired to all day. Soon imaginings and memories blended together, and in her mind he stroked the mounds of her breasts, grazing over her nipples until they poised erect.
Nuzzling them together, he let his tongue move back and forth between the two buds. Each flick sent waves of desire through her core. Her body remembered him fiercely, tightening, heating in the present moment without his touch.
Fully a memory now, she relived his hands following down over her stomach and hips until his fingers crept over her thighs, making her insides pulse with anticipation. Finally, his fingers found her wetness. At first, they'd been slow and loving trailing over and then between her dripping folds. She had been awed by the magical transformation as the area swelled with need. He circled her nub until it became
burdened by fervor. Her inner walls contracted and trembled. Yet, when she arched up against him, he pushed two fingers up inside of her in one fluent motion which left her gasping for air.
She found herself amiss to realize she was empty in reality, and she turned her head to see his sleeping form on the floor. She grabbed the sheets of the bed in order to keep her body from leaving it, since it ached to be filled. For she knew if she didn’t, she would be straddling the slumbering man.
Chapter Nine
Edmund awoke the next morning to the sound of Aubrey’s soft breathing above him. He pushed his body up, amazed not to be aching from his sleep on the unforgiving floor. Although still unnerved by the apparent power of each of his muscles, the sight of her sleeping form on the bed distracted him. Even knowing he should leave the room lest she wake up and catch him staring, he could not pull himself away.
Her face, softened by the relaxed state of sleep, shone as beyond perfect, angelic even, in his eyes. Curls lay on top of her forehead and framed her cheeks. The sun had made her smooth skin golden. Her blanket had fallen slightly from the movement of sleep. He could see her breasts peaked into two perfectly rounded mounds. He longed to touch them, bringing the nipples to life until they pebbled under her silk chemise. Hardening with thoughts of where the shapes of her legs met there under the blanket, he hastily forced his legs to carry him from the room.
He sat outside the cottage with his mind reeling through all he had experienced and heard since he'd crashed onto these shores. Something like a mild electric current seemed to run through his veins. He had never been a gullible one, but turning his palms upward, he stared at them, wondering if they truly held magic. The thought made him feel free.
To his mother, just the idea of such wizardry would be beyond the pale of acceptability. It would sully all she saw as sacred, which amounted to only her money and her social standing. If only he could fly again up over these tops of the trees and glide over the treacherous seas back to his home. Then, could look down upon the heathen his mother was. Just the thought of her surprise, seeing him in such a form, incited a darker sort of fantasy, one laced with years of pent up longings and resentments.