by Cynthia Eden
They didn’t have her connections.
Pak nodded to her and pointed to the door on the far right. She hurried inside and paced down another corridor.
Then she saw him. Tony’s face was still just as perfect as always. But his hands…his legs…she swallowed and crept toward the bed.
“You’ll be fine,” she whispered to him, and began to chant. Her binding marks were gone. Her power was finally back—fully back. Pak thought she could help heal Tony, and she’d prove the charmer right. She’d pay back her debt to him, and her debt to the cop.
Did Tony even remember the debt she owed him? Probably not. It had been so long ago. He’d just been a rookie on his first beat. She’d been a lost kid.
So long ago.
His lashes stirred as she pushed the past from her mind and chanted. The air shifted around her as her power pulsed.
Tony would be all right. Better than before, with time.
“Cat…” His whisper, when he shouldn’t have known she was there.
Unable to stop herself, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek.
She’d had visions of him over the years, too, and she knew that someday…someday…
Pak smiled as he pushed the hospital door closed. He turned around to face the crowd of cops, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d make sure Catalina wasn’t disturbed. No one needed to see the magic that his newest recruit was working.
Catalina would make a fine addition to his team, and so would Zane’s Ignitor. So much power there, just waiting.
Two more on the side of the hunters. The Daveys of the world had better gear up. Hell was coming for them. Because his team was always watching. Always waiting.
He nodded to one of the demon cops.
Yes, Pak was ready and so was Night Watch.
Come and get us, assholes. His team was the best in the business, and even the devil couldn’t take them out.
But he’d sure like to see the bastard try.
Take your pick of the
LORDS OF PASSION,
a steamy anthology featuring
Virginia Henley, Kate Pearce, and Maggie Robinson…
The Hague, Holland
November 28, 1719
“Damnation, Cadogan, you’ve the devil’s own luck. You’ve won every hand we’ve played for the last sennight.” Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, pushed his chair back from the games table and wiped his brow. “Stap me! I’m wiped out—you’ve had the lot!”
General William Cadogan glanced at his darkly handsome opponent. He was the illegitimate son of the late King Charles, who in his old age had impregnated his mistress, Louise de Kerouaille. “Would you like me to tally up, your grace?”
Richmond waved a negligent hand. “By all means, let me know the damage.”
The dashing Irish general didn’t take long. He had a damn good idea of what the duke had wagered and lost in their endless games of écarté. The duke was a heavy drinker, which was the main reason for his losses. The general set the seven scorecards down on the table, one for each night they had played. “I tot it up to a little over ten thousand guineas.”
“What?” Richmond howled. “Are you jesting?” By the benign look on Cadogan’s face, Charles Lennox knew he was serious. He downed the glass of gin sitting before him. “I don’t have it. You’ll have to accept my marker.”
The men sitting at the table, who had been observing their deep play, began to murmur. Richmond flushed darkly. A gentleman always paid his gambling debts. His shrewd mind quickly inventoried his assets. Land was out of the question—the aristocracy accumulated property; it never relinquished it. Besides, the Earl of Cadogan already owned the hundred-acre Caversham estate on the outskirts of Reading.
Horses were the next things Richmond thought of. His family seat, Goodwood, at the foot of the South Downs, had a racing stable of Thoroughbreds. The thought of parting with his horses made him feel physically ill.
He looked across at General Cadogan. “You have a daughter, I believe.”
“I do, your grace. Her name is Sarah.”
“How would you like to make Sarah a countess? My son, the Earl of March, is without a wife.” Lennox believed no man could resist such a magnanimous offer.
But the Earl of Cadogan, who was Marlborough’s top general, and largely responsible for Britain’s victories in the wars of Spanish Succession, was a shrewd negotiator. That was the reason he had been given the diplomatic duties concerned with resettlements among Great Britain, France, Holland, and Spain.
“My daughter, Lady Sarah, has a dowry of ten thousand pounds. If I gave you my daughter and her marriage settlement, I would have to pay you ten thousand instead of you paying me ten thousand.” He raised his hands in appeal. “It doesn’t fly, your grace.”
“Charles is heir to my dukedom of Richmond and all the estates that encompasses,” Lennox pointed out. “Lady Sarah could become a duchess.” Surely it’s not necessary to remind you that we have royal blood?
“A marriage between my daughter and your son, and heir, could be the solution.”
Cadogan paused for emphasis. “Without the marriage settlement, of course.”
“Curse you, general. You’re not negotiating with the enemy here!”
“Since we are civilized gentlemen, I propose a compromise, your grace.”
“Let’s split the difference,” Richmond suggested. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage along with a dowry of five thousand.”
The other men at the table leaned forward in anticipation of Cadogan’s answer.
“Done!” The general’s reply was heartfelt. He raised his hand to a servant. “Drinks all around. We must toast this historic union.”
The Duke of Richmond raised his glass. “Here’s to you and here’s to me, and if someday we disagree, fuck you, here’s to me!”
All the gentlemen roared with laughter and drained their glasses.
“I shall send for my daughter immediately.”
“And I shall summon my heir,” the duke declared.
“The Green Lion is a lovely name for a ship,” Sarah exclaimed as they boarded at the Port of London.
“I only hope our cabin is warm. This is a dreadful season to be crossing to the Netherlands,” Lady Cadogan said with a shiver.
“I’m glad I’m wearing my woolen dress and cloak. This is so exciting!”
The pair was shown below to their cabin, and when their trunk arrived, it took up most of the space between the two bunks.
“Such cramped quarters,” the countess complained. “It’s a good thing we will be arriving before dark tomorrow. But at least the cabin is warm.”
“Oh, I think we are under way.” Sarah grabbed hold of the bunk rail as the vessel swayed. She was bursting with excitement. “May I please go up on deck and watch as the Green Lion navigates through the Thames?”
“If you must, Sarah. But when the ship approaches Graves-end, you must come below decks immediately. Daylight will soon be gone, and the wind will be so fierce, it could easily blow you overboard,” her mother cautioned.
The grave warning did not deter Sarah; it made her more eager to go up on deck.
“Thank you, Mother. I’ll be careful.”
Sarah climbed the stairs that led onto the deck and pulled her cloak tightly about her. She watched the docks recede slowly, but soon lost interest in looking back. She much preferred to look ahead and made her way to the very front of the vessel. She stood in wonder as the banks of the river widened. She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with sea air, as if the smell of tide wrack were the elixir of life.
She lifted her face to the cold breeze as she heard the gulls and terns screaming overhead. What an exciting life to be a sailor! Sarah stood enraptured as the ship reached the estuary and headed out to sea. She became aware that the light was fast fading from the day, and the moment the ship sailed into the North Sea, the wind whipped her cloak about and she remembered that she must go below.
&nbs
p; The fierce wind was against her as she lowered her head and began to run. Suddenly she collided with someone, and the impact knocked the breath out of her.
“You clumsy, idiot girl! Watch what you’re about, for Christ’s sake.”
Sarah paled as she stared up into the furious face of a young man. “I’m… I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped.
“Sorry, be damned!” He blocked her way. “You haven’t the brains of a bloody baboon, barreling down the deck like a loose cannon.”
“I have to get below—I promised Mother.”
“We all want to get belowdecks to a warm cabin, damn your eyes.”
“You are frightening the girl, Charles. Let her pass,” Henry Grey said quietly.
Charles Lennox grudgingly stepped aside. “The witless girl needed a lesson. I hope you remembered to bring that bottle of rum. It’s colder than a whore’s heart tonight.”
When the Countess of Cadogan and Sarah stepped from their carriage at the Court of Holland, a liveried attendant ushered them inside. Margaret’s father had been Chancellor of the Court before he retired, and the servants showed her great deference.
When they arrived at the suite of rooms that had been assigned to General Cadogan, he flung open the door and welcomed them warmly.
“Margaret, my dear, I hope your voyage wasn’t a rough one.”
“It was tolerable. December is no month to be at sea.”
“It was an absolute necessity, my dear. We couldn’t let an opportunity like this slip away.” He looked at his young daughter and gave her a hug. “Were you seasick?”
“No, Father,” she said breathlessly.
“That’s my girl. Take off your cloak and let’s have a look at you.”
Sarah removed her cloak and bonnet. She smoothed her hands over her flattened hair. “I must look a fright.”
“Nay, child. The wind has put roses in your cheeks.”
Sarah blushed with pleasure at the compliment.
William raised his eyes to his wife. His daughter’s figure was slight and her face extremely pale. “I hope you’ve brought her a decent dress to wear tomorrow.”
“You gave me such short notice, there was no time to have a new gown made. In any case, it’s cold. A woolen dress will suffice.”
“Have you told her?” William asked.
“I thought it best to wait until we arrived. You may have that pleasure, my lord.”
Told me what? Sarah went very still. She had an ominous feeling that her mother was being sarcastic. She doubted that pleasure would be involved. She couldn’t find the words to ask, but the apprehensive look in her eyes questioned her father.
“We’ll wait until after dinner,” he said heartily. “Sarah looks like she could use some food. There’s nothing like a thick broth to warm the cockles of your heart. After dinner, Sarah and I will have a private chat.”
“I’ll go and unpack.” She sensed that her parents had something to discuss that concerned her. Something was in the air, and she took refuge in the short reprieve.
When she lifted the lid of the trunk that had been delivered to the bedchamber, she stroked her hand over the rich material of her mother’s gowns. One was purple velvet, embroidered with gold, and another was black, quilted brocade decorated with crystals.
Sarah carefully lifted them from the trunk and hung them in the wardrobe, along with two other day dresses and the lovely whalebone panniers that went beneath. Her own clothes had been packed on the bottom, and as a result were slightly creased. As well as flannel petticoats and knitted stockings, she had brought only two dresses. One was oyster-colored wool with a cream frill around the high neck, and the other was gray with fitted sleeves that ended in white ruffles around the wrists. She wished that she had panniers to hold out her skirts. They would help disguise how thin she was, but her mother had decreed that she was still too young for grown-up fashions.
Sarah hung her dresses next to her mother’s and sighed with resignation at the contrast between the rich, fashionable gowns and her own plain attire.
Since the hour was late and the ladies had been traveling for the past two days, the trio ate dinner in Cadogan’s suite. Tonight for some reason Sarah’s appetite was nonexistent.
Her mother gave her a critical glance. “You must eat more. You will never fill out if all you do with food is push it about your plate.”
Her father changed the subject. “What are you learning at school?”
“Latin,” she said softly.
“Latin? What the devil good will Latin do you? Surely French would be better for a young lady of fashion.”
I don’t feel like a young lady of fashion. “We say our prayers in Latin.”
“I wager you have some uncharitable names for the nuns.”
Sarah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “We call them the ‘Sisters of the Black Plague.’ ”
Cadogan threw back his head and laughed. It tickled his Irish sense of humor. “By God, I warrant they teach you not to spit in church, and very little else.” He bent close.
“I think a change of schools is in order. What d’you say, Sarah?”
“Oh, I would love it above all things.”
When they finished eating, the earl gave a speaking nod to his wife and she excused herself so that her husband could have privacy for the chat with his daughter.
Cadogan led his daughter to a chair before the fire and sat down opposite her. “The time has come when we must think about your future, Sarah.”
She nodded but made no reply, knowing there was more to come.
“I have no son, so I want the very best for my daughter.” He paused to let his words sink in. “For some time now I have been searching for a suitable match for you. I would never consider any noble of a lower rank than my own.”
Sarah’s blue eyes widened. You are talking about finding a future husband for me.
“Not only must he be titled, he must be heir to wealth and property.”
You married a lady from the Netherlands. I hope you don’t look for a match for me here. She clasped her hands together tightly. I want to live in England.
“I have been offered a match for you that surpasses all my expectations. It is an undreamed-of opportunity that will raise you to the pinnacle of the aristocracy. A premier duke of the realm has asked for your hand in marriage for his son and heir.”
Sarah sat silently as questions chased each other through her mind. Who? Where?
When? But most puzzling was why?
William Cadogan’s face was beaming. “The Duke of Richmond is offering marriage with his son, Charles Lennox, the Earl of March.” He leaned forward and patted her hand. “Sarah, my dear, you will be the Countess of March, and the future Duchess of Richmond.”
“I… I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “Are we to be betrothed?”
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “You are to be wed, not betrothed!” He loosened his neckcloth. “Fortunately, Richmond and his son are here at The Hague.”
“So we will be able to meet each other and see if we suit?” she asked shyly.
“Of course you will suit! The marriage contracts have already been drawn up. You will meet each other at your wedding…tomorrow.”
Sarah was stunned as a sparrow flown into a wall. “Tomorrow?”
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THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE,
out now from Brava
“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation.” He wanted to steer their chat to his purpose, but the back of her neck was white and long. He’d never noticed that long slide of skin before, so pale against the vivid color of her locks. He’d gone away before she’d been old enough to put up her hair. And nowadays the fashion seemed to be for masses of loose ringlets covering the neck. Trust Lizzie to still sail against the tide.
“Yes, you could.” Her breezy voice broke into his thoughts.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Help it. You could have h
elped it, as any polite gentleman should, but you obviously chose not to.” She didn’t even bother to look back at him as she spoke and walked on, but he heard the teasing in her voice. Such intriguing confidence. He could use it to his purpose. She had always been up for a lark.
He caught her elbow and steered her into an unused parlor. She let him guide her easily, without resisting the intimacy or the presumption of the brief contact of his hand against the soft, vulnerable skin of her inner arm, but once through the door she just seemed to dissolve away, out of his grasp. His empty fingers prickled from the sudden loss. He let her move away and closed the door.
No lamp or candle branch illuminated the room, only the moonlight streaming through the tall casement windows. Lizzie looked like a pale ghost, weightless and hovering in the strange light. He took a step nearer. He needed her to be real, not an illusion. Over the years she’d become a distant but recurring dream, a combination of memory and boyish lust, haunting his sleep.
He had thought of her, or at least the idea of her, almost constantly over the years. She had always been there, in his mind, swimming just below the surface. And he had come tonight in search of her. To banish his ghosts.
She took a sliding step back to lean nonchalantly against the arm of a chair, her pose one of sinuous, bored indifference.
“So what are you doing in Dartmouth? Aren’t you meant to be messing about with your boats?”
“Ships,” he corrected automatically and then smiled at his foolishness for trying to tell Lizzie anything. “The big ones are ships.”
“And they let you have one of the big ones? Aren’t you a bit young for that?” She tucked her chin down to subdue her smile and looked up at him from under her gingery brows. Very mischievous. She was warming to him.
If it was worldliness she wanted, he could readily supply it. He mirrored her smile.