“Are you happy with me, too?” Splendor drew his fingers toward her mouth and smoothed his thumb across her lower lip.
He saw the unmistakable glow of hope in her lavender eyes, and felt a none-too-gentle nudge of Emil’s elbow in his side.
Shifting on the sofa, he tried to think of what to say to Splendor. Was he happy with her? But how could he know? She was beautiful, yes, and sweet and gentle, but he’d been forced to marry her. And then he’d learned she was a fairy.
She was an elf, dammit, and he’d sought the most ordinary woman in existence! How could he be happy?
But he didn’t feel miserable. Indeed, there had been several occasions during which he’d actually enjoyed himself with Splendor. She made him laugh. And many of the things she told him touched him with serenity.
Did that mean he was happy with her?
He really hadn’t had the chance to find out yet, he realized. Ever since he’d met her, one chaotic thing after another had occurred.
He hadn’t even made love to her properly yet.
The thought poured fire into his loins. He fidgeted on the sofa again, painfully aware that his dressing robe would do little to conceal his growing arousal.
“I believe,” he said softly, “that we should tidy up and have a bite to eat now.” Still holding Splendor’s hand, he stood.
Splendor rose as well and curled her arm around his waist.
The feel of her breast against his chest deepened his desire. All he could think about was getting Splendor upstairs. “Emil, if you will excuse us?”
“I can provide you with sustenance, Jourdian,” Splendor said, “and we can bathe after we sup.” With a spiral of stars, she laid a small table with a gold platter of fresh fruit, several silver dishes of soft breads, a pot of golden honey, and a crystal pitcher of cream.
His stomach growling, Emil was the first to the table, anxious to see what sort of splendid foodstuffs Splendor’s magic had produced.
A wave of disappointment caused him to frown when he saw the simple meal. “I don’t suppose you could conjure up some venison, could you, Splendor? Smothered in mushrooms and onions? A bit of woodcock would be quite tasty as well. Roasted, if you please, with a side dish of—”
“No animal.” Splendor shuddered.
“She means meat,” Jourdian explained, his impatience to bed his wife growing by the second.
“Aye, that is what I mean, Emil,” Splendor said. “I shall be glad to give you anything but animal.”
“Anything?” Emil asked.
“Anything you wish.”
Her reply catapulted Emil over the years, back to the time when he went to bed hungry, when his thin frame shook with cold and he had no coat to stave off the chill.
When he had nothing more than his dreams and his wishes.
“Gold,” he whispered, remembering his fondest wish of all. “I wish for a mountain of gold.”
Stars twinkled, and there in the middle of the room sat a hill of gold nuggets, the top of the pile touching the ceiling.
For a moment, Emil couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. As a child, how often had he wondered what a mountain of gold looked like? Now he knew, and the little boy inside him laughed with joy.
He ran toward the huge stack of wealth and began to throw himself upon it.
“Splendor, get rid of that gold this very instant!” Jourdian thundered.
In a silver flash, the gold vanished, and Emil fell directly to the floor. He staggered to his feet and glared at his cousin. “Jourdian, for pity’s sake—”
“She will not be granting your wishes, Emil, and that is that,” Jourdian declared.
“You’re selfish, that’s what!” Emil tried to straighten his collar before remembering Splendor was wearing his shirt. “The wealthiest peer in all the realm and now you have your own fairy! A gorgeous one at that! And I cannot even see my wish granted for a bit of gold!”
“A bit?” Jourdian returned. “My God, Emil, that was almost enough gold to fill an ocean!”
Splendor touched her husband’s shoulder. “I only sought to make your cousin happy, Jourdian. Why did it so displease you that I granted his wish?”
“Because I know him well enough to realize that if I allowed you to grant one wish, he would think of a thousand more.”
“Stingy, that’s what you are!” Emil exclaimed. “You’ve no need for a mountain of gold because you already have a hundred times that much! I, on the other hand—”
“How would you explain the gold, Emil?” Jourdian asked coolly.
“It wasn’t my intention to show it to anyone, cousin.”
Eager though he was to take Splendor to bed, Jourdian knew he had to deal with the situation with Emil. If he didn’t, the man would wish for the world, and Splendor would accommodate him. “Very well, Emil. You would hide it, and you would never spend it.”
“I didn’t say that. What good is possessing wealth if I cannot enjoy it?"
Jourdian folded his arms across his chest. “What would you buy?”
Emil rubbed his palms together. “A new coach to start with. And finer horses as well.”
“Snow-white horses with polished black hooves!” Splendor suggested.
“Yes, yes,” Emil said. “And a wardrobe. I’d purchase a whole new wardrobe that would be the envy of Prince Albert himself! Oh, and a larger house, and a ship. An entire fleet of ships—all mine, all harbored and waiting to sail me to wherever I might decide to go.”
“I see,” Jourdian drawled. “Is that all?”
“I’m certain there’s more. If you will be good enough to give me paper and pencil, I will list all the many things I would buy.”
With a wave of his hand, Jourdian dismissed Emil’s request for writing materials. “For now, let’s discuss the coach, horses, princely wardrobe, house, and fleet of ships, shall we? Tell me, Emil, what would you say when people began to notice and question your sudden windfall of wealth?”
“What? Er…I’d tell them that I’d done exceedingly well with my various investments.”
“Aye, that is what he would tell them, Jourdian,” Splendor said, her palms itching to release the magic that would grant Emil’s wishes.
“Come now, cousin,” Jourdian chided. “You know as well as I that such lucrative investments never remain secret for long. Why, almost as soon as they prove profitable, the entire business world learns who began them, where, when, how, and why. Think carefully, Emil, and you will realize that such an explanation will not suffice.”
“’Twill not suffice, Emil,” Splendor said. “’Twill not suffice at all.”
Jourdian crossed to the table, picked up a ripe orange, then set the fruit back down. “Such a sudden fortune might very well lead people to believe that you came by the wealth illegally. And if you were accused of a criminal activity, you could not resort to telling the truth, now could you? As you said earlier, such an admission would get you permanent lodging in an asylum for the insane. So, it would seem that you would have two choices—prison or an asylum. Now, do you still want the mountain of gold?”
Emil turned to Splendor. “How about a harem? My own private bevy of beautiful women?”
Splendor looked at Jourdian.
He shook his head.
“All right,” Emil said, “no harem. Just one woman, then. A beautiful princess like Splendor. A princess next in line for a throne. And once I’d married her, I’d be prince consort! Think of that, Jourdian. I’d finally have the title I’ve always—”
“No.”
“Very well,” Emil conceded, but not about to give up. “No princess. An heiress, then? Just one simple little heiress who will inherit the biggest fortune in the world?”
Jourdian crossed to where Splendor stood, took her hand, and led her to the door.
“All right, forget about women,” Emil said as Jourdian and Splendor stepped into the corridor. “How about a money tree?”
“No,” Jourdian said. He looked at Splendor. “
You’ve created a monster. He’ll dwell on naught but wishing now.”
“Oh, Jourdian?” Emil called as his cousin began to escort Splendor down the hall.
Jourdian stopped and turned around. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”
Emil glared. “I wasn’t going to make another wish. I just remembered why I drove over here to Heathcourte in the first place. So much has happened since my arrival, that I quite forgot to give you the news.”
“And what news might that be?”
“You’re going to love it.” Emil smiled smugly. “Lord and Lady Holden are holding a dinner and dance a fortnight from Saturday. I happened to meet Lord Holden yesterday afternoon, and he told me that you and Splendor are invited. The invitations will be sent out tomorrow, which is why you haven’t received yours yet. It would seem that most of society will be turning out for the affair, as all are anxious to meet your bride. Your wedding is the story of the decade.”
Jourdian could not begin to imagine what manner of chaos Splendor would cause at such an elegant function. What if she turned her roast beef into pears, or shrank while dancing on the ballroom floor? What if she became distressed in some way? Her blasted mist would come and swallow her up.
And if her sister, Harmony, decided to attend the affair as well…
“We will not be accepting,” he stated firmly.
“The affair is being held in your honor, Jourdian. It would be in very bad form for you to send your regrets.”
“Be that as it may, we will not be attending.” Refusing to argue further, Jourdian led Splendor down the hall.
“Please may we go to the dinner and dance, Jourdian? I so adore dancing, and I would very much like to meet your friends. I am certain they could tell me many things about you that I have yet to discover, and I would ever so much enjoy—”
“No.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so.”
Splendor bristled. “You are dominating me, Jourdian. In Pillywiggin, I am—”
“I know what you are.” He stopped at the end of the hall and aimed his gaze straight into hers. “You are a princess there, but this is not Pillywiggin. This is my home, and I am master here. And you, as my wife, are bound to do as I say.”
“You cannot take away my title—”
“Nor can you take away mine. I am willing to accept your magical background, Splendor, but do not push me any farther than I am inclined to go. You are my duchess, and you will remain with me here at Heathcourte. Since you will not be returning to fairyland, your royal title has no significance any longer.”
She bit her bottom lip. He didn’t know. She’d never told him that she would indeed be returning to Pillywiggin. It had never occurred to her to tell him!
He was, after all, only the man chosen to sire the child for Pillywiggin, and she’d never once pondered the idea of staying with him after she’d conceived his child. She needed his baby, and in return she would do everything she could to lift his inner sorrows and bring him joy.
But she would return to Pillywiggin.
She had to tell him so. “Jourdian,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.
“Yes?” He fairly snarled the word.
She saw his eyes change color. Their silver shade deepened into the frightening color of iron, and she quickly decided to keep her secret for a while longer.
“Yes?” Jourdian growled again.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “’Twas nothing, husband.” To keep him from seeing her distress, she gave him a huge grin.
Her pretty smile softened his temper instantly. He pulled playfully on one of her auburn curls, then turned to open a narrow wooden door that led to an old musty staircase.
“I have never seen these stairs,” Splendor said as she began the climb up the steps.
“They’ll get us upstairs just as quickly as the grander ones in the foyer.”
Splendor smiled. “And is this the reason why you have chosen this isolated staircase, Jourdian?” She reached down and gently grasped his manhood, which jutted completely out of the parting of his robe.
Her caress drove him almost over the brink of control, and each breath he took was a struggle to draw into his lungs. Stopping midway up the steps, he tugged Splendor into his arms, pressed her against the wall, and leaned into her. “Keep touching me like that, Splendor, and I will forget all mode of decorum and take you right here in the stairwell.”
“Take me where?”
Her untarnished innocence kindled yet more desire, deeper, hotter, so intense he began to sweat. “I’ll take you to heaven on earth. I’ll make love to you.”
Deep, tickling excitement floated through her. “You promised me pleasure,” she whispered. “You said that making love would bring me the same pleasure I found with your leg and your hand. Is that the heaven on earth?”
He closed his eyes and buried his face in the nest of fragrant hair on her shoulder. Every muscle in his body strained as his need for her built. “Yes,” he rasped.
“Aye, Jourdian. Here, then. Here in the stairwell. I am hungry for the pleasure, and I can no longer wait to understand how you will fill me with yourself. Take me to this earthly heaven of yours. Take me now.”
He felt his sex throb against her warm, flat belly. He was clenching his teeth now, and already his hips were moving back and forth in the timeless rhythm of mating. Sliding his hand into her hair, he grasped a handful of flame and pulled her head back.
He took her mouth the way he wanted to take her body. His tongue drove between her lips, again and again, deeper each time, and he willed her to know that the invasion of her mouth was but a hint of the greater, more intimate invasion to come.
His chest heaved, and his eyes glittered when he pulled away from her. “Virgin.” He spoke the word with a hot whisper. “Were you not a virgin, Splendor, I would freely give in to the powerful temptation you present to me now. But I’ll not consummate our marriage in some clammy stairwell. I’ll have you on satin, wife, with your hair, your legs, and your maddening scent wrapped around me.”
When he took her hand and began back up the steps, Splendor’s knees were so weak that she stumbled.
Immediately, Jourdian lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way up the small, dim staircase. At the top, he opened the door, turned a corner, and proceeded up a second stairwell.
Finally, he arrived at his own hall. Blood and lust pounded through his taut frame as he strode toward the door to his bedroom. The heavy oak portal was slightly ajar.
One kick opened it; another closed it.
“Look around, Splendor,” Jourdian demanded. “Is she here?”
“Who?”
“Your sister. Is she here? Disguised as a lamp or a handkerchief or a puff of dust or something?”
Concentrating intently, Splendor surveyed the room, her narrowed gaze touching each and every part of it. She neither saw nor sensed anything that alerted her to Harmony’s presence.
“We are alone, husband. Pleasure me now.”
Jourdian groaned a response she couldn’t understand and advanced to the bed. “The shirt,” he told her as he laid her down upon the mattress.
Stars twinkled all over her, and the shirt disappeared.
So did Jourdian’s robe and all the grime he’d accumulated during his stint as a slug. He looked down at his clean, naked body, and saw a dusting of silver lights shining upon his skin. “I could have bathed and removed the shirt by myself.”
“’Twould have taken you too long. Cease this torment, Jourdian, and ease this ache inside me.”
Many pleas had been put to Jourdian, but never one as sweet. He lowered himself to the bed and pulled her into the hot, hard curve of his body. “I’m not going to stop tonight, Splendor,” he warned, his hand gliding along the inside of her thigh. “Do you understand? Nothing you do or say is going to stop me from making you my duchess in every true sense of the word.”
In answer, Splendor took hold of
his hand and slid it over and into the essence of her femininity. “You cannot stop what you have yet to begin…”
Chapter Fifteen
She heard a primal sound, low, guttural, like that of a hunger-driven animal rumble in Jourdian’s throat as he captured her mouth with his own and drove his tongue inside. He nipped at her bottom lip, and she felt a flash of discomfort, then another surge of pure passion.
“Emil said that your bark was worse than your bite,” she whispered into his mouth. “I thought only beasts bit, but you just snapped at my lip.”
He smiled a smile that filled his eyes with silver blazes of desire. “I plan to do more than snap at your lip, wife. I’m going to devour every inch of you.”
He pressed his hand against the inside of her wrist. Slowly, his fingers traveled upward, skimming across the warm, soft cup beneath her arm, and then coming to a burning halt over her breast. Ending the kiss, he took her other breast into his mouth, nibbling and laving at the crinkled velvet of her nipple. And then he suckled, pulling more of her into his mouth as if he would swallow her whole.
“Jourdian, sweet everlasting.” She felt hot, bright, and wild, her need for him almost lethal in its intensity. Lightning, she thought. Aye, it was lightning that flashed over her skin and delved into her body. Arching into Jourdian, she sought more of her lover’s heat, more of the scorching excitement his touch sired within her.
There was an uncivilized scent about him, a feral one, male, so powerfully masculine that her breath caught in her throat as she pondered his strength. Boldly, she flicked her tongue over his shoulder, savoring the salty tang, the arousing taste of a man whose body was consumed by desire. The feel of Jourdian, the texture of his skin, and the hard coils of muscle beneath it played further havoc with her emotions, and she heard the silent thunder of her blood as it pounded through her veins.
Everything about him sent streams of sensation throughout her body. She surrendered completely to him, parting her legs when she felt his fingers brush through the hair between her hips. Closer those magic fingers went, closer to the quivering flesh at the heart of her femininity. She felt him unfold her womanly softness. Gently—oh, how gentle yet skillful his fingers were—he spread her slick, sensitive petals, and found a tiny pearl of flesh that trembled beneath his touch.
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