Chemistry of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Before Dare could do so, Emilia turned to the young culprit looming over them. Dare was madly relieved that he’d decided to deviate from his plans to come here first. Brutes like young Charles weren’t restrained by gentlemanly impulses toward ladies.

  “I was there when you slapped Tess and stole my book,” Emilia informed him in no uncertain terms, lifting her delicate chin. “You saw me. Just hand over my property, and I will not press charges. Tess will have to make her own decision.”

  “I dare the whore to press charges!” the younger Crenshaw said in an angry rumble. “I don’t have your damned box of papers.” With a ferocious grin of triumph he declared, “I burned your Satan’s bible!”

  “I don’t believe you, sir,” she retorted. “The box would not burn. Show it to me.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?” The bully tried to shove past Dare.

  Very Big Mistake, Dare decided. He was more than ready for a good brawl. Without a second thought, he braced his legs and plowed his fist straight at the larger man’s genitals.

  Even when he’d been stronger, he’d known better than to break his knuckles on a muscular breadbasket. Aiming low was dirty, but effective. His blow was not light and it was deadly accurate. Soft tissues crunched.

  Crenshaw curled over with a howl of pain. A few members of their audience jumped to their feet, but mostly, they were either already standing or refused to relinquish their comfortable chairs. The elder Crenshaw shouted uselessly and waved his cane.

  “That’s for pushing my wife around,” Dare said, stepping back. “The next blow will be for stealing her property if you don’t return it.”

  “Fisticuffs is no way of carrying on civil discourse,” one of the merchants said nervously.

  “Stealing books and forging papers is not a civilized manner of doing business,” Dare retorted, gripping the heavy staff and backing Emilia out of the study so he had room to fight back.

  Behind them, the maid scurried to answer another knock on the door. Dare hoped this wasn’t a younger contingent. For now, he thought the odds were pretty equal. The old men wouldn’t lift a hand.

  “My son is no thief,” Crenshaw protested loudly. “He is only protecting his home and family from criminals like your wife who would practice medicine without a license. And from yourself, sir, who would steal land from the hands of honest merchants with your sharp city lawyers.”

  Young Crenshaw uncurled and came up roaring, aiming his massive fist at Dare’s jaw. The brute had the advantage of several stone over him, and a healthy constitution. Prepared for the bully’s reaction, Dare stepped aside. Using the young man’s momentum against him, Dare bashed the sturdy staff against the back of his attacker’s head, driving him to the floor.

  Being quick on one’s feet was useful when outweighed and outmatched. Had Crenshaw’s fist connected, he most likely would have broken bones. Instead, the bully sprawled on the floor, knocked stupid but not senseless.

  “Emilia, return to the carriage, please,” Dare commanded, standing over the brute while he shook his head and regained his senses. “We cannot reason with animals. We’ll find the magistrate and press charges.”

  She sensibly stepped into the corridor, leaving him an exit. The men he faced were either muttering to each other in dismay or staring helplessly. Not one offered to come to Crenshaw’s aid, or his own. In disgust, Dare refrained from kicking the rogue at his feet. “Gentlemen, you are a disgrace to King and country. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

  As he turned to leave, Emilia screamed. Dare only had a moment to follow her gaze before the flash of silver from the floor slashed his thigh to the bone. Young Crenshaw’s massive fist yanked the blade out, prepared to strike again. Thinking only that he couldn’t die and leave Emilia unprotected, Dare gripped the pistol in his pocket.

  As he crumpled, he pulled the trigger without even taking aim. His attacker was close enough that the bullet couldn’t miss as Dare fell across him with a groan. This wasn’t how he’d planned on dying.

  Chapter 20

  Emilia couldn’t stop screaming. Dropping to her knees, she tried to tug her husband off the murdering thief, but he was too large and heavy. Blood was everywhere, and her eyes blurred with tears. “Dare, Dare, damn you, you cannot die on me now! Someone give me bandages. You’re doctors, curse you, help, please!”

  She wasn’t a physician, but she was pretty certain the blood gushing from Dare’s leg was a death sentence.

  Big hands reached from behind her, hauling Dare off Crenshaw and dragging him into the hallway. Dare groaned and tried to grab his leg.

  Weeping at this sign that he lived, Emilia deliberately shut out the young brute on the floor with a raw gunshot wound in his gut. The sight made the contents of her stomach rise in her throat, but his thieving companions could deal with him. It was Dare who concerned her now. . . Dare wasn’t even supposed to be here.

  “Give me his neckcloth,” a familiar male voice commanded.

  Pascoe. While the room behind them erupted in shouts, Emilia did as told, nearly ripping the cloth from Dare’s throat. He feebly attempted to aid by lifting his neck so she could unwrap the linen. She wept more as her fingers brushed the strong column of his throat.

  “Sorry, love,” he whispered. “I wanted to be a hero for you.”

  “I don’t need heroes,” she told him angrily, fighting her tears. Her anger wasn’t for him. He wasn’t the one who had started this. Her anger was at men in general and civilization as a whole and at herself for being so useless. “I need you. Don’t you dare die on me.”

  Pascoe ripped off his own neckcloth to pad the wound and tied the second one around Dare’s thigh.

  Dare gave a half laugh “Dying is inevitable, my dearest. I’d rather go this way than languish on a sickbed, spitting blood.”

  “I ought to let you croak for that heartless remark,” she retorted. “Think of your mother and sisters and stay alive!”

  “Will, help me carry Dare to the carriage,” Pascoe ordered. “That’s all the doctoring I know. We’ll have to take him to Bridey.”

  “What about. . .” Emilia glanced down at the hulk sprawled across the study entrance. One of the strangers she assumed to be a physician was leaning over him, but young Crenshaw did not appear to be breathing.

  Pascoe grabbed her elbow and turned her away. “Evil brutes come to bad ends. If you have any gift at all, use it on Dare. He will bleed to death before we reach the abbey otherwise.”

  Not a single man turned to help them or protest their departure. The silence was almost deafening as Mr. Madden and Pascoe carried Dare down the hall to the berlin. Outside, the deerhounds waited. They must have been tracking the thief.

  Emilia didn’t listen to the discussion of who would do what. She merely climbed in with Dare, set his big leg over her lap, and pressed her hands to the wound. The warning prickles immediately became shocks of agonizing pain traveling up her arms. His thigh was far too large for her to circle, even with both hands.

  In another time and place she would have been embarrassed at publicly embracing a man’s thigh. Even a week ago, she would have been terrified to pour her energy into a man as vital as this, with the power to suck everything she was and could be into him.

  “Don’t go catatonic on me,” Dare warned weakly, shifting and breaking the dangerous connection. His face looked pale but handsome as ever, causing her tears to fall again. “I’m not worth it.”

  The bandage beneath her hand had already turned soggy with blood. Ignoring his warning, Emilia pressed her palms harder over the gaping tear. She focused her attention on the beat of his pulse in the long column of his throat. A small curl of brown hair teased over his shirt. It stirred familiar lust as she watched it move with the draft. Pascoe climbed in across from her, and she barely noticed.

  “You are worth saving,” she murmured, concentrating on Dare’s pulse and not the energy pouring from her. Did his heartbeat weaken even as she watched?


  She couldn’t tell him that she feared her gift couldn’t save him. She’d never attempted to stop blood or replace it. She didn’t really think it possible. But if she could keep him alive until they reached Bridey. . .

  Dare groaned as the coach jolted to a start, and his eyes closed.

  “His coat,” Emilia said. “I need more padding.”

  Pascoe took off his own and handed it over. “I’m sorry we were so late arriving. We let the dogs practice tracing Crenshaw’s scent. We know where he hid the book, but we had no way of digging it up or carrying it.”

  The book seemed so meaningless in light of Dare’s wound.

  Again, she’d been hopelessly selfish. He hadn’t had time to ride to Leeds and back. His meeting was going on without him. With his pain consuming her, it was hard to concentrate on his pulse and her energy. Thinking was out of the question. She relied on instinct.

  “The railroad,” she said, closing her eyes and letting pure energy pour through her fingers. “Papers in his pocket? Send someone.”

  “Don’t let her pass out,” Dare muttered through another groan. “She’ll kill herself.”

  “You believe me.” Distracted by that notion, Emilia took a breath and released him long enough to see if she was in danger of fainting.

  She was light-headed and exhausted already. She didn’t think she could keep this up until they reached the abbey, even though the team appeared to be galloping at full speed. She nearly fell off the bench as it took a turn at a reckless pace.

  “If I live, we’ll go to Wystan,” Dare suggested.

  She understood the lascivious thought behind his amused whisper, and her insides melted. “It’s questionable whether your humor or your lust will be the first to kill you,” she warned.

  Ignoring their whispers, Pascoe rummaged through Dare’s coat pockets, producing the oil-cloth protected packet of papers. “We’ll run Erran ragged at this rate, but we’ll arrange the meeting, although I think Dare has taken the fight out of that group of slugs back there.”

  Emilia wanted to cry out her horror of the death she’d seen right before her eyes, but Dare’s life was more important than her fears. She returned to pouring herself into stopping the bleeding.

  “The artery is severed. You should have bled to death almost instantly. I don’t know how you’re alive,” Bridey said in what sounded like awe.

  Groggy and in excruciating pain, Dare heard her from a distance. Ascertaining from his crude surroundings that he was in the abbey’s infirmary, he struggled against his weakness but couldn’t lift his head. “Emilia?”

  “Lying down. I had Tess feed her beef broth and bread, but she really needed to sleep. You must be made of super-flesh to survive this wound, even with Emilia’s gift.”

  He could feel her needle stick into him, but he was too far gone to care about pain. “Will Wystan be a safer place for her?”

  The needle stopped piercing him for a moment. “That’s a good thought. It’s a day’s hard drive, though. I’m not sure you’ll be better for the journey.”

  “She shouldn’t be alone,” he insisted as much as he was able through the haze. “She’s special.”

  “I’m glad you finally realize that.” The needle returned to jabbing him.

  When he died, he wanted Emilia safe with family, not a target for vengeance. Not all men were good losers.

  “I’ll make him live,” Emilia said fiercely, brushing Dare’s over-long golden hair back from his forehead as the berlin drove the final stretch of the journey to Wystan in the dark. Lantern lights bobbed like fireflies in the gloom, barely lighting the road.

  “He’s dying,” Bridey warned her. “His lungs are weak, and he’s lost too much blood. His heart doesn’t have the strength to work much longer.”

  They’d employed the makeshift mattress-bed to carry him again, with Emilia sitting at Dare’s head and Bridey in the small space at his feet. Pascoe had remained behind with Lord Erran to handle the railroad business, but Mr. Madden rode along side of the carriage with his dogs. Emilia didn’t fear the travel. She feared losing her husband.

  “He should have years more to live,” Emilia said in determination. “I will do everything in my power to see he gets them.”

  “You will kill yourself in the process,” Bridey warned. “A body cannot expend that much energy and not weaken. You will do to yourself what disease and injury is doing to him. And if you should be with child. . . We have no notion what damage you can be causing a fetus.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” Dare muttered, showing signs of consciousness for the first time in hours. “I’m about to starve though.”

  Emilia grasped at this straw of hope, wanting to believe he was stronger. She rummaged in her basket and produced the meat and cheese Bridey had recommended if he was able to chew. She wrapped them in a thin slice of bread and held it so he could nibble without moving.

  Looking determined, Dare grabbed it from her hand and tore into it. She didn’t know if it was possible for a man his size to look weak, but he was decidedly pale and unshaven. The ache around her heart deepened.

  She wanted to have faith in her abilities, but she didn’t, because she knew Bridey was right. He was weak, and this insane journey wasn’t helping.

  He wouldn’t let her take the half-sandwich away after he finished chewing. “If eating will make me well, I will eat. I have unfinished business to take care of.”

  Emilia wanted to smack him and cry at the same time. She wasn’t normally so irrational, but he drove her to madness. “Hire a man of business,” she said callously.

  “I will, for that sort of business.” He lifted the sandwich and tore off another bite.

  Her cheeks heated as she worked her way around that and realized what other sort of business he meant. Bridey chuckled, so she’d understood too.

  “You need blood in your body for that sort of business,” Bridey informed him. “You’d better hope Emilia already carries your heir.”

  He transferred his sandwich to his other hand and clasped Emilia’s gloved one, lifting it to his mouth to kiss it. “I need to show you. . .” He hesitated, apparently searching for words. “I can change. I did not understand how special you are before. I do now. I only wish I could kiss you to prove it.”

  Emilia’s heart ripped in two and tears slid down her cheeks as Dare closed his eyes and passed out again.

  They arrived at Wystan Castle near midnight, but servants had the door open and lights lit before the carriage halted. Mr. Madden and a footman carried Dare on his makeshift bed into the towering hall and up the stairs. Emilia tried to absorb some of her surroundings so she at least knew where to go in the morning, but stone and tapestry all blended together in lamplight, especially when she couldn’t tear her gaze from Dare.

  He was weaker. He was barely breathing.

  A footman helped strip Dare’s big body down to his shirt. Bridey cleansed and wrapped his wound again once he was settled. “I don’t see any sign of infection, but he’s warm. Call me if he worsens.”

  Unused to hugging, Emilia awkwardly wrapped her arms around her friend. Bridey actually felt good, as if sending her healing vibrations. She had so much to learn—and Dare was the one who had taught her to reach beyond her fear. “Thank you a thousand times. Go rest and take care of that babe. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bridey touched her cheek, then followed a servant into the corridor, leaving Emilia alone with her fears.

  So, this was what it would be like to be alone—empty of laughter, lacking dancing eyes and masculine irritation, without argument or intellectual fascination, with no kisses or impromptu hugs. It did not seem possible that such a force of nature as Dare could depart without leaving an earthshattering gap in the world.

  Trying very hard to be as strong as she knew she could be, Emilia stripped down to her shift and crawled in beside Dare’s lifeless body. The last part of the journey had been too much for him. Even now, the fresh bandage
showed traces of blood. She tested his brow for fever and brushed her fingers over his broad chest to test his lungs. Then knowing she was already drained and weak, she applied her hand to his wound again, endured the agony, and applied what energy she had left.

  “Don’t leave me,” she whispered, and a single fat tear fell on his chest.

  Dare heard people whispering. He recognized gentle hands rubbing him with scented soap and water. He tried to thank his own personal angel of mercy but only managed a croak. He thought she kissed his rough cheek but darkness closed over him again.

  The next time he felt her near, he struggled to wake. He was certain he needed to tell her something important. But the words didn’t come, and he only managed to squeeze her hand. She spoke in a low murmur that sounded both angry and sad and hopeful all at the same time. That was one of those things he loved about her. Oh right, that’s what. . .

  Fighting free of the darkness another time, Dare realized the room was dark, not him. How long had he been here? A gentle pressure wrapped a warm glow around his heart, and he knew Emilia slept beside him with her hand on his chest. Amazed that he believed in the impossible miracle of her gift, he prayed she hadn’t descended into that dark place she’d gone to before. He kissed her hand and put it on the bed. He needed her alive and awake.

  The next time he woke, the sun cut a diamond pattern across his covers, dogs howled below, and the walls echoed of children screeching with laughter. He was starving.

  “Emilia?” he asked tentatively, working at the covers in vague hope of removing them to search for her.

  “We made her go play with the twins. She was turning into a wraith in here.”

  Dare didn’t recognize the voice but it was almost celestial in its mellifluous beauty. He pried his eyes open to study a slim, dark-haired woman of tawny complexion holding a sleeping infant over her shoulder.

  “Good morning, my lord. I’m Celeste, Erran’s wife. We were unable to attend your wedding because of this one.” She patted the infant. “Her name is Serena Malcolm Ives, although Erran insists on calling her Siren.”