The Sevenfold Spell
Page 8
And he returned me to my husband.
“A dance, my wife?” Andrew said to Aurora, with his hand outstretched. She took it with a smile and he led her out to the dance floor. I don’t think he intended to dance with her alone on the ballroom floor, but everyone gathered around in a circle, as transfixed as I was. I followed their progress as their steps mirrored each other’s, as if spinning an invisible thread from enchanted fibers. I became aware of Will’s warm hand in mine and I gave it a squeeze. I felt him shift and I looked up at him to encounter his eyes.
While everyone watched the prince and princess, enraptured, we slipped away.
***
He pulled me down a hallway and then entered a random room. It was a finely furnished salon. He closed the door and wedged a chair under the knob as I looked on, amused.
When he turned to look at me, my levity vanished and my breath caught at the smoldering, long-suppressed emotion I read there. He took me into his arms with sweet determination and kissed me. I closed my eyes and our lips melted to tongue, marveling at how his kisses were still the same after all these years, even as the broad arms that surrounded me and caressed my back still felt like those of a stranger.
Then, with measured steps, he began to lead me backward. I clung to his neck, not caring where we were going, only that he was there. Then I felt the edge of a couch hit the backs of my legs. Without taking his lips from mine, he lowered me down on the couch, which proved to be a chaise longue. He knelt at my side and just kissed me. Our tongues wove together as we reexplored each other.
Then, he stopped and simply looked into my eyes. And for long moments, I was caught by his stare, as if in another spell.
I felt an irresistible urge to lighten the mood. “You have changed,” I said. “The Willard I once knew would have my underthings off by now.”
He smiled wickedly and plunged his hand up my skirts, making me gasp. “The Talia I knew wouldn’t be wearing any underthings at all,” he said as he encountered the barrier of my pantaloons.
I whispered, “The Willard I knew wouldn’t let a scrap of fabric stop him.”
In a flash, the pantaloons were off and flying across the room.
All levity soon ended when his hand returned to its previous position, finding no barrier whatsoever. His hands wandered to all my intimate places, both above my waist and below, sending that familiar sweet pain deep within me. Again, the differences struck me, along with the similarities. I recalled those crude early gropings, followed by his more assured wanderings during that last week at the inn. Now, he was less hurried but more confident. I let my hands roam across his back and arms, marveling at the firm muscles I found there, when before I had only encountered skin and bones. I wanted to peel away his clothes and feel his flesh upon my skin.
“Enough of this,” he said, as if his thoughts echoed mine. He stood and plucked me off the couch as if I were a child. He crossed the room in three strides, kicked away the chair and carried me toward our guest suite. Our path took us along a galleria above the ballroom, where every dancer paused to watch us. I thought I’d be embarrassed, but I was not. I even gave the assembly a wave. After a silence, someone—my mother, I think—began to applaud. And then the entire hall joined in.
The noise and cheers followed us to our suite, but was silenced by the closing of our door.
***
Will and I purchased a farm on the edge of town. There, I spun, while he tilled. Mother stayed with us. Every year, at Yuletide, we gave generous gifts to the poor, the widows and the orphans. Yet somehow, by the end of each year, we had always amassed another fortune to give away again. We had four fine children.
And I never saw a fairy again.
About the Author
Not even a stint in the military as an aircraft mechanic could erase Tia Nevitt’s love of fairy tales. To this day, she loves to read (and write) books that take her to another place, or another time, or both. Tia has also worked on an assembly line and as a computer programmer, a technical writer and a business analyst. Over the years, she has suffered from TMI (too many interests) syndrome, and under its influence she also learned calligraphy and how to play the violin and piano. All these activities occasionally distract her from her true calling, the writing of fiction, but she always comes home. When she’s not writing, she keeps a book blog called Debuts & Reviews, where she focuses on debut novels. She lives in the southeast with her husband and daughter.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9060-4
Copyright © 2010 by Patricia Nevitt
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