"A lot you'd know what humans feel!"
"Same as yerself! Yer as soulless as me!"
It was true that she was, and, yet, Trudy resented this particular taunt. Somehow, she was sure she knew more about humans than her brother did. She never had shared the contempt for them her fellow elves held, and sometimes her wanderings had taken her perilously close to their world.
But she had never come too close. She'd avoided that ultimate encounter with men, with its attendant danger to rob her of all her magic. That had not prevented her, however, from skipping in the air in front of them, just out of reach, to lead men who'd been lost in the desert to water, or from causing a flurry of chaos in a slave caravan in the hope that some of the slaves would escape. And it would not keep her now from doing what she could to help Sir Matthew find a way out of his despair and into the mists.
Something about his stiff, retreating figure had intrigued her. She couldn't help wondering if an explorer such as he had suffered from the same sort of restlessness she had known, and if he understood what it was. All Trudy knew was that her wanderings rarely brought her any satisfaction, though she was sure that to stay at home doing nothing more than what the other elves did would only be worse.
"Ye say that Sir Matthew never goes out?" she asked Francis, musing.
"No that I've ever seen. He just sits in that chair o' his, most of the time, he does, except when he's sleeping."
Trudy frowned and tapped her chin with one finger. "Then, no wonder his memories trouble him so. He needs something new to take their place."
"That's the spirit! I knew ye'd jump at a challenge. But, I'm warnin' ye, Trudy, Sir Matthew'll be a hard nut to crack."
Trudy scoffed. "I'll have him eating out of me hand and in elfland before Christmas, sure enough. Just ye wait and see."
And that was what I did, though I should've noticed right then and there that she had something addlepated in mind. I should've known by the way she stared at Sir Matthew and the light flickered in her eyes. But I didn't, ye see, or I would've stopped her before the whole thing got out of hand, and a terrible tragedy would have been averted. But that's our Trudy for ye. She always did do things her own way, with no proper reflection beforehand.
And, as for Sir Matthew . . . Well, that's the last time I'll believe any man who claims he won't be pixie-led.
Chapter Two
Trudy stood before the front door of Sir Matthew's lodgings in Gilbert Street and, before knocking, took a moment to survey her appearance. Beneath her elven cloak was a simple white muslin gown with tiny, pink posies worked into the cloth. The pale green color of their leaves picked up the meadow-green of her eyes, and the lively pink of the flowers matched the perpetual bloom in her cheeks. She was very pleased to think she had conjured the gown all by herself. The fact that the dress was merely an illusion did nothing to dull the thrill of wearing it. She was sure she had perfectly dressed the part of a fashionable lady of the ton.
Her rapid tap with the knocker was not immediately answered, but she reminded herself that humans were excruciatingly slow in everything. While she waited, she contented herself with the keen anticipation of entering their world as one of their own. What Francis would say when he discovered her plan, she did not know, but she could almost see the blood rising into his cheeks right now. She would lure Sir Matthew into the mists well before Christmas, but first she meant to have a little adventure of her own.
The door opened slowly. The Pathan warrior she had spied through the window these past few nights filled the entryway and dwarfed her fragile self. At the sight of her beauty--much as she had done to hide its other-worldliness--his eyes grew wide beneath their pair of heavy brows, but he soon recovered his dignity.
He bowed wordlessly after his Eastern fashion and waited for her to speak.
"Is this the lodging of Sir Matthew Dunstone?" she inquired in her acquired society voice.
The Pathan inclined his head, but his eyes never left her face.
"Would you tell him, please, that he has a visitor?"
The Pathan hesitated only a second before surprising her. "Sir Matthew does not receive," he said, with a regretful bow. "He is unwell." And with that briefest of statements, he closed the door.
Trudy stared in disbelief at the flat, painted surface. She had never been refused to her face before. She wondered briefly if the problem was with the dress, if she had somehow failed to give the appearance of a respectable caller.
But as she looked down again, she could only nod approvingly. She liked the way the skirt subtly sparkled with the scattering of fairy dust she had added for trim. The innovation was her own, not strictly in the pattern books, but she did not think it enough of a departure to make a man take offense. Gentlemen were notoriously ignorant where female fashions were concerned, and besides, she wasn't quite prepared to give up all her advantages. An elf maid must attend to her attractions, same as any girl.
Having worked out her frustration in this idle musing, she returned to the problem at hand. She had intended to meet Sir Matthew entirely upon his own human terms; but if those failed, she was quite prepared to use magic, just as long as whatever trick she pulled could easily be explained. The big Pathan would be a formidable obstacle to any other girl, but he was as nothing to her.
Wrapping herself completely in her elven cloak, she knocked again, letting her taps fall more heavily on the door to disguise their origin.
This time, when the Pathan opened the door, she saw his blank stare of confusion. His brows snapped together darkly as he walked right past her and out into the street to peer this way and that. Assured that she was completely invisible to him, Trudy tiptoed daintily through the door, relieved to find that he had not been born on a Sunday. Those born on a Sunday had a remarkable gift for seeing elves, but since he obviously had not, her task would be all the easier.
She waited until he had reentered, scratching the back of his head below his turban, then followed him up the stairs to a door near the landing. Judging by its position in the house, she had no doubt it was the door to Sir Matthew's library.
As the Pathan knocked and entered, her heart gave a leap of anticipation.
"Ahmad, who was at the door?"
Out in the corridor, Trudy heard Matthew speak for the first time and was astonished by the depth of his voice. She had not expected a seriously ill man to produce such a resonant tone, but Matthew's words filled the air with a low vibrancy, betraying none of the weakness his illness implied.
"It was a lady, Matthew saab," the Pathan answered. "She asked to see you."
"A lady? For me?" A hint of anxiety entered his voice.
Trudy tensed to learn its meaning, but all Matthew said next was, "Did she leave her card?"
"No, saab--" Ahmad's questioning tone revealed that he must have been more disconcerted by her presence than he had shown--"I am afraid I did not think to ask her."
"No matter. It was not--"
"No, saab." The Pathan's voice softened but a notch. "It was not the mem'saab."
The silence that followed his statement made Trudy squirm with a rare uneasiness. Though she couldn't see Matthew, she somehow sensed his embarrassment.
But all he said when he did resume speaking as lightly as before was, "I cannot imagine that it would be, but neither can I think of any other lady who might call. Must have been an error."
"Yes, undoubtedly, saab."
Trudy waited for some time after Ahmad had withdrawn before lifting her hand to the knob. Matthew's acceptance of her story would depend very much upon her timing.
"Sir Matthew?" She pushed the door open with a falsely timid knock, making sure not to speak so early as to have her entrance denied.
As she advanced into the room, he looked up startled, and instantly his brows snapped together over a lean, haggard face. Then, as her beauty, fully released, struck him with its powerful force, his lips parted and all time seemed to suspend.
Trudy had meant to use
these moments of enchantment to satisfy her own curiosity. But her study became not so much a conscious design as a mirror of Matthew's wonder.
She had seen many men before. She had observed them all her life in countless situations, but none had struck her with the sheer force of character that Matthew did. He was free of his ague today. She had purposely waited until his last bout of malaria had passed, knowing she would not be received if he were genuinely ill.
Now, she wondered how even that dreaded disease, which affected all humans who traveled in the tropics, could keep such a strong man pinned to his chair. Determination seemed to reside in the long cut of Matthew's jaw. Mental energy issued from his deep, dark eyes, betraying the lightning quickness of a profound intellect. Even dazed as he was by her magic, he seemed to see right through to her very core.
Trudy wondered nervously if perhaps Francis had not underestimated the strength of their mark.
But then, even as she stood there, other details about him worked their own fascination, so that Trudy forgot for a moment her purpose in coming. His hair had the rich, wavy texture of meadow grass, the kind that made her want to sink her toes right in. His forehead was prominent over a set of well-defined eyebrows. And even with the ravagement of illness on his face and the scar, which made her cringe from the savagery that had caused it, she couldn't miss the fact that he was a stunningly handsome man.
A man she would like to lure into the mists, to place at her feet, and to feed with her own hand.
Surprisingly, Matthew was the first to break the trance that had fallen between them.
“Who the devil are you?" he said with a spare shake of his head, as if to clear a momentary dizziness.
Trudy gave a similar start. "I am Faye," she said without thinking.
A sudden glimmer lit his eyes. "Are you?" he asked, before muttering to himself, "Yes, I might believe you were if I were dreaming."
Confused, and flustered by her lack of control in a situation designed by herself, Trudy bobbed him a hasty curtsy. "Forgive me. I should have said, I am Miss Faye Meriwether."
"That would have been more proper, certainly. It does not explain, however, what a young, unescorted girl is doing by barging into my library, which is most definitely improper."
"Nonsense!" Trudy was piqued that he thought of propriety, when most men dreamed of ravishment when they glimpsed her. "I am much older than I look. As old as you, I daresay. And, I have it upon the greatest authority, Sir Matthew, that you are younger than thirty."
"My age has nothing to do with it. How do you come to be in my library?"
Trudy had prepared herself for this question. With the practice of her race, she let the lie fall glibly from her tongue. "Ah, yes, well, I hope you will excuse me. But, you see, I did knock once and ask to speak to you. However, your manservant said you were not receiving visitors, so I started to go.
"Then --" she feigned a lively astonishment--"without so much as a word, your man appeared to have a change of heart, for he opened the door again and stepped aside.
"I do not know what was in his mind," she added with a pensive frown, "for he did not speak, but taking his action for an invitation, I entered and waited to be shown to some withdrawing room to await your pleasure. But I was left to cool my heels downstairs until I thought he must have forgotten all about me. Perhaps, I should simply have gone away, but that would have been very cowardly of me, don't you think? So, I came in search of you. I hope you do not mind too dreadfully." Trudy gave him what she knew was a bewitchingly hopeful smile.
Instead of looking bewitched as she had hoped, Matthew seemed more than a bit suspicious. His eyes had narrowed.
"You will not mind if I ask my companion to join us, will you? And, by the way, he is my companion, not my manservant, as you've assumed."
"Not at all," Trudy said, raising her chin proudly. "Let him be called if you doubt my story."
Her offended air did nothing to dissuade him. Matthew leaned from his chair to ring the bell.
While they waited, he did seem to feel that some explanation of his rudeness was warranted. "You must forgive me for not rising," he said, his eyes growing darker as he perused her. "I have been very ill of late. It costs me much to stand."
"But, of course." Though Trudy's heart sank to hear him. If he were truly that weak, her present plan would never work.
The seconds ticked between them, punctuated by a clock on the shelf. As they passed, Matthew seemed to forget himself long enough to stare at her strangely.
"Tell me, Miss Faye Meriwether," he said, and he seemed to probe his own mind for the answer. "Do you believe in second sight?"
Caught off guard, she stalled. "Pardon me?"
"In second sight. The power to see into the future."
"Oh, yes. That. Well--" Trudy's mind worked rapidly. "As a proper member of the Church, I should say, no, shouldn't I?"
Matthew's lips quirked. "Undoubtedly."
"Then, why do you ask?"
"It's nothing important." He gave his head a brisk shake. "Only, that if I did believe in it, I would swear that I . . . "
He was interrupted by the door's opening.
"Saab?"
Ahmad's question preceded him, but when he caught sight of Trudy, he stepped quickly back. His eyes betrayed a start much akin to fright.
"Ahmad, this young lady says you refused her admittance, then reopened the door to let her pass."
"No, saab," Ahmad hotly denied it, before Trudy turned her eyes on his with full force. His hazel gaze seemed to waver before hers, when he said more hesitantly, "That is, I did open the door again, saab, but I did not see her. I thought I had heard another knocking."
"You did not see her enter the house?"
"No, saab." Ahmad blinked his eyes once, then twice. "I did not notice the young lady."
Trudy gazed back at Matthew, who was frowning. But all he said was, "Thank you, Ahmad. I shall not disturb you again. Not, at least, until Miss Meriwether requires your assistance from this house."
Ahmad made a deep salaam and closed the door, confusion still on his face.
"Strange . . ." A question clouded Matthew's sharp gaze. "Ahmad has the eyesight of an eagle. He can spot an enemy on a mountainside hundreds of yards away."
"Well, I am not your enemy, so perhaps that explains it." Trudy allowed a note of offense to enter her voice. Matthew would keep her standing in the middle of his room, and even she knew that was not a polite way to treat a lady caller. Any other gentleman would have fallen on his face to welcome such a pretty visitor to his rooms. "May I take a chair?" she asked haughtily.
"Certainly." Matthew emerged from his trance. "Please make yourself comfortable while you tell me what in blazes you are doing here."
His cutting tone did nothing to put her at ease. He was still on his guard. Trudy saw she would have to do more to win his confidence.
As she sat, she donned an expression of reluctance, and a shade of becoming honesty. "Very well, I will confess . . . Sir Matthew, I'm afraid your companion startled me. He is so remarkably big, and--I almost hate to say it--his appearance is rather fierce. When he opened the door the second time, I suppose I cringed in a shadow, so he did not see me. And, since he did not, I thought it would be much easier to slip in to see you. And once that was done, of course, I truly had intended to ‘gird my loins,’ as the saying goes, to request a moment of your time, but he charged up the stairs and I never saw him again.
"So--" she took a deep breath, relieved to see that her lie was working. Matthew's brows had taken on a more cynical tilt-- "you can see what happened, and I do apologize for being so forward, but when you hear what I have come about, you will understand that I acted out of the most selfless intentions."
"Just what did you come about, now that this misunderstanding has been cleared up?"
Trudy leaned forward in her chair and let her charm loose on Matthew. Musical tones fluttered from her lips. "I have come on the matter of gravest urgency fo
r a number of poor unfortunates. I am hoping you will help me."
Suspicion and a hint of hostility on his part raised a shield that blocked her charm. "Please explain what you mean."
Trudy wondered if she might not have overplayed the part of the ingénue, when a more mature character might be needed here. She straightened her spine.
"I have come on behalf of the Society for the Relief of Indigent African Natives. We have established an almshouse near Tottenham Court Road here in London, and we are sorely in need of new subscribers."
A look of pure disbelief came into Matthew's eyes. A hint of amusement curved his lips. "Yes. . ." he said. "Go on."
"And --" She tried to continue, but Matthew's amusement had had a most disconcerting effect. How dare he laugh at her!
"I assure you, Sir Matthew," Trudy said, drawing herself up in her seat to her full, diminutive height, "that the needs of our inmates are no laughing matter."
"I was not laughing at your inmates," he said, irritation overcoming his brief amusement. "I am quite certain they must be miserable. As miserable, in fact, as an Englishman who's been stranded in their country.
"Then, what were you smiling at?"
"At the notion that your so-called society would send an infant such as you to beg for funds."
Trudy's pride suffered a blow. "To beg? I do not beg. Nor am I an infant, Sir Matthew, as I have already informed you."
"So you have, and you have already proven your courage by sneaking into this house." Sir Matthew's gaze once again betrayed his suspicions. "Since when, however, have respectable, English maids been sent alone into gentlemen's houses to solicit anything? Particularly, remarkably pretty maids?"
Trudy didn't know whether to take this as a compliment or not. Certainly, his final words had made the blood rush to her cheeks with a surprising intensity, as if she'd never heard pretty words before--when, in fact, she'd received a number of handsome compliments, all given with much greater enthusiasm than his. Perhaps, her extreme reaction was due to her first impression that Matthew was completely impervious to her charms, so that she was more than just a little pleased to discover she was wrong.
The Christmas Spirit Page 2