Women had desired him before. Many women, actually, which was a truth he could state without fear of exaggeration. He wasn’t blind to the beauty magic mortals possessed or unaware that he had been especially fortunate in face and form. Some of his admirers hoped to lure him into marriage, but just as many wanted something entirely different. Niclas liked to joke that Malachi, from the day he’d attained his majority, had had more lures cast at him than all the fish in the sea. Malachi had been happy to satisfy those who were sympathetics and had avoided those who weren’t as graciously as he could. When Augusta had signaled her availability he’d been content to embrace a form of monogamy and found that it suited him. But no woman he’d known before, either magic or mortal, had been able to look at him as Sarah Tamony was now and have him trembling with such need.
She moved toward him, clearly unafraid of what he might do. But that was foolish, he thought. She believed that because she was in her own home, in the room where her brother lay sleeping, that the most Malachi could do was kiss her. Or perhaps she thought that, as a gentleman and a nobleman, he’d control himself. If she’d known about the visions that haunted his every moment, sleeping or waking, she’d run from the room screaming.
Or perhaps not. Sarah Tamony was a lady by birth, but she was neither frail nor fearful. She’d been close enough to him on two occasions—during their flight and the fast traveling—to realize what his reaction to her was. And yet she came without hesitation, and she looked—or at least he prayed it was so—as if she wanted this intimacy as greatly as he did.
She stopped before him, her face lifted to his. He realized with a sudden flash of hot jealousy that she had been kissed before. Not in the way that he had kissed her earlier, but truly kissed. By another man.
“I’ll drive the memory of him away forever.” He said the words aloud before he could think to stop them.
That smile of hers made him feel dangerous. Rather than looking affronted, her expression softened with a measure of confident amusement. It was maddening.
“Drive whose memory away?”
“The man who kissed you.”
“You’ve already done that,” she told him. “I am nearly twenty and seven, my lord, and have known many things that my peers can only dream of. In but a few weeks you’ve managed to make me forget almost everything and everyone I’ve known before. But I truly doubt that, from here forward, anyone else will be able to make me forget you.”
Lifting a hand, he stroked a single finger down her cheek.
“You speak as if this will come to an end.”
She tilted her head slightly. “If I don’t take care, Lord Graymar, you’ll break my heart. That experience I yet remember from my foolish youth. I have no desire to repeat it.”
“I’ll make you forget that, too,” he vowed. Lifting the other hand, he gently removed her spectacles, and with slow care set them aside. Then he put his fingers on either side of her face, caressing, drawing her closer until they stood with their bodies nearly touching.
“Say my name, Sarah,” he murmured.
“It’s improper,” she told him, her eyes closing from the pleasure of his touch. “I shouldn’t.”
Malachi lowered his head. “Just tonight, then. Just once. I promise I’ll never tell a soul.”
“Very well,” she whispered. “If you promise, Malachi.”
“Yes,” he said, touching the sides of her mouth with his thumbs. “Malachi. Will you let me kiss you, Sarah?”
Her answer was to raise her arms and slip them about his neck, drawing him down to her.
Malachi lightly touched her lips with his own, the barest of caresses, murmuring her name, then covered them more fully. One of his hands slid to the back of her head, into her soft hair, holding her, while the other moved downward, his fingers spread wide as he pulled her flush against himself. She made a sound of surprise as their bodies met, then relaxed and willingly pressed into his warmth.
He took his time, savoring the taste and softness of her lips and her acquiescence as he angled her body to fit more readily into his embrace, turning her head to fully meet his kiss. Sarah sighed with pleasure, and her hands began to roam, caressing his face and neck, then slipping upward to his hair. The black ribbon that held the lengthy mane in place came undone beneath her clever fingers and fell to the floor. He groaned against her mouth as her hands stroked upward, against his scalp, her fingers coursing through his hair.
“It’s so soft,” she whispered when he lifted his head to better enjoy her petting. “Like silk. I’ve longed to touch it from the first moment I met you.”
“I wish you’d said so earlier,” he said with a groan. “I would have let you do whatever you desired. Anything at all.”
She uttered a husky laugh and rose up on her toes to press her lips against his chin. Malachi took her mouth again, touching her with his tongue. Her reaction surprised and pleased him, for the sudden stiffening of her body had nothing to do with the desire that had taken possession of them both. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. With a surge of delight, Malachi realized that, in this, he was the first.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said, setting his forehead against hers. His heightened breathing caused the words to be pelted against her cheek. “I know it’s strange at first—”
“Is it done?” she asked, uttering an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t know. It never occurred to me—”
“I’ll show you,” he murmured, covering her face with soft, rapid kisses. “Follow my lead. I’ll stop if you don’t like it. But you will like it, Sarah. You will …”
And she did. She liked it so much and became so quickly proficient that Malachi didn’t know how much time had passed before he heard the warning bells ringing wildly in his brain.
Someone in the house was waking.
Malachi pulled away and, breathing harshly, tried to make sense of his surroundings. Sarah gave a murmur of protest and tried to pull him back, but he managed to say, “Wait,” and she sighed and rested her head against his chest. Her hands had wandered under his cloak. One had pulled his shirt from his trousers while the other had burrowed up to stroke his back. Malachi’s own hands were in places they shouldn’t be, one fondling her bottom and the other in the midst of unbuttoning buttons.
He lifted his head a bit higher to see where they were. They had staggered into the room’s farthest corner and were wedged between the two walls. He supposed his intention had been to next drag her down to the floor.
“Your mother is stirring,” he said thickly, his senses clearing. He had a fleeting thought that next time he would place all those in the house into a deep slumber, making it impossible for them to rise. “We’ve got to—” What? He couldn’t think. He could transport her to a safer place … to Mervaille … but the hour was late, and if she was discovered missing …
“I’ve got to go.” He began to pull his hands from her body.
“Go?” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. She turned her head and began nuzzling the base of his throat—which she had earlier bared by unwinding his cravat and tossing it to the floor. Malachi had a vague memory of telling her at the time what a clever girl she was. “Don’t leave me.”
He kissed her, quickly, and then began the unhappy task of bringing her back to her senses.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we’ve only a few minutes before your mother walks through the door. If you don’t want me erasing her memory, then you’d better let me go.” Stepping back, he began to look for his hat and gloves.
“But Malachi—”
The confusion in her tone brought him back to her. “We’ll finish this soon, love,” he promised, taking her head between his hands and kissing her soundly.
“But what about Julius?”
“He’ll sleep until morning, and then you’ll have to let him do as he wishes. We can’t keep him sedated forever. I’ll come tomorrow to take you driving, and we’ll speak of it more. If,” he added sternly, “you’ll
promise not to look at me the way you’re looking at me now. Otherwise I’ll consign the park to the devil and take you to Mervaille for the remainder of the day.”
“Mervaille?” Her eyes widened with the interest that he’d seen spark so often, which had far more to do with her passion for magic than anything else. “Truly?”
With a sigh he held out a hand, calling both his hat and gloves to come to him. “You make me crazed, Sarah Tamony,” he told her, reaching out to catch the flying objects and take them in a firm grip. “I wish I didn’t enjoy it so much.”
He disappeared, then, just as the door opened. Sarah only had enough time to whirl about, hiding her undone buttons, before her mother entered the room. Snatching up her glasses from the table where Lord Graymar had set them, she put them on and said, “Oh, it’s you, Mama. Hello.”
“Hello, Sarah.” Her mother’s gaze went first to the bed. “Is Julius awake? I thought I heard him speaking.”
“No, no,” Sarah assured her at once. “He’s sound asleep, just as you see. He’s been resting peacefully. I’m sure he’ll be himself again in the morning.”
Lady Tamony looked at her curiously in the dim firelight. “Sarah, dear, what on earth happened to you?” Closing the door, she made a closer inspection. “You look as if you’ve been rolling down a hillside. What’s become of your hair?”
Sarah reached up a hand and realized, with a sinking heart, that Lord Graymar had completely relieved her hair arrangement of its moorings. Hairpins were scattered all over the floor.
“I had a dream,” she said. “I fell asleep in the chair and … well, it was quite a dream, as you might imagine.”
“Indeed,” her mother replied, gazing at her with disbelief. Bending, she picked something off the floor—a gentleman’s rumpled neckcloth. Holding it up to her daughter, Lady Tamony asked, “And was this part of your dream as well, dear?”
Sarah blushed hotly as she remembered unwinding the cloth from Lord Graymar’s neck and the things he’d said—in a particularly naughty tone of voice—as she’d done it.
“It must be one of Julius’s.” She snatched the cloth from her mother’s hand. Backing toward the door, Sarah said, “I’m terribly tired, and Julius should sleep comfortably through the remainder of the night. Or day. It must be morning by now.” Blindly she fumbled for the doorknob, finding it at last with tremendous relief. All the while her mother watched her with a steady expression. “I’ll just go to bed, then. Good night, Mama.”
“Good night, dear,” her mother said calmly.
Sarah backed out and closed the door, catching just a glimpse of her mother’s smile before it shut entirely.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah slept late into the morning the following day, something that had only occurred in her life on those rare occasions when she’d been ill. The Tamonys were early risers, even following late nights, and she felt guilty for having wasted so many precious hours that might have been productive.
Despite that guilt, Sarah lay quietly in her bed for a few minutes, staring at the bed curtains and reliving the night before. It had been among the most terrible, considering Julius, and yet magical of her life. The fast traveling, meeting a real mystic, the journey into the fire, and the transformation of the Donballa had all been quite amazing. But far more wonderful even than these had been Lord Graymar’s kiss.
The memory made her feel heated all the way through. If her mother hadn’t come to check on Julius, Sarah couldn’t say how, or if, the embrace would have stopped. Neither she nor Lord Graymar had shown any sign of bringing it to an end. In truth, she had to admit, she hadn’t wanted it to end. Nor was she relieved, as any decent maiden should be, that it had.
Sarah supposed that was partly due to her advanced age and her increasingly slim prospects of ever marrying, as well as her experience of the wider world. Not every unmarried woman had the advantage of seeing how other peoples viewed such affairs. But perhaps that was unjust to the English, who readily endured both men and women taking lovers outside of marriage, and men, especially, setting up mistresses. The problem was that she wasn’t married and if she pursued a union with Lord Graymar, no matter how fleeting, she would be ruined if it became known, and her books might suffer for it.
“Or perhaps not,” she said aloud, thoughtfully. “A good scandal might make them seem more appealing.”
Not that she would ever give herself to Lord Graymar, or any man, with the hope of monetary gain. But it would at least be one less thing to feel guilty about.
For she did intend to take him as a lover. Her first and only lover, for as long as he was willing to play the part. At least until the end of the Season, when they would go their separate ways. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that more would come of it. He was not only the Earl of Graymar but the Dewin Mawr as well, and she was a writer who was the daughter of a writer and the sister of a writer. It scarcely mattered that her father was a baronet and possessed lands and wealth. A nobleman of Lord Graymar’s power and prestige didn’t marry so far beneath him, especially not a woman who was already believed by one and all to be so firmly on the shelf and perhaps incapable of providing him with an heir. From her research she knew that wizards of great standing seldom took mere mortals for mates. Lord Graymar’s own parents had been powerful magic mortals. His father had been the previous Dewin Mawr and his mother descended from ancient Dewin Mawrs. Faced with such facts, Sarah knew that she must guard her heart against hoping for more than a brief dalliance. It would have to be enough, she told herself. But she wouldn’t dwell on the ending before the beginning even arrived.
A soft knock came at the door, and Sarah sat.
“Yes, come in,” she called. “I’m awake.”
Irene, one of the youngest of the maids, peered into the room, smiling.
“Good morning, miss,” she greeted cheerfully, pushing the door wide to carry in a tray. “Her Ladyship thought it best if breakfast was brought to you this morning. She said you were up with Master Julius all night and likely to be too weary to come down to eat.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said as the tray was placed upon her lap. “I confess to having slept very well, and to being hungry.” She grinned. “How is my brother this morning? Has he waked yet?”
“Oh yes, miss,” Irene told her, uncovering a plate of sausages and egg tarts. “He was up and on his way quite early. And looked fit as could be, so there’s no need to worry.”
Sarah had already picked up a sausage with her fingers and taken a large bite and had to chew quickly in order to speak.
“ ‘On his way’?” she repeated. “But surely not. Do you mean to say that Sir Alberic and Lady Tamony let him go?”
Irene looked bewildered. “Why, yes, miss. They thought the fresh air would do him good, and he did seem much recovered after a night of sleep.”
“Sweet merciful day.” Sarah pushed the tray aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed, hurrying across the room to fling open her closet door. Her purse hung on the peg where she’d put it last night. A frantic examination showed that her precious journal was still safely inside. Uttering a sigh of relief, Sarah turned back to the bewildered maid.
“Where did Master Julius go? What time did he leave?”
“To the Antiquities Society,” Irene answered. “He left three hours ago.”
“Three hours!” Sarah cried. “Run and fetch Charlotte. Tell her I wish to dress at once. Quickly now.” Going back into the closet, she grasped the first suitable gown—a light blue day dress—and threw it on the bed. “And please ask Henry to send a lad around to Lord Graymar with a note asking him to come at once. No, better yet, tell the lad to wait for the earl and bring him back. Or perhaps I’d better go myself,” Sarah said with indecision. “Yes, come to think of it, that would be—”
“But miss,” said Irene, carrying the tray to the door, “Lord Graymar’s manservant is already waiting in the parlor to speak with you. I told him that you might not be awake yet
, and that you’d wish to eat, but he said he’d wait. He has a note for you from the earl.”
“Oh, bother,” Sarah said irately, certain this wasn’t good news. She began to unbutton her nightgown. “Are my parents and cousin at home?”
“No, miss,” Irene replied. “Sir Alberic and Lady Tamony have gone visiting, and Miss Philistia and her maid left shortly afterward to do some shopping.”
That was odd, Sarah thought as she began to unbraid her long hair. Philistia never went out with just a maid.
“Hurry and fetch Charlotte, then,” Sarah told the maid. “And tell His Lordship’s manservant that I’ll be with him right away.”
Twenty minutes later, with her hair not entirely anchored in its arrangement, Sarah hurried down the stairs, pushing up her spectacles and buttoning the last few buttons of one sleeve. She entered the parlor without announcement to find Lord Graymar’s manservant standing near the fire. He turned as she entered the room and smiled in greeting.
“Rhys!” she cried with gladness, hurrying toward him with outstretched hands. “What a wonderful surprise! How are you?”
His smile widened. “Very well, Miss Tamony. And you?”
“I’m having such a grand time in Town,” she assured him. “Despite His Lordship interfering in the writing of my book. He’s proved to be just as great a nuisance as he said he would, but he’s more than made up for it. He took me to Wales last night,” she told Rhys, “by the use of fast traveling. And then we stood right in the middle of a fire. It was extraordinary!”
“He told me some of what transpired with Master Steffan and his men,” Rhys said. “And explained that the Guardians have seen fit to involve you in the mystery of the cythraul. I only wish your brother hadn’t been drawn into magic, and by a sorceress the likes of Serafina Daray.” He visibly shuddered. “I pray all will be well for him. I was sorry to hear that he’d already left the house when I arrived, though His Lordship warned me it might be the case.”
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