“And if that were true,” he asked, “what would you think of it? Of me? Would you not be quite afraid?”
“Oh, not at all, my lord,” she said at once, shaking her head so that the soft ringlets of her hair quivered with movement. “I could never be afraid of you, or believe anything save that you’re the most wonderful … I mean to say, the kindest and most honorable gentleman of my acquaintance. If you’re truly a wizard, as Sarah says, then you must be a very good one. I know that I can trust you completely.”
“You are very kind,” he said. “I hope that you will always feel that way. I hope even more that I shall not give you cause to cease doing so. I am, just as your cousin has told you, a magic mortal.”
Rather than appear alarmed, a little smile touched her lips, and her nervous hands pressed together as if the knowledge delighted her.
“I knew it must be so. I knew that you were different from other men. Unique,” she clarified, “and remarkable.”
It was odd, Morcar thought, but the way she said the words filled him with an unfamiliar warmth. Perhaps that was because it sounded as if she truly meant them.
“May I dare to hope that I can trust you to keep my secret? You can well understand how vital secrecy is to my kind.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said fervently, leaning toward him as if to convince him of her sincerity. “Sarah has told me how dangerous the lives of magic mortals would be if the world should discover and believe in their powers. She doesn’t think anyone ever would believe it, apart from a few sympathizers, but I would never take the risk of exposing you to harm, Lord Llew. You can trust me completely.”
“I believe that I can, Miss Tamony,” he said, surprised to discover that he meant it. “You used the word ‘sympathizers.’ We call those mere mortals who aid us our sympathetics. You are clearly among these.”
She blushed again and sat more primly in her seat. “I hope that I am, my lord.”
“You are,” he told her, smiling. “I thought you might be when we met at Hookham’s. I had a feeling about you, you see.”
Her brown eyes widened. “I had a feeling, too,” she said. “About you.”
She really was rather charming, he thought.
“But what does the changing of the title on the book mean?” she asked. “Does it make any sense to you?”
“Not yet.” He unfolded his long legs and rose from his chair. Approaching her, he held out a hand. She placed hers in it. “But it will, in time.” With a gentle tug he pulled her to her feet. “I wonder, Miss Tamony, if fortune hasn’t brought you to me for another purpose altogether. The plans I’d made for this afternoon have fallen through, and I was left to contemplate a long and lonely day, made all the worse at the knowledge that I might have been in company with you after all.”
She stared at him as if he were a god. Morcar liked the expression. He gave her fingers a gentle, sensual squeeze.
“Now that you’ve come, would it be too much for me to hope that you might rescue me?”
“I should be honored to do anything you ask, my lord,” she answered faintly.
He smiled. “You must be careful what you say to me, Philistia. May I call you Philistia? It’s shocking, I know, but now that you know my deepest secret I feel that we can be more than mere acquaintances. You must call me Morcar.”
She nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“Morcar,” he prompted.
“Morcar,” she repeated rather breathlessly.
“You make it sound almost attractive, Philistia,” he told her. “I hate my name, you see. Or have, before hearing it on your lips. But you must be careful of what you say to me, just as I told you, for I do find you a charming lady, and I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to excite false hopes in me.”
“Oh, my lord. Morcar. I’ll be most careful, I promise.”
“If you believe your aunt will not mind, then, would you be willing to spend the remainder of the day in my company? I would enjoy showing you some of the sights of London, and then we shall go driving in the park. Perhaps we might even enjoy a picnic. I know a pleasant spot and my cook can prepare something for us quickly. We’ll be accompanied by my servants and your maid at all times, so there will be no chance of whispers. And I’ll return you to your family in good time to make ready for any outings you intend for the evening.”
“It sounds wonderful,” she breathed, her eyes lighting with pleasure. “I should love it above all things, Morcar.”
He squeezed her hand once more. Normally he would find such an outing with a mere mortal female deadly dull, but the prospect of spending just such a day with Philistia Tamony actually seemed pleasant.
“I’ll send a note to your town house, then,” he said, “and let them know where you’ll be. Why don’t you sit and make yourself comfortable while I have Stoton bring us some tea? I’ll show you my library and recommend some excellent books for your pleasure while we wait for Cook to prepare our lunch.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Will you please relax?” Desdemona Seymour insisted. “You’re behaving as though you’ve never been in an unusual dwelling before now.”
Sarah glanced about the room they’d been brought to. It was painted in shades of black and red and had been hung with heavy black curtains that kept out all light. Dimly lit lamps provided a small measure of light but cast the parlor in a gloomy yellow glow. And the furniture—it was large and excessively ornate, as if it belonged in a cathedral rather than a home. The chair Sarah sat in, with its high back and vivid red cushions, put her in mind of a throne—yet it was among the smallest seats in the room. She could understand why Rhys was so relieved when the servant who’d admitted herself and Desdemona Seymour refused to let “another mere mortal” enter.
“I apologize,” Sarah murmured. “It’s just so dark. Like a dungeon, or the deepest recesses of a pyramid.”
Desdemona was reclining comfortably on a black velvet settee, her feet resting on an ornately tasseled pillow, indifferently amusing herself by floating little flames from her hand into the air and arranging them in various patterns. She looked as innocent as a child, trying to stave off boredom. Sarah knew better than to believe such outward appearances.
She’d never before been afraid of magic mortals. Indeed, she usually found them far more fascinating than fearsome. Desdemona Seymour was the first to give her pause.
She was a powerful sorceress—Sarah had felt that the moment they’d arrived at the woman’s home—and one born from within the dark Families. That she had married into the Seymours clearly meant little in altering her personality. Her advanced pregnancy had made her fitful and short-tempered, with the result that her scarcely contained emotions threatened to come flying out at any and every moment.
Like the rest of her kind, Desdemona Seymour was an extraordinary beauty, with raven black hair and violet eyes. She put Sarah in mind of the Earl of Llew’s dark beauty, save that Desdemona was tiny and birdlike in form, her daintiness much at odds with her enormous belly.
“My child is a daughter,” Desdemona said suddenly, as if divining Sarah’s thoughts. “Adona is her name.” She smiled in a manner that softened her starkly beautiful features. “She will be a powerful sorceress, like her mother, and very wise, like her father. It has been prophesied.”
“I’m so glad for you,” Sarah murmured, feeling an unbidden pang of jealousy. She would likely never know what it was to carry a child. “You must be filled with anticipation.”
“More than I thought I would be,” Desdemona confessed. “I didn’t want children before I knew Dyfed, but the thought of carrying his daughter fills me with great pleasure. You’ve not met him and so cannot know why. I believe you’ll have the chance at the Herold ball, if Malachi brings him back before then.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Sarah replied sincerely. She shivered and looked about the room once more. It was oppressively chilling. “Why would anyone wish to live in such a place?” she asked.
“Serafina’s kind thrives in darkness,” Desdemona said. “She’s a creature of the night. She’ll go out in daylight if she must—to meet your brother, as an example. But she and her servants usually avoid it at all costs. The sun hurts their eyes and burns their skin.”
“Her servants,” Sarah murmured with a shiver. “They’re all so odd. Yet she manages to keep them from Society’s eyes.”
“Well, she has to, doesn’t she?” Desdemona said, beginning to sound not only bored but also weary. “They’d all be murdered, otherwise. And what an alarm it would cause among mere mortals. Malachi would be hard-pressed to contain it, even with magic.”
Sarah knew that Desdemona spoke the truth. Serafina Daray’s servants were frightening, misshapen creatures that the mere mortal world would never understand. Sarah had been more than a little thankful to have a magic mortal of Desdemona’s powers at her side, for the creatures not only had allowed them entrance but had also bowed in marked deference to the presence of a dark and powerful sorceress.
“But why does she keep them? Why doesn’t she have more normal servants? Some from among her own kind?”
Desdemona laughed, a malevolent sound that raised the hairs on Sarah’s arms.
“These are Serafina’s kind, my dear Miss Tamony. Don’t you know about the Darays and what they are?”
“Lord Graymar explained that they’d been created as servants for magic mortals. That’s all I know.”
Desdemona left off toying with the flames above and turned to look at Sarah. “That’s only part of the truth,” Desdemona said. “I suppose Malachi didn’t want you knowing. Mere mortals can be so foolish about such things.”
“What do you mean?”
“The One who created all made many different beings, some greater than others, some lower. Our kind—magic and mortal—are called superum. Superior, do you understand? There are others made as we are—elves, as an example—with whom we can mix our blood. We are high beings, though not so high as others. And then there were those created lesser. Serafina’s kind were among these, called animantis. They are creaturely, and made to serve the superum.”
“Animantis?” Sarah repeated. “It sounds similar to ‘animal,’ but surely that can’t be what it means.” It was impossible.
Desdemona sighed. “This is why Malachi didn’t tell you. The sensibilities of mere mortals are far too delicate.”
“Sweet merciful day,” Sarah murmured, standing as the truth of what Desdemona said struck her. “She’s not even human and she’s been … with my brother?”
“She is not fully human,” Desdemona corrected. “But she is partly so. The Darays mixed their blood with enough magic mortals to inherit some of their features. Serafina would look far more like her servants, otherwise.”
“God’s mercy,” Sarah said with dismay, little mollified by this. “If she’s not fully human, is she an animal, then?”
“Not as you think of animals,” Desdemona said reassuringly. “She is creaturely, as I told you. And the Darays are really quite attractive among those who are animantis. Similar to faeries, but with sharper teeth. I understand they once had tails, hundreds of years ago, before they mixed with superum, and long ears and noses that—where the devil are you going?”
Sarah had started for the door. “I have to find Julius and get him out of here. Now.”
“I’d stop if I were you,” Desdemona advised, still reclining comfortably on the settee.
“Why should I?” Sarah shot back.
“Because the door is about to open.”
And it did, just as Sarah reached for the knob. Stepping back, she was greeted by the sight of a diminutive, delicate and beautiful young woman, or creature, as Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what Serafina Daray was, garbed in nothing more than a thin silk robe, whose flowing blond curls fell to her hips. She was exquisite in every feature, and if not for the fact that her large blue eyes were filled with fury she would have even seemed childlike. Sarah had once owned a porcelain doll with precisely the same tiny pink rosebud mouth and glowing white skin.
“What do you mean by coming here?” Serafina demanded, pushing past Sarah as if she were inconsequential and marching toward Desdemona. “How dare you come into my dwelling without invitation? I don’t want you here. I won’t have you here.”
Desdemona laughed again, that same frightening sound, and looked at Serafina with disdain. “You forget yourself, Serafina. You may be able to insult me among mere mortals, but you don’t possess the power to bid me stay or go. I am your better, and always will be.”
“I am an extraordinary sorceress, just as you are,” Serafina said hotly, stamping one foot. “I don’t have to tolerate you intruding upon my private refuge.”
“You might be able to bid me leave,” Desdemona admitted, “if you had only me to deal with. But the child within me is a powerful sorceress as well, and you cannot match our magic combined. You’d do far better to attend to the matter before us and give me every reason to leave, for I dislike being in this slovenly pit far more than you dislike having me here.”
“What is it then?”
Desdemona looked beyond Serafina to where Sarah yet stood. “I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Miss Sarah Tamony yet. She wants her brother back.”
Serafina whirled about, pinning Sarah with an angry glare. “You brought a mere mortal here?” she cried. “You’d force me to erase the memory of the Dewin Mawr’s woman?”
“Miss Daray,” Sarah said calmly. “I realize you’re displeased by our coming, but there’s no need to speak of altering memories. I know that you possess magic and that you’ve used it on my brother. I only wish to take him home.”
“You cannot touch Miss Tamony with magic,” Desdemona said. “She’s protected from all of us, even Malachi.”
Serafina’s eyes narrowed until her delicate features took on an ugly mien. “He’s given her a talisman to protect her,” she said. “I can feel its power. He’s made the woman who would destroy us with her words invulnerable. That is how your lauded Dewin Mawr protects those who give him their allegiance.”
“I haven’t come to debate you about my work, Miss Daray,” Sarah said impatiently. “And you may be quite certain that I no longer have any intention of bothering you with my requests for an interview. I only wish to remove my brother from the premises and take him home. Nothing more.”
Serafina’s demeanor changed quickly. Mastering her fury, she calmed into a scornful satisfaction. Wrapping her robe more carefully about her slender waist, she said, “I’ve not finished with him yet. There’s still a great deal of pleasure I can have of him before he’s spent.” She smiled at Sarah’s heated blush. “You should be grateful that I mean to send him home each night, else your parents might begin to become suspicious.”
“You can have no notion of how quiet a life my brother has led if you believe his coming home late night after night won’t excite my parents’ concern,” Sarah told her. “Tell me plainly what you want in return for his freedom.”
“Surely you already know, Miss Tamony.”
“I do,” Sarah replied, forcing her voice to remain steady. “And surely you know that the cythraul is beyond my power to give you.”
“I don’t need anyone to procure the demon,” Serafina said scornfully. “I intend to do that myself. But I want the clues the Guardians have given to the Dewin Mawr. Give me your journal and if it proves useful I’ll be far more amenable to the idea of setting Julius free.”
“I’d do anything for my brother,” Sarah said honestly, “but you must release him first, wholly and completely. Then the journal will be yours. I swear it upon my life.”
Serafina dismissed Sarah with a wave of her hand. “I’m not such a fool as to believe anything that a mere mortal says. You’d give me blank paper as soon as part with the real thing.”
“I’ll not,” Sarah vowed.
Serafina looked at her with disgust. “As long as I have Julius, I hold the upper
hand, and I’ll not part with him save for something of equal value. When you’re ready to give me the journal, Miss Tamony, I’ll be willing to see you again. Until that time, don’t bother me.” She began to stride toward the door. “And I wouldn’t give Julius any more of Malachi’s potions,” she advised as she passed Sarah. “I’ve instructed him to eat and drink nothing unless he’s in company with me. You needn’t worry that he’ll waste away, for I’ll take very good care of him.” To Desdemona she said, in a particularly nasty tone, “Don’t invade my private refuge again, or it will be war between us.”
Smiling, Desdemona rose to her feet with a grace and ease that belied her pregnancy. She seemed to be far taller of a sudden, and the power that emanated from her was so fierce it made Sarah’s head hurt.
“We are at war, Serafina,” Desdemona said, her smile as wicked and frightening a thing as Sarah had ever seen. “And have been from the day you chose to insult my unborn child. You’ll soon learn that there’s little mercy to be found among the Caslins, regardless how we marry.”
Serafina’s face pinked beneath the dim light, and her mouth thinned. She began to appear taller, too.
“When I’ve gained the power of the cythraul,” she vowed in a low voice, moving back toward the center of the room, “you’ll be the first one to die. I swear it before the Guardians.”
Desdemona’s smile didn’t change in the least. Her eyes narrowed.
“And I shall take pleasure in watching you suffer beneath my hands,” she said. “Once my daughter has been born I shall be free to—”
Sarah knew from her research that when two magic mortals began threatening each other, it could take a great deal of time before they had at last vented their mutual wrath. She didn’t have time to waste on such nonsense. Moving to the door before either of the sorceresses could react, Sarah walked out of the room and hurried down the hall to the foot of the stairs.
“Julius!” she shouted as loudly as she could, striding quickly. “Julius!”
Touch of Desire Page 26