Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  She looked at the boys more closely, a slow smile forming on her lips. “So that’s what you looked like as a boy,” she murmured. “And this must be Cousin Niclas. What a lovely dog. I imagine the three of you had many grand times together.”

  “Yes, we did,” said a masculine voice, startling her. “And Samson was indeed a fine dog, though he possessed an unconquerable passion for chewing my father’s favorite pair of boots, which nearly brought his happy life to an early end.”

  Sarah turned to find Malachi leaning against the wall, regarding her. He was dressed only in a pair of trousers and had his arms folded against his bare chest.

  “Oh, my lord!” she said, and hurried toward him. His arms opened to enfold her in his warmth. “You gave me such a start! But I’m so glad you’ve come, for I’m having such a wonderful time. Will you tell me about all these paintings and who these people are?” She lifted on her bare feet to give him a rapid kiss, then pulled him toward the paintings. “I feel certain that some of these must be portraits of Seymours I’ve researched, for the faces and settings seem to match what I’ve learned. This gentleman, for instance.” She stopped in front of a particularly large portrait of an older, rather stern gentleman garbed in tight silver knee breeches and a matching silver waistcoat topped by an elegant, heavily embroidered silk coat of deep blue, with voluminous quantities of lacy ruffles at his sleeves and neck. Atop his head was a gorgeous black wig composed of beautiful curls. He had a very proud, patrician expression, but he was so handsome, even in advanced age, that he could only be a Seymour.

  “Is this not your great-great-grandfather?” she asked. “Lewes Seymour? The third Earl of Graymar?”

  Malachi gazed up at the painting. “It is,” he said. “How could you possibly have known? How could you have seen clearly enough to discern his identity?”

  She grinned. “It took a great deal of time, for I mistook him for a woman at first. I’m hopelessly blind without my spectacles, and it’s so dark. I should have brought a candle.”

  “But then you might have been caught sneaking about,” he said. When she laughed he added, “You see, Sarah, that I’m beginning to understand how your mind works.”

  “Tell me about Lewes Seymour, if you please. He was once the Dewin Mawr, was he not?”

  “He inherited the title from a cousin, just as my own cousin Kian will inherit it from me. The third earl was, I’ve been told, a terrible scalawag. But you could probably tell me more about him than I could you.”

  “I’ve heard several stories. He appeared outwardly stern and was famous for terrifying the villagers near Glain Tarran with but a look. But he was a contemporary of Charles the Second, another famous profligate, and, in fact, they were quite good friends who liked to …”

  Malachi waited for her to finish, knowing full well that it wasn’t shyness that kept her from completing the sentence.

  “Go out carousing together with women of questionable virtue,” he supplied at last. “Yes, that’s true. Fortunate for magic mortals is the fact that we can control our breeding properties, else the country would be overrun with the progeny of Lewes Seymour’s by-blows. My great-grandfather Hollace Seymour was an entirely different sort of man, thankfully.”

  “Malachi,” Sarah said faintly, stepping closer to stare at the painting. “It was Charles the Second.”

  He looked at her. “Was it, dear? In what way?”

  She shook her head. “No, I mean … it’s just come to me. He looked so much like this that it had to be him. Charles the Second.”

  “Darling, what do you mean? Who had to be Charles the Second?”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “On the bell, Malachi. The one I saw when we stood in the fire. I told you there was a figure on it. It was Charles the Second.” She grasped his hands, her voice rising with excitement. “We need only find where such a bell may be and we’ll know where the cythraul will be arriving.”

  Interesting and welcome as Sarah’s revelation about Charles the Second was, it wasn’t sufficient to distract Malachi from the intention he’d come awake with—to make love with her once more before returning to the Tamony household. He took her back to his bedchamber, to his enormous bed, and laid her upon it. They made love slowly, touching and stroking with languorous pleasure. They dozed afterward, waking when Rhys scratched at the door to deliver a breakfast tray. Sarah hid under the covers, painfully embarrassed, until she realized that Rhys already knew that she’d been at Mervaille through the night. As Malachi told her, nothing that happened at either Glain Tarran or Mervaille escaped the manservant’s knowledge.

  An hour later they returned to the Tamony dwelling, where Malachi carried a still-slumbering Julius to his bed. He poured a few drops of sleeping potion down the younger man’s throat.

  “This will keep him asleep until late in the afternoon,” Malachi said as he stepped back and stoppered the small vial. “When he comes to his senses he’ll be eager to go to Serafina. She’ll likely have instructed him to be at her town house in order to act as her escort to the Herold ball this evening—she generally puts her enchanted lovers to such use. The necessity to obey her will override her command to obtain the journal. Let him do as he wishes and depart. If your parents try to speak with him, try to stop them.”

  “My mother knows everything,” she said. At his surprised expression she went on. “I told her last night when she asked me what was going on. She was amazingly understanding. I think you must be right about her being a sympathetic, for she’d suspected the truth all along. Although she was far from pleased to discover that Miss Daray and Lord Llew have magic, as well.”

  “I understand her concerns about Serafina,” he said. “But why should she be displeased by Morcar?”

  “It’s Philistia,” Sarah explained. “Mama believes she’s fallen in love with Lord Llew. They spent the day together yesterday. We don’t know how the circumstances transpired, but Mama suspects Philistia went out in search of the earl.”

  “Damn the man,” Malachi muttered angrily. “I knew he’d cause trouble. But we’ve no time to worry over your cousin now. Morcar wouldn’t be so incautious as to do more than seduce her …”

  “Dear God,” Sarah murmured, her heart dropping to her feet. “Surely he’d not. She’s a complete innocent, and of good family. Surely, surely he’d not ruin her.”

  Malachi took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “I wish I could tell you that he’d not,” he said, “but if Philistia is willing—and she certainly seemed to be taken with him—then there’s nothing to stop him. She’s not a child, after all.”

  Sarah gripped his fingers, hard. “I shall kill him if he harms her,” she vowed. “It’s one thing for Julius to be treated in such a manner, but not a young girl like Philistia!”

  “I understand, love,” he said reassuringly. “But we mustn’t lose sight of the task ahead. There’s nothing we’ll be able to do for either of them if we forget the cythraul. I must return to Scotland; you must go and speak with Professor Seabolt about the location of the bell. Can you engage your mother to keep an eye over Julius? And to make excuses for him if your father becomes suspicious?”

  “I’m certain she will,” Sarah said. “She’ll feel better if she can help in some way. And she’s the only one who could possibly convince my father that nothing is wrong.”

  “Excellent.” Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her deeply. “I’ll return as quickly as possible, hopefully before the dinner at Lady Herold’s.”

  “And I hope to have an answer from Professor Seabolt.”

  “After that,” he murmured, kissing her once more, “perhaps we’ll have a few spare moments to give our attention to other, far more pleasant matters.”

  It was the “other matters” that stayed in Sarah’s thoughts some hours later as she sat among piles of books in Professor Seabolt’s library, and made it so difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “Memorial bells … hmmm …” Profess
or Seabolt opened yet another ancient volume and began to search. “Charles the Second. Now where can it be? There must be dozens of them spread all about England, Wales, and Scotland, in universities, chapels, churches, and cathedrals alike.”

  “Don’t forget the other clues,” Sarah reminded, closing the book she’d been perusing and setting it aside to pick up another. “It’s not at Glain Tarran, perhaps not even in Wales. I think we might discount Wales as a start and focus on those places where such a bell might have been hung. If we’re wrong, then we’ll shorten our borders to exclude only Glain Tarran.”

  Without looking up, Professor Seabolt nodded. “Or shorter still to encircle only the ceremonial grounds. But that would be a sorry sort of clue for the Guardians to send, would it not?”

  “To discount only a small area from our search?” she asked, opening the new book to unleash a cloud of dust. “I should think so.” She sneezed and waved a hand in the air.

  “I can’t believe that was their purpose. Surely it meant something else.”

  “Lord Graymar is of the same opinion,” the professor said, his gaze moving rapidly over the pages before him. “The question is, what does it mean?”

  A soft scratch came at the door.

  “That will be Tego with our tea,” Professor Seabolt said, glancing up to add, more loudly, “Come!”

  The misshapen servant entered at once, bearing a silver tray laden with a tea service and what appeared to be enough food for ten people.

  “Cook thought you might be getting hungry, sir, and miss,” he said, clearing a table before setting the tray upon it. “I’ll fix each of you a plate, shall I?”

  “Very good, Tego,” the professor said absently. “Now, here, Miss Tamony—” He sat forward and pointed to a particular spot on the page. “Here is mention of numerous dedications being made to Charles the Second for his renewed empowerment of the Anglican Church. Several of these dedications appear to include newly resurrected or repaired bell towers, made possible by Charles’s financial support. One would assume that at least some of these might contain bells that were cast with his figure upon them.”

  Sarah sent a glance toward Tego, who, though his back was turned toward them, was clearly listening. She reached out to touch the professor’s arm, to warn him to be silent, but he sat back, out of her reach, and, his eyes fixed upon the book, said aloud, “Unfortunately, there’s no notation making a description of any bells. I feel quite certain, however,” he added, at last looking up at her, “that one of these must lead us to the bell we’re looking for. Ah, very good, Tego.” He put aside his book and looked expectantly at the tray held before them.

  Tego offered it to Sarah first, his expression blank. Professor Seabolt chatted on about the bell as Sarah sat in pained silence. She cast another glance at Tego as he made to depart and saw the smile playing on his lips. He turned to look at her as he moved toward the door, and she saw in his insolent gaze the answer to her question. He’d not only heard every word the professor had said but also tucked them away.

  “Professor Seabolt,” she said firmly as the door closed. “You must never speak so openly in front of him. Ever.”

  “Now, now, Miss Tamony, we’ve had this discussion before, have we not? I’ve told you that Tego’s a wonderful servant, and perfectly trustworthy, as well.”

  “He’s not,” she stated flatly. “I know you make a habit of keeping such beings in your employ, but Tego’s powers are dark—just like the creatures Serafina Daray keeps …” She trailed off as realization struck. “Sweet merciful day,” she murmured, gazing wide-eyed at the professor. She could hear Malachi’s voice in her ears. We all have spies …

  “What is it?” the professor asked.

  “Nothing,” she said quickly, uncertain as to whether she should voice her suspicion that Tego was one of Serafina Daray’s spies. She was certain Tego had given Serafina the information from the journal, but if the servant knew Sarah had discovered the truth, Professor Seabolt might well be in danger. Malachi wasn’t here to protect his dear friend. “Let’s not speak of the matter further. We’ve more than enough to occupy our minds with finding the bell.”

  Another two hours passed before they’d compiled a list of potential places where the bell might be. Sarah wrote it on a single page and tucked it safely in her reticule. Tego could use magic to ferret the list from Professor Seabolt’s memory, but she’d take no chance in leaving a physical copy behind.

  She arrived home in plenty of time to prepare for the coming ball, with thoughts of how pleased Malachi was going to be with the progress that had been made. Her good mood lasted as she divested her outer garments, pulled off her gloves and took off her hat, and continued even after that, as Sarah went in search of her mother or Philistia or both. She found her mother in the parlor, sitting before the fire, staring into the flames.

  “Mama?” Sarah asked, closing the door behind her.

  Her mother looked up, and her expression was such that Sarah didn’t need to hear the words. Julius had gone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Herold ball took on a nightmarish quality from the moment the dinner guests arrived. Lord and Lady Herold greeted these chosen few in an elegant parlor where drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served, and any onlooker who’d seen the assembly would have believed it to be nothing more unusual than a gathering of some of Society’s most desirable individuals.

  But Sarah knew better. Though Lord and Lady Herold were clearly unaware of the truth, at least a third of their dinner guests were magic mortals, and several of these weren’t merely lesser wizards and sorceresses but extremely powerful. As they arrived in the room and segregated in separate corners, Sarah began to have the feeling that a terrible storm was gathering.

  Malachi hadn’t arrived yet, and Sarah couldn’t help but worry. Perhaps matters in Scotland hadn’t been resolved and he’d not been able to return to London. The idea made her shiver as she looked across the room, meeting the unfriendly stares of the dark wizards and sorceresses who surrounded Serafina Daray. Serafina, by contrast, smiled at one and all, her appearance as bright and glorious as that of a heavenly angel. Julius, sitting beside her, looked numb, almost lifeless. And very tired. Sarah was thankful that her parents weren’t present to see him.

  It had been difficult for her mother to manage keeping Sarah’s father at home, for he loved great social events and had been looking forward to the Herold ball, especially the dinner, where interesting conversation might be found. But Sarah and her mother had agreed that until Malachi found a way to release Julius from Serafina’s spell, it would be best to keep Sir Alberic and his son apart as often as possible.

  “When will Lord Llew arrive?” Philistia murmured, not in the least interested in her male cousin’s unusual behavior. Having seen Serafina Daray in all her formal finery, Philistia likely assumed Julius was too smitten to be distracted by his duller relatives. Her mind was also fixed, as it had constantly been, on the Earl of Llew. “He promised to come early. I’ve saved the first waltz for him. He must be the most marvelous dancer, for he’s so tall and fit.” She smiled at Sarah, her cheeks pinking. “I believe he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen; don’t you, Sarah? And by far the most charming.”

  Sarah looked at her cousin with renewed worry and wished even more for Malachi. She was almost tempted to believe that Philistia was laboring beneath an enchantment, too, save that she’d seen her cousin infatuated before and knew the signs. That there seemed to be something more intense this time was a problem … one Sarah didn’t have time to ponder.

  She was besieged by several of the other guests, all of whom wished to ask questions about her books. Fortunately, Sarah had managed to secret a pair of spectacles out of the house and put them on in the carriage, so that she could see everyone’s faces. Philistia had protested the presence of the spectacles violently, for no lady ever wore them to a ball, but Sarah hadn’t cared for such propriety. With her brother enchanted and her cousin in
fatuated, she needed all her wits about her.

  The parlor doors opened and the butler announced the latest arrivals. Sarah only heard a sudden rush of murmurs and the name “Seymour” and looked up expectantly. The sight of a tall blond gentleman briefly filled her with hope—until she realized that the gentleman at the door was accompanied by a small raven-haired beauty in an advanced stage of pregnancy.

  Sarah had not yet met Dyfed Seymour but knew at once who he was. There was such a likeness between himself and the Earl of Graymar that they might almost have been brothers rather than cousins. He was by all accounts a lesser wizard, but Sarah supposed that his tiny wife’s powers more than made up for whatever he lacked. It was unusual for a woman so pregnant as Desdemona Seymour to be out in public, especially at a ball, but she was so unlike other women as to be excused from Society’s rules. And, Sarah suspected, Desdemona didn’t particularly care what mere mortals said about her.

  Dyfed Seymour escorted his wife with both hands, as if he’d prefer to carry her rather than allow her to wobble along. Everyone present watched as they made their way, fascinated by the young, attractive couple who’d not long been in Town. The open enmity between Society’s other famous beauty, Serafina Daray, and Desdemona only made them more intriguing.

  Part of the excitement that had surrounded the Herold ball had been due to the promised attendance of both women. The gossips would talk of little else for the coming week than what the two women had done and said. The fleeting but obvious look of disdain that Desdemona cast Serafina as she passed by was enough to send shivers of delight throughout the room. Serafina’s frozen smile made the moment that much better.