Night Magic

by Susan Squires

  But where did that get him? He was looking for a jeweled cup in great shape from Dark Age Britain. Which there really weren’t any of as far as he could tell. The best he could do were the Derrynaflan Chalice and the Ardagh Chalice from Anglo-Saxon hoards of the same name, buried to in Ireland to keep them from Viking raiders. They were the finest examples of metalwork of their age. Problem was, that age was at least three or four hundred years after Merlin. If they had been made in Merlin’s time, they would have looked quite different. They were large shallow bowls in worked metal, each with a narrower base. No jewels in sight.

  Okay. So no one knew of the Cup from the late fifth century. Now.

  But maybe someone knew about it once. A long time ago.

  He got busy. For the next four hours, he combed through museum descriptions of manuscripts of the period that might have mentioned descriptions of cups or chalices. It was nearly three when he hit pay-dirt. The museum was in France, which is why it was down on his list. But their catalogue said they had a journal of a monk named Rubius who visited the south of England in the sixth century, and came back with a chalice “fit for a king.” He was so excited he hardly felt the fact that he’d only had five hours sleep last night. This could be it. Now all he had to do was get hold of that manuscript. He began the search for info on the museum. He’d contact them and arrange for scans or transcriptions to be sent. Apparently the manuscript itself wasn’t in great shape.

  What came up in his search was the report of a robbery. He had a sinking feeling as he scanned the article. Shit. The only thing taken was the Rubius manuscript.

  He’d bet money he knew who had taken it.

  Kemble rubbed his eyes. He’d better call it quits on the Talisman search. He still had some research to do where Jane was concerned.

  At that moment Drew burst into his office without even knocking. Her eyes were big. She stood, quivering, just inside the door.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Stupid thing to say to someone who actually had visions. He saw a shadow pass across Drew’s face.

  She swallowed and took a breath. “Actually, I think I might have seen the Cup.”

  Kemble stopped breathing. This was just the breakthrough they’d been waiting for. He hadn’t made it, of course, but that didn’t matter. “What does it look like? Michael can Find it.”

  Drew’s face collapsed in distress. She looked around the office wildly. “That’s just it. I can’t quite see it.”

  Kemble got up hastily and ushered Drew to his chair. “Just sit down here and tell me what you do see.”

  She perched on the edge of the chair. “It’s dark. Well, almost. Everything is sort of red. That’s why I can’t see much. A shape. It’s definitely a chalice of some kind. It’s behind glass.”

  “Like a display?”

  “Yes. . . .” she said slowly, as though she was playing the vision over again in her mind.

  “What’s its shape? Like any of these?” He opened a file folder on his desk and showed her the pictures of the Irish hoard chalices he’d assembled to show their father.

  Drew shook her head. “No. It’s more like an inverted flower shape with a base. It looks pretty big. Maybe a foot? I think . . . I think I see lumps on the outline.”

  Kemble heaved a big sigh. “Those would be jewels.” Not any of the cups he’d found, but it could be the cup Rubius brought to France.

  “Sorry.” Drew sounded like she was about to cry. Which was not like Drew at all.

  “Hey, we’ve got more than we had yesterday.” Kemble tried to sound cheerful. “We know it’s in some kind of collection. Maybe private, maybe public. We know the general shape, and that it’s got jewels.” He filled her in on the manuscript and shrugged. “We might be able to find a copy of the manuscript somewhere. Maybe it has a picture. Then Michael can get going on Finding it. Let’s go tell Senior.”

  Drew gave him a pained look. “Can we wait until the meeting tomorrow? Maybe I’ll get a repeat that will show me more. I just . . . just hate feeling like a failure.”

  “I know,” he murmured. At least you won’t have to get used to it. “Weekly reporting meeting it is.” He’d get all their info together into a file. At least they’d have something to report, which was more than they’d had recently.

  *****

  For some reason Kemble didn’t understand, his mother served dinner at six o’clock. The family never ate that early. Lanyon and Tamsen looked like the cats who’d swallowed the proverbial canary. Senior had convinced Brina that the Clan was in Athens and that the outing would be safe then told the youngest of his offspring he was taking them to the museum opening. Now everybody wanted to go. Guess they were all feeling a bit cooped up. Senior shrugged and agreed, but insisted on planning the security himself. Tamsen and Keelan started discussing dresses immediately. Lanyon speculated on how many girls would be there. Michael toasted the completion of the Redmond contracts. So dinner was even more boisterous than usual. That covered up the fact that Drew was pensive and he and Jane were both nearly silent. Kemble dreaded the meeting with Senior tomorrow to discuss progress on the Talismans. But there were things he dreaded more.

  After he’d comforted Drew, he’d done what research he could on how to make Jane’s experience, if it happened, more comfortable and ordered some products delivered to the Breakers. But he had no faith that research would suddenly make him into the right man to initiate Jane into the wonders of sex.

  Jane looked pale and distracted. What would he say to her? How would he approach the problem? She didn’t look excited at all. Hell, she probably didn’t even want to do it with him. He bet she already regretted accepting him. Especially after the mess he’d made of last night.

  The dinner wound down much sooner than Kemble wanted. His mother shooed them out the door before the grandfather clock in the foyer could strike eight. He helped Jane into the Beemer, and Ernie pulled up in one of the SUVs to shadow them over to the new house. He and Jane hadn’t spoken a word to each other in hours.

  Didn’t matter. He was going to man up and be a husband. Later, if she wanted out of her obligation, he’d man up to that too and give her a divorce. But he’d screwed things up royally last night, and tonight he was going to do it right.

  He hoped.

  They pulled into the circular drive. A young man came up from around the side of the house and opened Jane’s door.

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Tremaine.”

  “Thank you, Rory.”

  Rory? Jane knew the name of the security guard?

  “Let me get you in the house,” the guy said, and pulled out a key ring.

  “We’re fine,” Kemble said, dismissing “Rory” with the tone in his voice. He grabbed the brown paper package.

  The guard nodded deferentially. “You have the intercom code if you need me, Mrs. Tremaine. I’ll finish my rounds.”

  Why would Jane need “Rory”? Kemble glowered at the retreating figure, put his package under his arm, and pulled out his keys. Ernie and Matt waited for them to get inside. He waved them off as he shut the door. The place sure was cavernous. Jane’s footsteps echoed in the foyer as he fumbled for the light.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I ordered supplies sent over today, and a few things for the kitchen.” She looked anxiously over her shoulder. “A mixer and some small appliances, some pots and pans. I don’t think anyone ever cooked here.”

  He followed her into the pristine kitchen. “Why would I mind, Jane? This house is yours.”

  “I . . . I did some damage to the credit card you gave me.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s our credit card, anyway. How did everything get put away?” What he wanted to know was how Jane knew “Rory’s” name.

  “Matt brought me over this afternoon while you were busy in your office,” she said, taking off her coat. “Rory helped me find a ladder.”

  Kemble hadn’t even known she was gone. That seemed, well . . . wrong. He gla
nced around. The cupboards went all the way to the high ceiling. “You, uh, don’t have to use the high shelves.” The kitchen really wasn’t designed for a woman like Jane. He’d have to get her a nice light stepstool, so she wouldn’t have to call “Rory” to find her a ladder.

  “Oh, I put some of mother’s things up there. Old crock pots and such. It was thoughtful of you to have them all boxed and brought over.” She paused. “You don’t think she’ll be coming back there, do you?”

  Uh-oh. Maybe that had been a tad insensitive. “I just thought you’d want to feel, uh, settled.” He rushed on. “Her house will still be there when she wants to come back.”

  She nodded, looking pensive. “Ice cream?”

  “Thanks,” he said. “But I’m fine.” He had other things on the agenda. Uh-oh. Wait. “Maybe a little wine, come to think of it. Would, uh, would you join me?”

  “Yes.” Her expression was a little tentative, but Jane really did have the loveliest smile.

  The wine fridge at the bar and the wine racks above were now filled with white and red respectively. “Looks like you did us proud.” He cleared his throat. “Red or white?”

  “White.” The silence stretched as he opened the wine. Just when it had started to get uncomfortable, she rushed into speech. “You know there’s a whole wine cellar, don’t you?”

  “Really?” Actually he didn’t. “Where?”

  “That door over there leads to some stairs. There’s a big rustic dining table down there and what I think might be a walk-in cigar humidor and a room for aging cheese. . . .” She trailed off.

  He grinned. “I knew this house had everything.”

  “Don’t feel you need to take up smoking cigars just to put the humidor to use.” She managed a tiny smile.

  He poured her a glass of wine. She liked Rombauer. “No worries there. And since we’ll still be eating most of our meals over at the Breakers, we may not put the cellar to much use.”

  “It’s not like we’ll be entertaining guests down there.”

  That made him pause in pouring one for himself. “I know the life you inherited by marrying me will feel constricting, Jane. If you. . . .”

  “I chose the Tremaines long before I accepted you,” she interrupted. So unlike Jane. “Remember John Cleese saying in that movie how he dreaded having to invite ‘piles of corpses’ over for dinner? Dinners with your family are just fine.”

  She meant that. And she had chosen Tremaines. Was that comforting or dismaying?

  They were left there, staring at each other, both knowing that they were just putting off the inevitable. All Kemble’s insecurities assaulted him. He wanted to do his duty by her. And it wouldn’t be a trial, either. Just thinking about her in that little négligée with all that creamy skin showing was making him suddenly throb in places that hadn’t been throbbing much lately, except for last night before the horrible faux pas with the hip-hop music and the glass. His insecurities assaulted him. If she didn’t want what he had to offer. . . .

  Hell, what kind of a man was he? Direct. That was who he was. He swallowed. “Jane. I want to make love to you tonight. Right now in fact. But if you’d rather not, I . . . I mean we could put it off. Maybe you’d rather . . . or if not at all, I guess. . . .”

  “I want that too,” she interrupted. She blushed from the v-neck of her cream-colored silk blouse to her hairline. But she looked determined. Jane always did have courage. Maybe more than he did.

  He gave a half smile. “Well, then. . . .” He grabbed her hand. God, but what that little hand in his did to other parts of his body. If even holding her hand could make him stand to attention, he really had abstained for too long. He headed for the stairs, grabbing his paper-wrapped package at the bar on the way. This was not how Drew had coached him to ease into it. But his approach apparently did the job. He headed for the stairs.

  *****

  Jane followed Kemble up the stairs. The feel of her hand enveloped in his was wonderful and frightening. Her body was already anticipating running her hands over his muscled shoulders, down his biceps, over his corded forearms. She could practically feel the hair there, and what little was on his chest. It would be smooth and straight and. . . .

  Should she confess she was a virgin? Definitely not. Kemble would go all protective on her, and he might lose his nerve entirely. After all, who wanted to be with a virgin these days, except men in sub-Saharan Africa who were afraid of getting AIDS? Men wanted women who knew how to please them. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what went on in the bedroom. She might not be very good at it, but she knew. She’d try her best. He probably didn’t expect very much from her anyway. No one did, really. For once she was thankful for that.

  When they reached the bedroom, she watched for his surprise. She’d jury-rigged some sheets over the floor-to-ceiling windows with duct tape and Rory’s ladder to give the room more privacy and let him sleep in a little if he wanted. All that light left no shadows in the room. Unrelenting light had always made her feel uncomfortable. She was going to have to create some shadowy retreats in this house, unless she wanted to spend her days in the wine cellar, as she had for several peaceful hours today.

  He stopped stock-still and dropped her hand. “What’s this?”

  Did he sound disapproving? “Just . . . just temporary, until I can order some blinds or draperies or something.” Whatever style would go in this cold, modern house?

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Now he was really frowning.

  Oh, dear. “I guess I, uh, wanted you to be able to sleep in.”

  “You should be able to sleep in too. I should have thought of that.”

  That emboldened her. He wasn’t blaming her for the makeshift draperies. He was blaming himself, as usual. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself anymore. Isn’t that what wives are for? Helpmeet, partner . . . that sort of thing?”

  She was rewarded by seeing his expression soften. He shrugged, as though what he was about to say didn’t matter to him. She knew better. “I just wanted things to be perfect for you. I guess they weren’t.”

  She couldn’t help the smile. “Nothing’s ever perfect. But the important things about yesterday were. I married you. That was a good thing.” Had she revealed too much about how she felt? “Warning. I haven’t gotten around to figuring out the sound system, so unless you’re really into hip-hop or rap, I wouldn’t turn it on just yet.”

  That provoked a very small and very rueful grin of acknowledgment that she was trying to lighten the mood. Then it disappeared. “I’m so sorry about last night.” There he was blaming himself again. Then his shoulders squared. “I can take care of the sound system.”

  “I concede that you might be better at that than I am.”

  “Seeing as you can’t remember how the remote works for the TV in the den at the Breakers, you might be right.” He set his glass down, and that brown paper package he’d been carrying around on the night table next to the side of the bed he’d used last night. He began taking off his sport coat.

  “I know how all the remotes work at my house.” She couldn’t bring herself to move from the doorway.

  He looked out under his black brows at her. “The fact that you have about twelve remotes for your setup tells its own story. I should have programmed you a universal.” He’d started to frown again.

  “Not your job,” she said, trying to lighten the burden he always seemed to place on himself.

  He looked up at her. “It is now.” That was heat in his eyes. It made her suck in her breath.

  “So, you can program our remotes—however many there are in this house.” She sounded kind of breathy, she was sure. It was going to happen this time. But what she wanted more than anything scared her to death.

  *****

  Jane looked like a doe about to turn and run for the trees. “Count on it,” Kemble breathed, as though she were a real wild animal who might bolt if he spoke above a whisper. What must she be thinking? Was she afraid of
losing her virginity? Was she afraid of him? He moved slowly toward her. Her eyes got wider. Son of a bitch. She wasn’t sure of him.

  “Look,” he said. “We don’t have to do anything right now. Why don’t you get your nightgown on, and then we can sip our wine? Maybe you could let me hold you for a while. That’s all. Just hold you.”

  She nodded convulsively and bolted for the closet, sloshing wine from her glass onto the marble floor. God, don’t slip and fall, he thought. Or drop the glass. Should he have gotten plastic glasses? She made it to the mirrored wall and slipped into the closet. That might be it. She might never come out.

  No. Jane had more courage than to hide in a closet. He strode over to his own closet, stripped off his clothes in record time and left them strewn on the floor. Unlike him, but he didn’t care. He went with the robe again. Maximum coverage of naked man, but easy access if she cared to indulge herself. At least his erection had calmed down some. Then he dashed to the big bed and jerked back the puffy white quilts on her side, hastily smoothed them, then raced around to his side and slid in. Using the control panel on the nightstand, he turned down the lights to a more romantic level, reached for his wine, and struck a casual pose he hoped would be reassuring when Jane came out.

  What would she choose to wear? Another of her soft white cotton nightgowns, no doubt. He’d found the one last night actually pretty sexy. The way her breasts bobbled under the fabric made him imagine how they’d feel in his hands. The high collar accentuated the delicate white of her throat. . . .

  Oh, no. Erection was back, in spades. Not reassuring to a virgin by any means. He tried to project Redmond Industries future profits after implementing the improvements they planned to put into the factories. Not working. Okay. Cost of retooling and the ROI on it.

  Nope.

  His reflection in the wall of mirrors showed a stiff and uncomfortable man sitting in the great bed clutching his wineglass as though his life depended on it. Not looking like a happy bridegroom. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease them. He was just tense because he wanted to do the right thing by Jane tonight, and his erection was not only getting downright painful, but he knew it would scare the hell out of Jane. He glanced down and realized his cock was actually trying to tent the quilt on his lap. He hastily shoved his hand in to try to adjust himself to a position at once more comfortable and more concealing. As if that existed.