He reluctantly handed back her books. As she accepted them, the touch of their hands sent tingles shooting up his arm and she started, as if she too had felt that spark. Once again, Mark saw that isolated child in her serious brown gaze. Despite her new friends, did she still live in her make-believe worlds?
Well, this beautiful Nevara belonged in the real world, not in dreams of far off places. Suddenly, he wanted to help her to see what was right in front of her. He wanted to show her his London, which was as appealing as the cities she was reading about. More so, in fact.
What harm would it do to take her out for some light entertainment? It would also afford him an enjoyable evening. “Nevara.”
“Hmm?” She glanced up.
“The Magpie is being performed at Drury Lane this evening. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?”
She blinked in surprise, and then a delighted smile spread over her breathtaking face. “I would love to, Mark.”
He nodded, pleased at distracting her from Spain, at least for the evening. Once she gave him her directions, he promised to call at seven sharp, and then bowed and bid her good day.
As she hurried away, a rustle in the branches of a nearby tree gave momentary warning before a crow flew in a haphazard manner toward his head. He tilted sideways to avoid a collision, and the bird crashed at his feet.
El Guapo! His grandmother’s familiar. The handsome one was an odd name for a one-eyed crow, but then his grandmother had a strange sense of humor.
The bird took a moment to regain his balance. Once righted, he glared at Mark with his one good eye.
Onlookers gave him and the crow curious glances that Mark ignored. Today seemed to be a day for surprises. He bent to extend his arm. “What are you doing here, Guapo?”
The crow jumped onto his forearm and wasted a few moments complaining about Mark ruining his landing. Finally, he ruffled his feathers and shared an image of a townhouse in Mayfair, and two words: Come visit.
Message relayed, Guapo took off, flying in his peculiar lopsided fashion back to his mistress.
So, his straight-laced Spanish grandmother was in Town, too. Little surprise. With Nevara in London, his grandmother would not be far away. When had they both arrived? And why had his abuela not told him of her plans? It would have saved him weeks of work shutting down his connections in preparation to move to Wiltshire. Not that he minded. He was, in fact, thrilled to have them both in a place he viewed as home.
With a shake of his head at the vagaries of fate, he set off to collect his curricle from the mews. It was time that he and his grandmother regrouped and set new goals that were more aligned than at cross purpose. With the Rue Alliance on the move, they must decide how to ensure Nevara’s continued safety.
Chapter Two
WITHIN AN HOUR, Mark arrived, brimming with questions, to the address Guapo had transmitted. Why had his grandmother not told him that Nevara had moved to London? Was she aware that their charge was considering going to Spain?
His grandmother’s butler directed him to a scantily furnished drawing room where the austere elderly lady sat on a plain sofa. She was of the old-world belief that wealth could tempt the spoiler, and was best left concealed. Her most treasured pieces of furniture were no doubt hidden upstairs.
Today, she was garbed in a Spanish gown in her favorite color, black. Not simply because she was in mourning, which they both were, but in honor of Spain’s favorite color. Her dyed black hair was braided and affixed on top of her head. From a tortoise-shell comb tucked over the knot, a black gauzy mantilla cascaded down her back and across her shoulders. Two distinct black curls of hair were artfully draped to lie flat across her pale cheeks, finishing off her ensemble.
Guapo paced along the fireplace mantle, stopping every once in a while to offer Mark a one-eyed glare. Although his grandmother had successfully rescued Guapo from a hawk when he had been just a chick, she had not been able to save her familiar’s right eye.
Mark had always sympathized with the crow’s skewed view of the world, though more often than not, Guapo sided with his mistress’s skewed view of Mark’s deficiencies. Mark offered a charming smile and bowed. “Buenas días, Abuela. Welcome to London.”
Not in the least swayed by his good manners, Elisa Juliana Alvaro pointed to a sturdy wooden chair across from her. “Sit.”
He gave up his pretense at civility and slouched into the chair, silently bemoaning its sad lack of cushioning.
“So, you saw the girl, Dimas.”
He ignored her use of his paternal name. He had long ago given up on her ever calling him Mark, his preferred version of his given name of Marco. It was too English for her taste. “Have you taken to having Guapo spy on me, Abuela?”
“Not at all. I have learned, to my pain, that even if you choose to waste your life, I am to have no say in the matter.”
At that, Mark broached his biggest grievance. “Why not tell me you were coming to Town? How long have you been here?”
“Two years.”
“Years?” He sat up. She must have used a shielding spell to hide her presence. Why had Miguel not told him? The pain in his chest, a constant ache since his brother’s death, pulsed harder.
“The day after you left,” his grandmother said, “Nevara visited Miguel and begged him to tell her where you had gone. When he said you had traveled to London, she planned to follow. Her aunt, of course, forbade it. Miguel and I also discouraged her. At sixteen, she was too young for the dangers of this town.”
The news shocked Mark. Nevara had wanted to find him? A tiny flame flared inside his grieving heart, and no matter how fiercely he tried to snuff it out, to tell himself such foolish longings would only make his heartbreak more difficult to bear, the flame burned bright.
“The child had been asking after you since the night you saved her life. Back then, she was young, impressionable, and desperate to be loved, Dimas. Was it any wonder that she developed a tendre for you that day?”
Pleasure, hot and heavy, swept through him, but it was bittersweet. Nevara was not for him. Not while he remained her guardian, or the spell of silence made speaking with her intimately akin to walking through a quagmire. And even if Nevara was still infatuated with him, these past three years had allowed Mark to come to peace with his boundaries.
“Shortly after her aunt died of consumption,” his grandmother continued, “I assisted Nevara to procure a position with the local library. Even then, I believe she was squirrelling away money to help her move to London, for she rarely spent a farthing on food or clothing. She was all skin and bones once more. Her aunt might as well have been alive and starving her again.”
Mark sat back, stunned to hear this news. “You never mentioned any of this in your letters.”
“Miguel discouraged me. He said you finally seemed to have found friends and a sense of peace. He was your elder brother, Dimas, and he always looked out for you. He wanted you to be happy. In any case, a few months later,” his grandmother continued, “Nevara told Miguel that a lady had offered her a good position. A woman by the name of Beaumont.”
Mark reared at that news. So, that was how the gypsies had reeled her in. How had Mrs. Beaumont, who had begun to gather the scattered Spanish gypsies together about that time, known of Nevara’s existence? “How did they meet?”
“The lady was visiting our village and had heard talk of Nevara’s interest in books. Mrs. Beaumont was apparently looking for someone to catalogue her collection of texts and offered Nevara the job. The moment our child discovered the position would be in London, she was determined to accept.”
“And you let her?”
“Miguel checked into her background. Mrs. Beaumont seemed innocuous enough. She had traveled widely in Europe. As for Nevara, nothing we said could sway her once the opportunity to be near you opened. So I ga
ve her funds to supplement what Mrs. Beaumont advanced her, to make her comfortable on her journey east. Then Miguel and I closed house and followed her to Town.”
“I should have been told.”
His grandmother gave him a resigned look. “You have craved freedom all of your life, Dimas. Your brother wanted you to savor that joy, however misguided, for as long as possible.”
They had lied to him, plain and simple. He jumped up and paced around the room, his thoughts and emotions churning. “So when I wrote to you in Wiltshire for the past two years, you were here?”
“We arranged for your letters to be forwarded,” his grandmother said in a subdued voice.
Lie after lie after lie. Would he never be free of them?
“And then you set Guapo on my trail.” He stopped at the mantle and fingered one of the crow’s wings. Guapo pecked at his finger in response and he jerked back in time to escape a nasty stab from the bad-tempered familiar.
His grandmother gave him an innocent glance that he did not believe for an instant. “I sent Guapo to contact you today because I have urgent news to share, and I wished to stop you from leaving town unnecessarily. But on his way to find you, he witnessed your meeting with Nevara. What do you think of our child?”
“She has grown up.” From the gamine girl he once knew, Nevara Wood had blossomed into a woman with deep, soulful brown eyes and luscious lips that were utterly kissable. Forbidden thoughts for a man who had abandoned her because he was growing too attached. “She appears interested in Spain.”
His grandmother’s sigh was layered with deep-seated regret. “I understand her wish to know her family history, Dimas. Spain is our homeland. I, too, would love to return before my time on this world ends.” She touched her chest. “It is my home.”
There was deep sadness in his abuela’s tone, one he had heard all of his life. His grandmother valued Spain, but even more, she craved a big loving family. With Miguel gone, only Mark was left—a poor substitute for a houseful of grandchildren and aunts and uncles.
It pained him that he could not grant her heart’s desire, but the idea of marrying for the sake of giving his grandmother more family members had never sat well with Mark. Besides, the only woman he wanted, he was forbidden to touch.
“I doubt reminiscing about her past is the reason for Nevara’s interest in Spain,” he said. “She does not know about her ancestors.” Now was the time to inform his grandmother of what he knew of Mrs. Beaumont and her “Rue Alliance.” He gave her a concerned look, wondering how she would react. “I suspect I know why Mrs. Beaumont contacted Nevara. It was not to catalogue her books, Abuela.”
“What do you mean? Tell me what you know.”
“The fallen gypsies are gathering in London.”
“The gypsies?” His grandmother sounded more thoughtful than worried. “And Nevara believes she is one of them? Well, she is, in some ways. Did Miguel know of this?”
“No. He had enough to worry about just looking after Nevara. And if Miguel had known, it might have intensified his urge to break the spell we are under. Not that it mattered in the end. I am certain he engineered his naval assignment to ensure that vessel would go to Spain, just so he could have a chance to track down the descendent of the Spanish witch who cursed us and kill her. Our family’s attempts to do exactly that have failed time and again, but he was certain he could succeed. It was foolish in the extreme, Abuela. His powers were not up to such a task.”
“Your brother had his path to follow,” his grandmother said. “And you have yours.”
To get off that dangerous topic, he said, “I did not realize that Nevara had joined them, however. How could I have missed her presence in London? For two years.”
“Miguel had me place a special concealing spell over her, one designed to cloud your eyes.”
Mark shook his head. “I should have noticed that, too.”
“After you left Wiltshire, you were determined to put our girl out of your thoughts. It was easy to hide her from you because you did not want to find her. It is not wise to deny love, Dimas,” she added in a gentle voice.
So, she had guessed about his feelings in that direction. He could have kicked himself. “You are the one who taught me the folly of getting involved with our charge.”
“Time has shown me that there are limitations to opposing such a powerful emotion. However, you did sense the gypsies gathering,” his grandmother added in a satisfied voice. “Our hunter magic is strong in you.”
He paced around the room without replying.
She frowned at his silence. “You never shared your suspicions about this alliance with your family, even before you knew Nevara was involved. Why not? This is not the time for secrets, mi amor.”
The endearment was unexpected. His grandmother had not addressed him as “my love” since he was in the nursery.
She observed him with a speculative gaze. “Of course, Nevara must never go to Spain. If she is considering such a rash action, you must stop her.”
The narrowing of her eyes as she studied him made the hairs on his nape stand on end. What was she planning? Whatever it was, he doubted he would approve. With a sigh, he returned to his chair, but chose to stand beside it rather than sit on that hard, wooden, cushion-less seat. “I invited Nevara to a play tonight. I will do my best to squash any lingering hopes she has about traveling to the Peninsula then.”
“Good. With Miguel gone, it is time you took up your brother’s role as Nevara’s protector.”
Though he had already come to that conclusion, Mark’s back stiffened in protest. “If you are searching for his replacement, do not turn to me. I am nothing like Miguel.”
His grandmother raised her arms in frustration. “Perhaps it is time you tried to become like him then. You waste your life with all this gambling and racing, when you should be practicing your magic. How will you adequately protect our girl if you are not ready? You have refused to seek a familiar, and the family spell books and tools are wasting away in your attic.”
It was an old argument that had raged between himself and his family all of his life and grew more tedious with each repetition. “Miguel never bonded with a familiar.”
“Not for want of trying. You, on the other hand, speak to Guapo with ease, something Miguel could never do. It is a good sign the Huntsman blood is strong in you. Accept your destiny.”
“Abuela, for three centuries, our enemy has allowed us to remain in this land in peace. Trouble only occurs when we return to Spain to confront the witch. Miguel would still be alive if he had kept his feet planted on English soil, as would have our father and grandfather.”
He slashed his arm to indicate enough and strode toward the door. A flick of his wrist and a wind blew the door open before he reached it. Why did he even bother arguing with her? He was weary of burying family members. Not that there were many left. . . .
“You have never understood the importance of being ready to protect our charge.” His grandmother’s shouted words followed him to the drawing room door. “What if the fight finds us on this safe harbor you love? I am too old to defend our girl. You are the last Alvaro man. You must be ready to do your duty. Instead, you would be busy pursuing one useless entertainment after another.”
At the doorway, he turned and bowed. “As you say, Abuela, I am free to pursue my ‘useless’ entertainments. Good day.”
“Espera! Wait!” The urgency in her voice halted him. “This time I speak of may already be here, Dimas.”
The words chilled his blood. “What do you mean?”
“My scrying has shown me that the Spanish witch is reaching across the ocean in search of our charge.”
“What could have tipped her off that Nevara is here? How could she even know that a de Rivera descendant still lives?”
The old lady sighed and he
r shoulders wilted as if her long years settled on them. “I do not know. Perhaps Nevara’s plans to return to her homeland initiated this unrest. You must dissuade her from going to Spain and pray that may calm our enemy enough to allow us to live in peace for another generation.”
Mark left his grandmother’s townhouse with his heart beating like a war hammer. If the Spanish witch was seeking Nevara, then disaster indeed nipped at their heels. He retrieved his reins and mounted his curricle, intending to do whatever might be necessary to ensure Nevara Wood never left England.
There would be no more deaths, not on his watch.
NEVARA ENTERED Ravenstock Manor through the servants’ entrance just as Stony, the Jones’s footman, came out of the kitchen. Before she could escape to her room to digest this morning’s events, he called out, “Miss Wood.”
She paused with one foot on the first stair. Her body was quaking with excitement. After three long years of separation, she had seen Mark and he had asked her on an outing!
Calm yourself! She bit her bottom lip until the pain threaded its way into her muddled thoughts and hushed them.
“Sir Phillip and Lady Roselyn wish to speak to you,” Stony said from behind her.
“I shall be down directly, Stony.” There, now she sounded like the calm, sensible librarian of Ravenstock Manor.
“Yes, miss.”
She marched upstairs to her bedroom, shut the door and leaned against it. Her legs finally gave way and she slid to the floor in a puddle of happiness. During the years she had lived in Wiltshire, she had only caught glimpses of the divine Mark Dimas Alvaro—a young gentleman whose sensual voice made her body quiver.
She had spent days, weeks, years, indulging in silly daydreams in which her tall, debonair neighbor would come to call on her. But they had been just that, dreams. Now her stomach went queasy at the thought of accompanying him to a play.
A Perfect Curse Page 3