She sank into the steaming water and shut her eyes, though she could not block out the storm in Mark’s gaze when she admitted that she had not abandoned her travel plans.
In her mind’s eyes, she replaced his frowning face with the smiles he had offered her this morning and the kiss they had shared in the park. Her imagination ran wild reliving that event in delightful detail. There would be no more kisses until she could rid herself of her curse. It was heartening, though, to realize that Mark was attracted to her.
He just did not understand the gravity of her current situation. If she did not go to Spain, there could be no future for them. What happened by the lake this morning proved that more clearly than all of her aunt’s punishments.
Nevara suddenly remembered what Lady Terrance had warned her about yesterday, that an evil awaited her in Spain. Well, apparently, it had come to London in search of her.
Just before she was pulled into the water, Nevara had sensed the devil’s presence. All around her, silky darkness had descended, and the scenery changed from vibrant autumnal colors to black, as if night had descended, leaving only a few sparkling stars enveloping Mark. Then a tentacle wrapped around her midriff and dragged her into the water.
In the midst of her panic, she had fought with whatever held her prisoner and squeezed out the last bit of air in her lungs. She was losing that fight when Mark’s hand encircled her waist and like an avenging angel, he had pulled her free. She shivered. If not for him, she would have drowned inside that murky lake, held down by the possessed weeds, never to be found.
She was not sure how he had managed to free her, since that cord had held her with a death’s grip, but she was enormously grateful to him for saving her life.
The terrifying experience had made one thing crystal clear—her Aunt Cora was right. There was an evil stalking her. If she wanted a future with Mark, she would have to confront it and break its back.
So, if this evil resided in Spain, then come hell or high water, that was where she would go. What point was there in remaining in London, waiting for it to attack her again? But to get to Spain, she still needed funds.
Hannah returned with bread and soup and placed it on a tray beside the hearth. Then she started to pick up Nevara’s wet clothing.
“Hannah.”
“Yes, miss?”
“Please inform Sir Phillip and Lady Roselyn that I must speak to them about an important matter this evening.”
“Is it to do with your accident?”
“Yes, Hannah. Yes, it is about my accident.”
The maid nodded and left, looking gravely concerned.
After the girl softly closed the door, Nevara used a washcloth and determinedly scrubbed her dirt-smeared body clean. When she reached her midriff, she cringed, for it hurt where that cord had wrapped itself around her. She quickly finished scrubbing the rest of her until the water was a filthy, muddy brown. Then she stood and stepped out to dry herself. Walking over to the long looking glass, she checked to see what damage her body had sustained.
Red bruising encircled her midriff. She touched the discoloration and cringed as it stung. A shiver of fear sped through her and she hurriedly dressed, not wanting to look at marks that reminded her of her aunt’s whippings.
Her mind soon fled to her most pressing, current worry—her ruined manuscript. She would have to write that story out again. She brought pen, ink, paper and a small table closer to the hearth so her long hair could dry while she worked. Absently, she munched on the bread and sipped the tasty leek soup while she worked. If she finished this soon, she might still have a chance to seek out this John Preston whom Mark had mentioned.
Momentarily, she felt a twinge of guilt for using his friend to achieve what Mark forbade her to do. Then she shrugged aside that faint qualm. Desperate times required desperate measures.
Chapter Five
THE FIRST THING Mark did after leaving Nevara was stop at his grandmother’s townhouse to report the attack. Keeping their charge safe would now be a trickier prospect. For if the Spanish witch was finally aware that there was a living de Rivera descendent—and her attack suggested she might—they would have to take stronger measures to keep Nevara safe.
His grandmother would know what to do. He planned to also request her help in keeping a magical eye on their charge’s activities today while he made a quick call on his friend, John Preston. He was absolutely certain that once Nevara recovered, she would visit his friend’s office to try and sell her story. It was something he was now staunchly opposed to allowing. He should never have mentioned that John was a publisher. He had allowed his wish for her to be happy to overrun his cautious huntsman nature. It was a mistake he intended to quickly rectify.
As it turned out, once his grandmother had ascertained that Nevara was safe, the only thing that seemed to intrigue her was the fact that Mark had been kissing his charge prior to the attack.
His ears were burning by the time he left her home. His grandmother was even more relentless than he was, once she had caught a scent. He feared the light of interest in her eyes had been an indication she was dreaming about having great grandchildren again. Such an outcome was not in Mark’s immediate future, certainly not with Nevara.
His grandmother knew that, but her grief over Miguel’s death had made her less severe, and the knowledge that their family line might die with Mark still unmarried and childless was obviously weighing heavy on her mind.
He finally arrived at John’s offices, looking forward to a rational discussion of his current dilemma with Nevara. However, all John wanted to do was celebrate Mark’s decision to stay in London after all. He kept pestering him to reveal what had changed his mind. Mark strode around the room, restless to get off the beleaguered topic when he glanced out the window and spotted Nevara and her maid walking toward this building.
“What is she doing here?” he muttered, incensed that she would be out and about so soon after this morning’s harrowing experience.
“Who?” John asked, coming over to look out the window too.
“Nevara Wood, the young lady I came to speak to you about. She should be in bed.” Mark had half a mind to go outside and drag her back home.
John was suddenly sporting the same speculative look Mark often saw on his grandmother’s face.
“She fell into the Serpentine today, John,” Mark said. “She should be resting, not gallivanting about town.”
“You care about her.” An elated smile curled John’s lips.
“That is irrelevant,” Mark said. “Now that she is here, what matters is that we must find a way to stall her.” He was torn between being proud of her determination and frustrated by her persistence in achieving her goal. Unlike the shy, retiring young lady he had left behind in Wiltshire, the adult Nevara was more resolute and shrewd. She was certainly harder to manage. He quickly outlined Nevara’s wish to sell John her story and Mark’s wish that John not buy it.
“Call your assistant,” Mark said. When the young man came in, he said to the clerk, “A young lady will be here shortly to see Mr. Preston. Have her remain in the waiting room, but do not mention that I am in here.”
The clerk looked surprised at that odd order, but at John’s nod, he dutifully retreated to the other room.
“What was the point of that?” John asked returning to the window. “She is on her way up the stairs and that door is the only way in or out of my office. She will see you when you leave here.”
Mark glanced around the room. He could cast a spell to disappear from sight, but not without causing suspicion. Striding to the door of a tall wardrobe, he said, “I need a place to hide.”
“Surely you jest?” John abandoned the window to follow him across the room. “You are not a kitchen ladle, Mark. It would take more than a slight of hand to disguise you. And what should I say to her?”
“Anything you want, but do not agree to buy her story.” He opened the door to find it was tiny, cramped and filled with coats. Mark climbed into the limited space and shoved his staff to a far corner.
“I can have my clerk tell her we are not buying anything at present,” John said.
That might be a good idea, but then Mark remembered Nevara’s disappointment when she thought she had ruined her story after her fall in the Serpentine. “She has already had a dreadful day, John. I do not wish to make it worse. Perhaps you could tell her you will consider her work. You can refuse it later, after she has had time to recover from today’s unfortunate events.”
“Mark, I do not understand your behavior.” John frowned at him. “Your rebuffs of the fairer sex who begin to cling too much are normally blunter.” He glanced toward the door leading to his waiting room. “This young lady must mean a great deal to you.”
“She is not a doxy, if that is what you are inferring.” Mark pulled the wardrobe door shut and said through the door, “Treat her with respect, John. She is an innocent.”
John pulled the wardrobe door open again, a mischievous look now crinkling his eyes. “This is a first. A lady who has caught your interest but is not your mistress. Mary and I had begun to lose hope that love would ever claim your heart.”
“Never mind that,” Mark said, irritated. “Do me this one favor and I will let you win our next carriage race.”
He shut the door on John’s astonished look, and no wonder. Mark never gave up a race, not for any reason. It was against the Huntsman’s code to forfeit a chase. But more importantly, Mark considered such behavior unsportsmanlike. And John knew it.
NEVARA ARRIVED on Parker Street in Hannah’s company. Tall gray brick structures lined either side of the street. She quickly learned that Mr. John Preston’s office was situated in a corner building.
“I hope this publisher will buy your story, miss,” Hannah said as they approached the right building. “You are the bravest person I have ever known other than Lady Roselyn. Your plan to travel to foreign lands takes my breath away.”
Soaking in the encouraging nod from Hannah, Nevara squared her shoulders with purpose and knocked on Mr. Preston’s front door.
A smartly dressed maid led them to a waiting room upstairs. There, a clerk requested they wait while he informed his employer of their visit. The clatter and banging of the printing press could be heard through the floorboards. Nevara clenched her hands to keep them from shaking with trepidation.
“It will all work out, miss,” Hannah whispered.
Nevara let out her breath, praying the maid was right.
Soon the clerk returned to inform her that his master would be with her shortly. Before too long, the inner office door opened, and a well-dressed gentleman of middle years stepped out. His searching glance fell on Nevara. He smiled a welcome and introduced himself as Mr. John Preston. His salt and pepper mustache mimicked the hue of his neatly groomed hair. He led her and Hannah into his office.
Nevara silently admired the room’s opulence. A scent of rich leather and the fragrance of pipe smoke hung in the air.
Once she and Hannah were seated on a carved and gilded wooden settee with silk upholstery, Nevara broached the reason for her visit. “My friend, Mr. Mark Alvaro, advised me that you publish children’s stories, sir. I hope that I will be able to convince you to take a look at my work.” She held out her manuscript.
He glanced at the rolled up sheets but did not touch them.
She hesitated, not sure what to do. She glanced nervously at Hannah, who silently shrugged. Nevara was about to withdraw her offer when he accepted the papers, and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was going to look at her story. He untied the blue ribbon and glanced through the sheets, not reading so much as flicking past each one. Nevara held her breath and, beside her, Hannah squeezed her fingers in encouragement.
He put the papers aside. “Tell me how you know Mark.”
“I have known him all my life, sir. He was a childhood friend. Or, I should say, his brother was.”
Mr. Preston sat forward, looking intrigued. “Mark and I are friends, yet he rarely speaks of his brother. You were friends with Miguel Alvaro?”
“Miguel and I were more like brother and sister than friends,” Nevara said. She missed him daily. Even after she moved to London, he came to visit her often, bringing comfits and insisting on taking her to the park.
“I take friendship to heart,” Mr. Preston said in a booming voice, as if he were hoping his clerk could hear him in the next room. “It brings with it not only pleasure but responsibility to care for each other. As such, I am deeply concerned about Mark’s welfare. He is still unmarried.”
Nevara nodded, wondering where this conversation led.
“I, on the other hand, am a happily married man, Miss Wood, and enjoy family life. It has much to commend it, do you agree?”
Nevara glanced at him in amazement, and then comprehension settled like a weight on her shoulders. Could he hold the belief that women should be happy only as a wife and mother and not push themselves into the business world of men? He would be surprised to discover that such a state would suit Nevara very much, at least if the man she could marry was Mark.
“Married life is indeed a happy outcome for most people,” she said cautiously. She glanced at Hannah who was frowning, as if she too was having difficulty following Mr. Preston’s train of thought.
Could this be how men discussed business, in such a loud, roundabout fashion? Perhaps he was unfamiliar with how to speak to females about business matters. If so, Nevara was prepared to humor him, for she needed to stay in his good graces. He must buy her story. Time was running short. The voyage to reach Spain alone could take weeks.
She smiled at him, hoping that would allay his fears.
“I see we are of the same mind,” Mr. Preston continued, still in a voice that would be audible not only to his clerk next door but to the men working the printing presses downstairs. “Good. Good. For getting married does not mean that a man must give up the joys of bachelorhood. For instance, I also like to gamble. I hold my own in a curricle race, though Mark is undisputedly the best hand at that game. I enjoy a good boxing match as much as the next cub. Being married need not end a man’s enjoyment of life. Do you not agree, Miss Wood?”
“My only experience with the changing role of men after marriage, sir, is through observation of my employer.”
Mr. Preston nodded for her to continue.
“Sir Phillip seems pleased with married life. In fact, he seems happier married than unwed.”
“Capital point.” Mr. Preston clapped his hands. “You, Miss Wood, seem a biddable young woman. You would make any man a wonderful wife.”
“Thank you,” Nevara said, a blush heating her cheeks. This discussion was starting to tire her after her traumatic experience this morning. She decided to be blunt. This business was not a passing fancy for her. Her entire life depended on this man agreeing to buy her work. “Pray, do not think that I wish to publish my story in order to avoid marriage, sir. No, no, not at all. In fact, it might surprise you to learn it is my belief that only by earning what I need with this enterprise, will it be possible for me to marry at all.”
“Are you seeking to build yourself a dowry, my dear?” he asked, his tone suddenly softening with compassion. “If so, please understand that not every man requires such a thing before proposing, certainly not Mark. He is quite wealthy in his own right and I know for a fact that he is generous to a fault. Once his heart is involved, money would be immaterial.”
Nevara raised her eyebrows in surprise and mortification. Had this man guessed at her secret love for Mark?
“Though he may not agree,” Mr. Preston continued, “I believe Mark was unhappy even before his brother died.”
&n
bsp; A clatter from beside the bookshelf startled Nevara and even Hannah jumped beside her.
They glanced at the closed door of a tall wardrobe in surprise and then at each other.
“That was my cane.” Mr. Preston drew Nevara’s attention back to their conversation. “I left it leaning there, and it probably fell over.”
She nodded, glad to be discussing something other than Mark Alvaro, but her relief did not last long.
“I believe that it is high time Mark married,” Mr. Preston said, returning to what seemed to be his favorite topic. “I believe it will definitely add to his happiness. I have also tried to convince him that he need not worry that he will become a bore once he weds. Life as a married man can still be enjoyable, but he has thus far resisted my advice.” He gave her a keen look. “Perhaps he will listen to you, Miss Wood?”
“About what, sir?”
“Marriage of course. Is it not time that he wed?”
“To whom?” A chill swept through Nevara. Had she entirely misunderstood this conversation? Was his friend trying to tell her that Mark already loved another woman but was hesitant about offering for her? If so, the last thing she wanted to do was encourage Mark to marry. It was bad enough his grandmother was pushing him in that direction.
“Mr. Preston, whom Mr. Mark Alvaro decides to marry cannot be of concern to me.” She swallowed past that lie, thoroughly rattled by this entire conversation.
Hannah squeezed her hand again as if in sympathy and Nevara felt tears prick her eyes. She took a deep breath to calm herself. She had revealed more than she wanted to about her relationship with Mark, and they were no closer to discussing her story. “Sir, I do not know how we came on to this other topic, but I would like your reaction to my story.”
“Do you not care for Mark?”
“Of course, I do. He is my friend.”
“Is that all? Do you not find him charming? All the ladies of my acquaintance say he is an agreeable companion.”
A Perfect Curse Page 8