The conversation faded and only when Sir Phillip spoke to him twice, did he realize he was being addressed.
“My apologies.” He tore his gaze away from the adorable blush spreading across Nevara’s creamy cheeks and toward the humorous glint in Sir Phillip’s eyes. “What was it you asked, sir?”
The butler entered at that auspicious moment to inform his master that dinner was ready.
“We shall discuss it later,” Sir Phillip said.
At the dinner table, Mark sat beside Nevara, his good humor returning in strength. The first course was presented, and he finally took stock of the other dinner guests. To his left sat Lady Terrance. He nodded, startled to meet her deep mesmerizing violet eyes. Her penetrating gaze made him wonder about the lady’s special talent for speaking with ghosts. Was she truly a spirit-speaker or did she merely play at the game as so many people were beginning to? These days, many in high society seemed to be entertained by the possibility of the supernatural without having an inkling of the danger they courted. His attention, however, soon veered back to the young lady who had unwittingly captured his heart.
“You are quiet tonight, Nevara,” he said.
“I am sorry if I have neglected your company,” she said in a soft yet firm tone. “I have had a rather eventful few days.”
Did he imagine it or were those icy particles in her chocolate gaze?
“I had a visitor this morning,” she said. “Your friend, Mr. Preston.”
Worry spread tentacles, constricting his chest. He had had dinner with John and Mary last night. Both of them had been unusually quiet, allowing young Ariel to hold court. The child carried on about some story or other her grandfather planned to purchase for her. There had been no mention of Nevara.
“I was not aware that you were acquainted,” he murmured.
“Were you not?” Now he definitely sensed the chill in her tone. “I went to see him the other day on your recommendation, as a reputable publisher of children’s books.”
“Did you?”
“Mr. Alvaro,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.
He glanced up and found everyone looking at him.
Sir Phillip spoke then, wearing a teasing grin. “Has Miss Wood distracted you from us again?”
“Mrs. Weatheringham was telling us about her granddaughter,” Lady Terrance said, taking pity on him. “It seems her granddaughter Hope has made an amazing recovery.”
“Your granddaughter was ill?” Mark asked. “My sympathies. I am pleased to hear she is feeling better.” He was grateful for the distraction. It gave him time to think. Why had John come to meet Nevara?
“Thanks to Miss Wood,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “my granddaughter seems on a path to recovery.”
“Nevara?” he said in surprise.
“Yes. Her story appears to have soothed all of Hope’s concerns,” Lady Roselyn said.
He sent Nevara a curious look. “I am pleased for your granddaughter’s recovery, but I fail to understand how a simple story could assist with an illness.”
“It was an emotional ailment,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “Hope was plagued by fears.”
“Nevara’s story was about a heroic Scorpion named Leron,” Sir Phillip said.
Leron? That name sounded familiar. Where had he heard it? He shrugged, dismissing the faint memory and glanced at Nevara, wondering what was upsetting her. She was certainly out of sorts.
“We have all heard Hope repeat the tale enough times to have it memorized,” Sir Phillip said with a tolerant smile.
“I would love to hear such a gem of a story.” Lady Terrance said in encouragement. “I know a few children on our estate in Cheshire who would love a good tale.”
Sir Phillip obliged her, with many interruptions and augmentation from Lady Roselyn and Mrs. Weatheringham. Mark listened, absently at first, then with startled interest.
Could this be the same story that Nevara had attempted to sell to John Preston? One in which a character felt cursed. Hope had listened to the story, and her fears had dissolved. The tale would not have had the same effect on Nevara, for her beliefs were too ingrained from childhood. She was a prime example of what might have become of Hope, if not for Nevara’s intervention.
All of her life, Cora Wood had dripped poison into Nevara’s ears that her talent made her abnormal. Thanks to her aunt, Nevara must have felt exactly like this scorpion, unloved and seeking redemption. Only, unlike Leron, she had been unable to find peace and forgiveness within herself, and he had callously asked John to lose her precious creation.
The delicious venison pasty and red wine he had consumed roiled in his stomach. How could he have been so heartless? She had admitted that she could never marry, and he had dismissed her words as if they were immaterial. Then he recalled his grandmother’s wish that he propose to Nevara, and a new plan began to form as a way he could make it up to her. Before he could act on that idea, he must first discover what John had told her.
“Nevara, what did John Preston come to see you about?” he asked.
Her beautiful lips remained clamped shut. Suddenly, he recalled where he had heard the name, Leron. Ariel had been going on about it last night. Apprehension settled in his chest.
“I see the topic of this dinner conversation has turned,” Sir Phillip said. “May we all join in?”
“Pray, do so.” Mark needed help to dissuade Nevara from this foolish course. “You might succeed where I have failed.”
“Let us be clear in our dealings, Mr. Alvaro,” Lady Roselyn said and then glanced at her husband.
“We had hoped to wait until after dinner for this discussion.” Sir Phillip pushed his plate away and sat back. “However, now that it has been brought up, we might as well continue.”
“We would like to know why you are averse to Miss Wood traveling to Spain,” Lady Roselyn said.
“I have little liking for that country.”
“Is it not your homeland?” Mrs. Weatheringham asked.
“England is my home, and I want it to be Nevara’s.”
“Why?” Nevara asked, turning to him. “You never paid any attention to me or my activities before. Why now?”
Lady Roselyn gave Mark a kind look before addressing Nevara. “He mentioned to Sir Phillip that he wishes to court you, my dear.”
“Court me?” Nevara sounded shocked.
Mark cringed. He had only said that because Sir Phillip had been grilling him about his intentions, and though he had had no intention of offering for her then, the idea was vastly appealing now. He wanted to marry Nevara because he loved her, not simply because he wished to protect her or because his grandmother wanted great-grandchildren. Would she believe him? That depended on what John had told her today.
Chapter Seven
NEVARA’S FORK slipped out of her nerveless hand and clattered against her china plate. She did not know what to say. All of Mark’s sudden attention, the invitation to the theatre, the walk in Hyde Park, it all suddenly made sense. Eyes widening in shock, she faced him. Her dearest wish was about to come true. “Is that so, Mark? Do you wish to court me?”
Mark laid his fork carefully on the side of his plate but did not meet her gaze. “I had asked for Sir Phillip’s permission to do so, yes.”
“Why?”
His gaze was gentle when he finally looked at her. “Nevara, any man would be proud to have you for his wife.”
“That is debatable, sir,” she said in what she hoped was a calm reasonable voice. Her cheeks suffused with heat, and she lifted her head to rein in her high spirits before they galloped away with her. “You have never before shown any particular affection toward me. So, forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you are suddenly enamored.”
He clasped her fingers with his warm ones. “I have cared for you all my life.”
The bleak days, months and years of his desertion shuddered like gates fighting their bolts. “Yet, you spent the last three years avoiding me.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Do they involve Spain?” Sir Phillip asked.
Mark glared at her employer.
Nevara wished he would answer the question. Did Spain have anything to do with Mark wanting to court her? Or, by some miracle, did he truly love her?
“We believe you know more about Nevara and her connection to Spain than you have thus far disclosed,” Lady Roselyn said. “Will you confide in us?”
The question seemed to unsettle Mark. His expression closed, and her delicate dreams trembled with fear.
Mark stood. “I have known Nevara my whole life, and I believe she will make me an admirable wife.” He held out his hand and she took it, wanting to hold on to her hopes.
He raised her up and turned her to face him, forcing the other gentlemen in the room to also rise.
Mark displayed a lopsided grin that melted her insides. “Nevara Wood. Will you forget your foolish ideas of traveling to Spain and marry me? You shall not want for anything.” He kissed each of her hands. “Our union would make my grandmother very happy, too. I promise to protect and care for you and our children for the rest of my days.”
Nevara’s hands tingled, the sensation racing up her arms and befuddling her thinking. For so long, she had dreamed that he would one day say such sweet and tender words to her. Mark did want to marry her. To keep her safe.
He also wanted her to give up her plans for Spain, to relinquish her intention to cure the Rue Alliance and herself of their curse.
He made her fears seem foolish and unnecessary compared to the future he was offering. Yet, he only spoke of wanting to protect her. Not one word had he said about love. She stepped back, withdrawing from his touch.
Aunt Cora had insisted that Nevara could never be loved as long as she was cursed. Being loved was all she wanted.
Mark had loved his brother. With this proposal, was he carrying on his brother’s work of looking out for her? She could well imagine him doing so. He was an honorable gentleman. Yet, she wanted more. She wanted to be passionately cherished, to be his first and last thought each day, but most of all, she wanted to be worthy of such an all-consuming devotion. Of his love. “Mark, you asked me earlier why Mr. Preston came here today.”
His mouth formed an angry line.
Despite that warning, Nevara pressed through. She must make him see that she was self-sufficient. His protection was not required. Besides, Sir Phillip had discovered that a de Rivera family resided in Seville. That information had sealed her fate. “Your friend agreed to pay me for my story and for two others.” She glanced at him, her hopes riding on his response. “I have enough to cover my expenses, so I am going to Spain.”
ANGER ERUPTED inside Mark at Nevara for steadfastly marching into danger as Miguel had, and at John for letting him down, and even more, at himself, for failing to protect his charge. Something else churned inside him as well, gnawing at his heart. He glared at Sir Phillip. “You cannot allow her to do this!”
“Miss Wood may be in my employ, sir, but she is not a slave. She has a strong mind and free will to do as she wishes. Having known her, you must realize this yourself. However, I do not care for the idea of her traveling alone.”
“Good!” Relief coursed through him. Without Sir Phillip’s protection, Nevara surely could not leave England. “So she must remain here.” He gave Nevara a hard look.
“I cannot accompany her,” Sir Phillip said, “so, I have asked my cousin to do so.”
The news slammed into Mark with the force of a tornado.
Lord Terrance nodded his confirmation. “And I have agreed.”
Mark turned his attention to the earl’s wife. “Can you not sense that Spain is dangerous to her? Surely, you would not allow your husband to take her there?”
The young countess also stood to face him. “I understand your worry, Mr. Alvaro, more clearly than you realize, but you must see that your Miss Wood intends to go, whatever we say. As such, I believe she will have need of my husband’s protection.” She glanced at Lord Terrance. “And mine.”
There was no talking with these foolish people. They had no intention of stopping Nevara from taking this trip. She stood with her head bent, as if waiting for him to vent his ire, yet was still unwilling to back down. Then he realized what ate away at his heart. Nevara had not accepted his proposal.
He had not simply wanted to protect her. He had wanted a chance to love her. Now that chance was lost forever. The shock of his loss staggered him. He needed to think, to consider the repercussions of her decision. Unable to even look at her, he bid his hosts goodbye.
Stony waited by the front entrance and held out Mark’s outerwear as if he had been expecting him to leave early.
Mark put his arm in the wrong sleeve. “Damnation!”
Stony helped him correct his mistake.
“You are all going to allow her to die.”
The footman silently held out Mark’s hat.
He snatched it up and shoved it over his head. “You do not realize what you have set in motion.”
“The master is a canny one. He will see Miss Wood is safe. Best you stay out of it, sir.”
The footman opened the front door for him and held out Mark’s staff.
Refraining from further comment, Mark grabbed it and stormed out.
The night was dark and clear. He drove his curricle under sparkling stars. His fury was a better companion than the crushing pain in his heart, so he allowed it to grow hotter with each passing street. He blamed not only Nevara for her folly, but her friends and his. Why could they not have left well enough alone?
His impromptu proposal had been an abysmal failure, as was his strategy to keep her from acquiring funds. Now that she had convinced an earl and his wife to accompany her, there would be no stopping her. He must come up with a new plan or she would surely die. Just as Miguel had.
At his townhouse, he gave the reins to his tiger, instructing him to retire. Guapo was on the front steps, standing on one leg, his head tucked on his back and listing on one side. His grandmother must have sent the bird to learn of Mark’s evening with the lost gypsies.
Mark peered at the comatose bird. The noise of the carriage had not woken his grandmother’s familiar. He knelt and poked the bird’s soft feathery side to see if it was still alive.
Guapo sat up with a startled squawk. He fluttered his wings and gave Mark a sound scolding for waking him.
Normally, Mark would have been amused. Not tonight. “Tell my grandmother that Nevara is going to Spain.”
Guapo immediately took off on his lopsided flight.
Mark entered his home and gave his hat and cloak to his butler, Denton.
“Sir?” Denton said.
“What?”
“The chest you requested to be brought down from the attic is now in the drawing room, sir.”
What chest? Then his heart did a skip as he recalled his order. After Nevara was attacked at Hyde Park, he had asked Denton to bring his brother’s chest downstairs, the one where Miguel had stored all his magical paraphernalia. As the last of the Alvaro men and with the Spanish witch on Nevara’s trail, it was time he took up his family calling.
He dismissed Denton, saying he would light his own candles and entered the dark drawing room. Mark poured a glass of brandy more by memory than sight, and then slumped into his favorite chair to stare morosely into the darkness.
As his eyes adjusted and shadows took shape, he surveyed his favorite room. It was decorated solely to suit a single gentleman’s tastes. It had chairs that were large and sturdy. A tall cabinet was stocked with port and brandy to ensure he never went thirsty and was am
ply supplied to entertain friends who dropped by with little notice. A card table was prominent by the far window. Musical instruments, tea tables or delicate furniture were banned from his sanctuary.
With a heavy sigh, Mark pointed his staff at the hearth. “Light.” A spark flew from his staff to the kindling and a fire erupted there, catching the coal. Waves of heat soon warmed him. A snap of his fingers and candles lit the room, painting the sparse, utilitarian mahogany furniture and the mantle’s polished paneling with a gentle glow.
He wanted to do something, anything, but he could not think of a single way to keep Nevara safe if she was set on traveling to Spain. What he wanted was the impossible. Until Nevara found her answers, she was determined to court danger, exactly as Miguel had. His chest constricted. This was his curse. While everyone he loved died, he continued to live.
He walked over to Miguel’s chest and knelt before it. He skimmed the lid and Miguel’s spell of protection vibrated beneath his palm. He recognized his brother’s energy signature, and tears wet his eyes. The latent power was as real as the worn leather covering. He traced the line of magic to the lock. With a forceful tap, he broke the spell.
A deep sadness settled as he realized he was about to follow in his big brother’s footsteps—not only in taking up his magical calling, but in traveling to Spain to kill their enemy.
His decision to go had been inevitable. The moment Nevara had told him that she had found a way to reach that foreign shoreline, his fate was sealed. It was just as well. If he was going to magically defend Nevara during her sea journey, he would need to learn how to do it properly, and what better way than by taking up Miguel’s studies?
After Miguel died, Mark wanted nothing to do with his brother’s things, not to smell his fading scent, feel his lingering warmth, or remember his passion for the craft of magic. That was why he had left these things in the attic. As long as they resided up there, he could pretend he had not lost his brother.
The chest’s lid was creased and crackled from years of service. He sat cross-legged on the carpet and reverently touched the worn leather. Where Mark had shrugged off his special abilities, Miguel had studied, practiced and pored over tomes. He spent hours memorizing the slightest intonation to a spell. He had been steadfastly loyal to his family and to Nevara and had been fiercely determined to end the curse.
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