Dangerous Magic

by Alix Rickloff

  Derek Fleming gave a short, dry laugh. “My affection for Rafe? You mistake the matter greatly if you think I hold anything more in my heart for my brother than disgust and loathing. He dragged this family’s name through the gutter and when it was over never even had the courage to face us.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “He slithered away like the criminal they all claimed he was.”

  Recalling the wreckage that was Rafe’s back, Gwenyth’s own anger mounted. “He crept away like a beaten animal after everyone he’d loved turned their backs upon him. It was you who abandoned him, sir. Do not salve your conscience by imagining otherwise.”

  In one swift motion, Derek straightened. His face, a grimace of fury. “I wanted to believe in his innocence. I insisted Rafe could never have attacked his captain or instigated a mutiny aboard Ancamna. I swore his innocence to anyone who would listen. How was I repaid? Not a word of explanation, nor even a note letting me know he still lived.” He took a step toward her. “I searched for him for over three years. I sailed into every stinking, evil port from Southampton to the eastern edges of the Mediterranean. Had he vanished in a puff of smoke, he couldn’t have disappeared more thoroughly.”

  “Did you but look in a fishing village in Cornwall, you would have saved both yourself and your brother much anguish.”

  Derek ran a savage hand down his face. “I’ll make it up to him. I’ll save him from his own folly. He’ll thank me later.”

  Gwenyth saw the intent in his eyes just before he lunged. He reached out to grab her wrist, but she threw herself out of his grasp. Whirling around, she tore back up the path, never looking back, never faltering despite the uneven, rooted path beneath her feet. No footsteps pounded up behind her, no shout of anger or gasp of labored breath.

  She left the path and dashed across the lawn, her nightgown trailing in the wet grass. Scampering up the steps, she entered the sleeping house. A single lit sconce threw wild shadows up the main staircase. Gwenyth cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but nothing stirred the serenity of the park. Derek hadn’t followed her.

  A stitch in her side, she held a hand to her ribs as she scrambled up the steps and down the corridor to her bedchamber. At this point, she didn’t care who heard her, but she need not have worried. The dark hallway remained quiet. The assembly had exhausted everyone.

  Slipping into her bedchamber, she turned the lock before leaning back against the door’s inlaid panels, closing her eyes in relief. Her heart’s wild, fluttery beating slowed, though her hands, pressed palm-down on the door, still trembled.

  The bed creaked, and a voice broke the silence. “Where the devil have you been?”

  Chapter 20

  Gwenyth’s eyes flashed open, a shocked breath clogging her throat. Rafe sat upon the bed. His hand rested upon a narrow box wrapped in brown paper.

  When she didn’t speak right away, he swung his legs off the bed and stood. “Gwenyth?”

  “You gave me a start.” She answered his unspoken question with a dismissive toss of her head. “I’d not expected you tonight.”

  His brows drew down into a puzzled frown as he weighed her appearance. “Were you outside?”

  Gwenyth looked down. Her dressing gown gaped open where the ribbons had come loose or been torn off altogether, and the muddied damp hem of her nightgown clung to her ankles.

  She couldn’t deny her whereabouts, but she hesitated to reveal Derek’s part in it. Had he meant her harm when he grabbed her? He may have meant to merely frighten her. But would Rafe believe that? After tonight’s confrontation between the two men, she’d no idea how Rafe might react.

  “Mmm, yes.” She stumbled over her words. “That is, I couldn’t help myself. Too much excitement kept me awake. I thought a stroll would calm my nerves and help me sleep.”

  There. She sounded like an empty-headed simpleton, but so she must if she wanted to escape Rafe’s scrutiny. “If I’d known you were up, I’d have waited for you.” Running a finger up his lapel, she offered him a playful smile. “We could have enjoyed the evening together.” She tried to act flirtatious, but only felt like an idiot. Coy was not her strong suit.

  Drained of power as she was, she still felt his thoughts reach out in wild and unlearned ways to try and touch her—understand her. She doubted he knew what he did, so unskilled were the tenuous threads of his mind, but her own mind snapped shut in response, an instant reflex to such a probing. No matter how her body reacted, her thoughts were still her own.

  He caught her arm in a firm grip as he stared down at her. “You’re breathing as if you’ve taken fright. Did something happen?”

  Gwenyth shifted her eyes to the open collar of his shirt, noting the leaping pulse at the base of his throat. Her own breathing quickened. “I’ve told you not to force your gaze upon me. I’m weak from scrying and couldn’t hold the power in check even if I tried.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll let you go.”

  She forced her voice to remain calm. “’Tis the forest,” she lied. “It crouches round Bodliam like a beast. Its great age and great power weigh heavy upon me tonight.”

  She hated deceiving him with such a story. But she wouldn’t allow a further break between two brothers over a ridiculous falsehood. Not when Derek’s actions spoke of a desire to heal the breach between them—even if his words didn’t.

  Rafe eyed her with suspicion. “It’s not bothered you before.”

  Gwenyth shrugged in an offhand manner, “Fatigue and the deep use of the Sight let loose in me wild imaginings.”

  Rafe didn’t press her with questions, but seemed to accept her story. He released her, swinging around to scoop the box up from the bed, handing it to her with a shy smile of anticipation. “Open it.”

  Heart fluttering in her chest, skin ablaze at the closeness of his body, she tried to focus on the box, examining it gingerly before tearing at a corner of the wrapping.

  “You’re not one of those people are you?” Rafe asked with impatience. “Rip it open, for heaven’s sake, or we’ll be here all night.”

  Gwenyth ventured a sly sidelong glance. “I was thinking that was the idea. Or is this just a way-stop?”

  He laughed. “I can tell you for certain that if I intend on remaining here all night it won’t be to watch you open a blasted package as if it held an unexploded shell.”

  He grabbed the box back from Gwenyth and ripped the paper from it, revealing a slender jeweler’s case. Pulling the lid off, he shoved it back into her hands. “There. That’s how present opening is done.”

  Set within the satin-lined box lay a necklace of pearl white coral offset every inch or so by a simple gold bead. Gwenyth drew it out of the box, holding it up to catch the light. “It’s a beautiful piece of finery.” Warily, she eyed him. “But why on earth would you be giving me such a thing?”

  Rafe gave a careless shrug. “Why not? You’re my betrothed.” He shot her a sharp look as if she might dispute him. “You’ve got no ring upon your finger. I would have given it to you tonight, but events conspired to throw it from my mind.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I remembered it after I returned home. I came to give it to you.”

  He took the necklace from Gwenyth to step behind her. She was all too aware of his powerful arms circling her shoulders as he placed it around her neck. Of his fingers brushing against her as he fastened the clasp.

  She closed her eyes as the touch of his hands was replaced by the touch of his lips, soft and warm upon her throat. Drawing upon the remembered image of Anabel, still glowing from her assignation with Rafe, Gwenyth forced herself to acknowledge that he came to her tonight only because of their bargain. She must do her best to match his easy separation of mind and body. But his nearness conquered her resolve. The heat of his body sparked an answering fire within her. A delicious shiver weakened her limbs as he slid her dressing gown from her shoulders and teased the ties of her nightgown apart.

  As Rafe’s hands dropped to stroke the line of her ribs, his tong
ue grazing her earlobe, Gwenyth felt an inner vision shimmer into focus.

  The child danced; her arms high over her head in exuberant joy. Beneath a wild cloud of dark hair, she tilted her head back in happy laughter. Behind her stood the form of a man. His face lost in the shadows, he gazed long at the child, before drawing back and fading into the edges of her vision.

  Soon now, my love, Gwenyth promised the dream-child. I will not fail you. I will have my fill of him and go. And you and I shall be content. Alone. She clenched her jaw in determined defiance. It’s the way it must be.

  Rafe felt the exact moment when Gwenyth’s desire altered and became simply a means to an end. As he settled her down upon the bed and drew off his clothes, her gaze grew veiled, and she turned her face into the pillow. It was for only a moment, but when she turned back, the smoldering fire burning in the gray deep of her eyes had vanished. Her kisses, though more than enough to elicit a response in him, lacked their former passion. Her body, supple as a bow as it curved against him, seemed to tense. Small changes, barely noticeable, but he knew Gwenyth’s moods and manners.

  In the weeks since May Day’s tryst within Goninan’s haunted gardens, Rafe was certain he’d breached Gwenyth’s guarded heart. The days they spent in conversation and the nights filled with passion wore at her resistance. She closed herself off from love due to a dream—a vision of the future. But was it the future or only a future? A possible outcome, but not necessarily the only one?

  His hand skimmed the sensuous curve of her hip, traced the line of her ribs. She shivered, snuggling against him. He buried his face in her neck, teasing her with a quick flick of his tongue at her ear before he dropped lower, trailing kisses as he moved down to the hollow between her breasts, feeling the smooth warmth of the coral against his cheek. Damning the voice that told him he was mad for pursuing Gwenyth even as he sought a bride among his own kind, he’d presented her with the necklace. And she’d accepted it. He’d been unsure until the moment he’d placed it around her neck whether she would receive it or throw it in his face.

  He pressed a kiss upon her warm lips, refusing to allow her space for hesitation. He’d give her no time for second thoughts. She thought too bloody much if you asked him.

  Even as she relaxed, he swept her onward, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue until she opened to him. Taking her mouth with a greedy savagery that didn’t stand for half-measures. She would need him as much as he was needing her. She would cry out for a release only he could give.

  And it worked. Her fingers ran through his hair as she answered his urging. Her mouth was hot, the plunging swoop of her tongue igniting a fire that swept straight to his center. She arched against him, rocking in a take-me rhythm that spiraled him dangerously close to the edge.

  Lost in his body’s response to her allure, he forgot why he cared about Gwenyth’s phantom love. Right now, she belonged to him.

  Casting aside his concerns, Rafe focused all his passion upon Gwenyth’s seduction, hoping by sheer force of will to make her surrender. With his knee, he spread her legs, sliding into her. She writhed beneath, driving him on. But he fought the temptation. Instead, he remained perfectly still. She squirmed, but he clenched his teeth and held quiet. Then with agonizing patience, he withdrew only to plunge deep again. Each stroke, each rock of their hips wound them tighter. But he kept to the steady rhythm, sensing Gwenyth’s growing desire in her shallow panting breaths, her low pleading whimpers.

  He groaned at the exquisite pleasure-pain of their joining, his body no longer completely his own. Bliss washed through him, bringing him closer and closer toward his own surrender. His lips savored the salty moisture dewing her body. He licked the tight bud of one nipple, closing his mouth around it, sucking and laving until she gasped, a tremor passing through her body. She moaned as he pushed ever deeper into her, her hands exploring the contours of his back, caressing the thick, ridged scars in slow, delicious passes. Their lips met, and he felt rocked by treacherous winds, dragging him into uncharted waters. She cursed his name in a ragged whisper even as she pressed closer, locking her legs around him. He cried out as his body surged toward a climax.

  Beneath him, she shuddered, clutching him as if she would never let him go, a blissful moan escaping her lips.

  Her actions spoke of unchained emotion, but he knew, even now, she kept a part of her closed off from the rapture of their joining. A part that would remain forever locked away. She wouldn’t allow anyone that close—ever.

  Why did he care? As his mother pointed out so succinctly, she was not of his world. And if Honoria’s tactless words hadn’t been enough to prove it, Gwenyth had confirmed it when she’d recited the advantages of every woman attending the assembly between the ages of twenty and forty.

  He rolled over, pulling her into his embrace. As she lay in his arms, he caressed her silky skin, still damp from their lovemaking. Glancing down, he watched the edges of her lips curl into a ghost of a smile as she drifted off to sleep.

  He wasn’t fooled. He knew Gwenyth would do what she must, but never for love—only for the child she needed. So why then did he search for a way to free her from her dream’s threat? If there was no room for her in his life, why did it feel as if every kiss between them was a promise and every caress a vow?

  Chapter 21

  Gwenyth sat in company with the Dowager and Sophia. She’d brought her netting this morning and chosen a quiet seat in a recessed alcove overlooking the avenue. She hoped this would allow her to pretend to a courtesy without actually having to engage in conversation.

  It had been two nights since she called on the Sight at the Carrisbridge ball and still she felt queasy and lethargic. By now, she should feel the power growing within her until it sparked along every nerve. But for the first time in her life, the Sight acted in ways foreign and unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Like a trickle of water flowing beneath an ice-covered brook, the Sight rippled below the surface of her skin, but she couldn’t call it forth. It seemed to move now with a will and a purpose of its own. This was nothing, she kept telling herself, a collapse brought on by the intense reading of so many all at once. If she said it enough, perhaps she’d begin to believe it.

  Sophia sat quietly sewing as Honoria lectured her on the items they still needed to procure for the coming child.

  “…And we should order the fabric for two more bedgowns and another frock. I was never caught without four total of everything when my children were small.”

  “Of course, Mother.” Sophia nodded and smiled, answering just enough to make the Dowager think she was hanging upon every word. “We can send an order to Grafton House with Brampton when he leaves next week for London.”

  “He goes to retrieve the accoucheur?” the Dowager asked, frowning. “Not a minute beforetime.”

  “Dr. MacNeil is highly sought,” Sophia answered. “I was lucky to extract his promise to come and reside here with us rather than traveling to London to wait on him.”

  “Hmmmph, a Scot.”

  Sophia answered with an indulgent smile. “They do say Edinburgh boasts the finest medical schools.”

  Another gruff humph was the Dowager’s only answer.

  Gwenyth rested her head against the glass, relieved that Rafe had gone out early this morning with Brampton. She needed quiet to reorder her scattered thoughts. Her body reacted to his presence with humiliating ease. The swooping pull of her stomach when he brushed against her, the way her fingers searched for the soft dark hair at his collar, the aching need he created when he gathered her into his arms or possessed her mouth with urgent, hungry kisses. She needed time alone to bend her body to her will for the days and nights to come.

  The Dowager dropped her teacup into its saucer with a rattle that broke Gwenyth from her thoughts. “I’m glad Brampton accompanied Ranulf to Swiverton Park. I’m sure he hasn’t the first idea of what to ask when it comes to the property.”

  “I’m sure he knows what he’s
about.” Sophia bit off a thread. “It takes a clever man to make a fortune from nothing, particularly without the patronage or connections of family.”

  The Dowager sniffed. “I wish he would be more forthcoming about the years away.” She cast a long appraising look at Gwenyth. “So many questions remain unanswered.”

  “It will take Rafe time to grow comfortable with us,” Sophia replied.

  The Dowager shifted in her chair, fingers tapping upon the arm. The creases around her mouth deepening. “Swiverton Park is not far from the Hilliers’. Perhaps he and Brampton shall stop there for luncheon.” She shot Gwenyth a look of triumph. “If Ranulf can create a fortune without strong patronage, just think how well he would do with Sir Henry’s help. I believe the Hilliers have extensive contacts in the Navy Board.”

  Like a swarm of midges, the Dowager’s comments irritated Gwenyth with their tiny bites and stings. She reached up, fingering the necklace at her throat, as she toyed with confessing to the Dowager the true nature of Rafe’s shipping business. It was a mean-spirited thought, and she berated herself for such petty spite. It wasn’t the older woman’s fault. She worried for her son, and Gwenyth could well understand a mother’s love, and the things it could drive one to do. The cool feel of the coral between her fingers reminded her of that.

  Cecily poked her head around the doorway of the morning room. “Would anyone like to walk into the village?” Her question was directed at them all, but her eyes rested upon Gwenyth.

  Despite the throbbing at her temples, Gwenyth welcomed the chance to escape the confining atmosphere of Bodliam. A brisk walk would blow the cobwebs from her mind and make her forget the growing dread assailing her.

  Cecily spoke few words as they set out across the park. This didn’t bother Gwenyth. She was simply happy to be away from the strained atmosphere of the house. They strolled side by side as they passed through the gardens and crossed a manicured lawn to come to a gate in an ivy-covered stone wall. Cecily put her shoulder to the gate, forcing it open on groaning, rusty hinges.