“The rest of your family?” Niclas repeated faintly.
Tauron nodded. “Yes, all of them, from what I hear. A special gathering for some purpose of Morcar’s. I’m sure Malachi will be pleased to know of it. Ah, good evening, my lord.” He bowed as Lord Perham joined them.
“Brecmont,” the earl said with pleasure. “You’re looking well. You’ve come to collect my granddaughter for the promised dance, have you? I’m sure she’s been looking forward to it.”
At that moment, the music for the next dance—a waltz—began drifting through the ballroom, and pairs of dancers were taking their places on the floor.
Tauron glanced to where Loris stood, still blocked by the two men.
“I’ve been looking forward to it as well, my lord,” he said, and reached out a gloved hand in Loris’s direction. Both Niclas and Dyfed scowled at it, and Loris had to push mightily at each of them to move forward. Straightening her gown, she set her hand in Tauron’s and let him lead her toward the floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d met a Cadmaran?” Dyfed demanded furiously. “Why didn’t you tell me your grandfather is friends—good friends—with a Cadmaran?”
They were standing on a garden terrace outside Lord and Lady Hamlin’s ballroom, to which Dyfed had dragged Loris the moment her dance with Viscount Brecmont had come to an end.
“I didn’t know he was until this afternoon,” she said. “I was going to tell you and Niclas when we had a more private moment. Didn’t it occur to you that other people were watching your encounter with Tauron? And overhearing what you said?”
“Tauron?” Dyfed’s expression tightened. “You’ve only just met him and you’re calling him by his Christian name?”
She made a sound of exasperation. “Don’t change the subject. You know very well I have difficulty ‘lording’ and ‘ladying’ everyone in Town. It may come easily enough to someone born to such nonsense, but on the docks we weren’t bothered by the social niceties and, I might remind you, we weren’t bothered by them at Tylluan very much, either.”
“I don’t want you near him,” Dyfed stated flatly. “I don’t want you spending time with him or dancing with him or calling him by his Christian name. I promised Kian I’d keep you safe.”
“Then you’d do well to watch your own tongue,” she shot back. “Do you even recall what you said? In front of mere mortals, no less? Asking him if he’d turned anyone into a statue of late and calling him Midas. Not only was it dangerous; it was terribly unkind. He’s not like Morcar Cadmaran. Indeed, he’s not anything at all like any of the Cadmarans you’ve told me about.”
She’d never seen Dyfed look so angry, not even when he was fighting with Kian, and certainly never with her.
“You don’t know anything about him,” Dyfed said, his voice tight. “I know Tauron far better than you do, Loris. Since we were boys. He can be a fine fellow, I grant you that. And more sufferable than the rest of his relatives, for I actually think he has a conscience. He’s always been their black sheep that way, strange as that may sound. But he’s still a Cadmaran.” He bent nearer and looked directly into her eyes. “His powers are dark powers. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing, or what he has done.”
“What has he done, then, that’s so very awful?” she demanded. “Why is he treated so ill by both his family and yours?”
“I believe he’s referring to the deaths I’ve caused. Or murders, as his brother once called them.”
Both Loris and Dyfed turned to see Viscount Brecmont standing not far away, listening.
He closed the French doors he’d so silently exited through, then moved forward. Loris was surprised that they’d not heard his arrival, but the music was loud here—Dyfed had probably chosen it for that very reason, so that they could speak without fear of being heard. But neither of them realized just how loudly they’d been arguing; Tauron had clearly had no trouble hearing them at all.
“Kian apologized for that,” Dyfed said. “Everyone knows you couldn’t be blamed. They were accidents.”
“They didn’t feel like accidents,” Tauron replied. “Not to me. Your brother had the right of it. Others died because of my power and, whether I intended those deaths or not, that feels very much like murder.”
“If they had been,” Dyfed said, scowling at Tauron as he came nearer, “you’d have been cursed. Blood cursed. The Guardians understood that you were too young to control your powers.”
“And what of two years ago?” Tauron asked, coming to a stop directly in front of Loris. He looked at her, his gaze solemn. “When I was a child I didn’t understand my gift. When I was just an infant I turned a household pet—a little dog that my mother adored—into stone. I was too little to know how to turn it back in time to keep it from dying. That was but the first of several ‘accidents,’ but assuredly not the worst. One of my nursemaids soon followed the same fate.”
“Oh no,” Loris murmured, horrified.
Tauron glanced at Dyfed. “I wasn’t allowed to touch anyone after that—neither of my parents, none of my relatives—until I grew older and could begin to learn control. But even then I made mistakes, if I was distracted or ill or overly weary. I could almost always reverse the change in time. But not always. And sometimes it was too late, regardless. One of my schoolmates at Eton was mysteriously found dead one morning. He’d made the mistake of playing a jest on me in the middle of the night, and caught me unawares and half-awake. I turned him back as quickly as I could, but he seemed to have suffered some kind of heart failure. Probably from shock and terror. I don’t know. Morcar removed me from school the next day and sent me home to Caerffill. By the time I was old enough for university, fortunately, I had learned how to avoid making such mistakes, and was allowed to attend Oxford. There were no further incidents.”
“Until two years ago,” Dyfed said.
“Aye,” Tauron agreed, looking at Loris as if he wanted her to understand. “It was at a family gathering at Llew. Some of my younger cousins—just foolish lads—thought it would be amusing to lace my wine with something rather stronger, not understanding that I choose to avoid more powerful spirits for a purpose. They understood quickly enough when one of them ended up a statue.” He paused. When he next spoke it was with greater difficulty. “I was too drunk to change him back.”
“Oh, Tauron,” Loris said, lifting a hand to touch his sleeve. Dyfed’s own hand shot out to stop her before she could make contact.
“His parents were devastated,” Tauron went on. “Of course they would be. And Morcar was angered to have lost a greater wizard. But the rest of my relatives …” His eyes were haunted, filled with pain. “They almost seemed amused. Even the other boys. That’s”—he stopped, looked away for a silent moment before turning back to her—“that’s what Dyfed means when he warns you to be careful of me, Loris. Of any Cadmaran. Because that’s what we are. Evil.”
“But you’re not,” she told him. “No matter what you’ve done. If it weren’t so, the Guardians would have punished you by now with the hope of teaching you otherwise.”
“He’s a Cadmaran, Loris,” Dyfed told her. “He knows what he’s speaking of.” When she looked at him sharply he said, “I don’t blame him for what’s happened. I never have. Kian is a harsher judge, but you know that better than I do. But he’s not alone. Even the Earl of Llew forced Tauron to remain within the confines of his home in Caerffill until he felt it safe to cut him loose. I’d wager anything that’s why he came to Town.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Loris demanded, pulling free of Dyfed’s grip. All she could think of was how desperately lonely and sad Tauron had been. Just as she was lonely. As she knew Kian was. “And you called him King Midas,” she added hotly.
Dyfed made a sound of impatience. “Very well, I was wrong and insulting. I apologize.” He shot a look toward Tauron. “But he’s a Cadmaran, and if you’ll recall, Tylluan is suffering just now because of a Cadmaran—”
At this, Tauron stiffened. �
��It is?” he asked, looking at Loris. “You said nothing of this earlier, when we spoke of your home.” To Dyfed, he said, “And though it’s no business of yours, I was in Town last year for the Season. That you never saw me is no fault of mine. Morcar knew that I was safe in public. He had no reason to force me into isolation even for one year.”
“I don’t care about your past visits to Town,” Dyfed countered tautly. “I don’t care why you’ve come to Town this year. The only thing I do care about is your staying away from Loris. She’s not on your list of potential brides.”
“Dyfed Oliver Arnallt Seymour,” she said angrily, “I will not be told who I can and cannot see. If I wish to maintain an acquaintance with Tauron—with anyone—I will.”
The sound of music died away in the house beyond, signaling the end of another dance.
“No, Loris, you’ll not,” Dyfed stated firmly. “And I don’t care that he’s a friend of Lord Perham’s. You’re not to speak with him after tonight. You’re not to dance with him, go driving with him, be in company with him at your grandfather’s home, or acknowledge him at all.”
“Dyfed,” Tauron said reasonably as Loris made a sound of fury. “I certainly don’t mean Miss McClendon any harm. My only desire is—”
Dyfed sprang at him with unexpected speed, gripping the taller—and much larger—man by the collar and dragging him near.
“I know what your desire is, Brecmont. I’m neither blind, as your cousin is, nor a fool. You’re looking for a wife, and what better wife than one of our sympathetics? Especially one like Loris, who is both beautiful and completely at ease with our kind?”
The French doors opened once more, but those on the terrace paid no mind to the number of interested individuals who were seeking fresh air while there was a break in the music.
“Dyfed!” Loris said sharply, grabbing one arm with both hands to make him let Tauron go.
“He doesn’t deny it, do you, Brecmont? Your goal is to seek a wife, and Loris is the ideal candidate. You even claim a friendship with her grandfather—how very fortunate—so that you can more easily gain privileges that other men could only dream of. Taking her driving in the park, for example, as I understand you did today.”
“Dyfed, stop!” Loris demanded, tugging harder. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
Dyfed ignored her. “He doesn’t deny it, does he?”
“He can’t speak,” she told Dyfed. “He can scarce breathe, you idiot!” She shook him so hard that she thought the material of his coat would tear. “Let him go! Let … him … go!”
“Deny it, then,” Dyfed demanded, releasing his captive.
Tauron smoothed his hands over his coat and strove to collect himself. It was plain to Loris that he could have readily pounded Dyfed into dust if he’d wished, he was so much taller and bigger, but had purposefully allowed himself to be held.
“I don’t deny it,” he said. “It would be an insult to Miss McClendon to do otherwise. I came to London seeking a wife, as all the world seems to know, and she was among the first candidates suggested to me by friends. But this will be no surprise to you, for there are any number of men in Town who have hopes where she’s concerned.”
“Truly?” Loris asked. She’d heard this from Julia previously but thought it ridiculously silly.
“Of course,” he went on, “I’d heard of her and knew who she was, and that her grandfather is my friend only made the connection more desirable. And she was not unaware that he approved a potential union. But I’m not a fool, either, though you think me one. I understand the difficulties such a match would encounter between our families.”
“You’ll never have to worry over that,” Dyfed told him hotly. “Loris is already spoken for. By a Seymour. She’s one of us, and always will be. You can cross her off your list. Permanently.”
“Dyfed,” Loris said, touching his arm.
He ignored her.
“Do you understand me, Brecmont? Because if you don’t, I’ll be happy to find another way to explain it.”
“Dyfed,” Loris said again, and he seemed to hear the warning in her tone.
He looked up—Viscount Brecmont looked, too—to find that they had a large gathering of interested listeners. Niclas was there, and Lord Perham as well. And, standing beside them, the Earl of Graymar, looking thunderously angry.
The scene that took place later that evening in her grandfather’s study wasn’t merely unpleasant, but painfully so.
Loris sat in the far corner of the room, exhausted and furious, wishing that society wasn’t so ridiculously foolish as to make so much of what had been a private disagreement—well, perhaps not so private, as they had been on Lord and Lady Hamlin’s terrace. Still, why should everyone care so much about what the ton thought? Loris didn’t care, and it was her reputation they were discussing, after all. Dyfed, who looked somewhere between regretful and insulted, sat next to her. They had both fallen silent almost immediately after arriving in the room, having been told numerous times by Niclas, Malachi, and Lord Perham to keep quiet.
“I insist upon satisfaction, sir,” her grandfather told Malachi, his voice rising a fraction louder than usual. “That young man has made a spectacle of my granddaughter and destroyed the reputation that has already been so precariously balanced.”
“He’s done no such thing,” Malachi stated, his own voice quite calm, if rather weary. “He made a fact public. What of it? Do you mean to say you have some objection to your granddaughter marrying a Seymour?”
“I object to the manner in which you seem to think you can direct Loris’s life, sir,” said Lord Perham. “I am not insensible to the debt of gratitude I owe you—the entire Seymour family—for rescuing my granddaughter from a life of poverty and misery, but she is my granddaughter, and not a Seymour. I will decide what’s best for Loris.”
“Lord Perham,” Niclas said reasonably, “surely we can come to an understanding without making Loris out to be an object of ownership. She has been a member of our family for ten years. The Seymours have every right to an interest in her welfare, as you do.”
“They do not, sir!” Lord Perham thundered. “If I must I shall bring the law into the matter, and you know as well as I that the tie of blood will decide who has the right to determine Loris’s affairs.”
Malachi rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked, to Loris, not simply tired but irritable and impatient. The Earl of Graymar had reached the end of his tether and was quickly growing weary of having to deal with the troubles of others.
“What do you propose, my lord?” he asked. “What is it that you desire? Apart from the fact that you wish all Seymours to the devil.”
The Earl of Perham drew himself up and considered the matter. Then, more calmly, he said, “I shall take Loris home to Cumberland for the remainder of the Season following her come-out ball. Any further word of an understanding between her and anyone else is to be denied.”
“No!” Loris said loudly, standing.
“Silence, young lady,” Lord Perham demanded. “You’ve done enough this night.”
“I’ll not be silent,” she said, striding forward. “I have a right to decide where I wish to go and in what manner.”
Malachi dropped his hand and looked at her. “And what is it that you want, Loris?”
Lord Perham looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. “This is precisely why she should have nothing to do with the Seymours,” he said furiously. “You have no appreciation for the fact that she doesn’t understand society and the ways of—”
Malachi lifted a hand and Lord Perham froze midsentence. He froze in every way. Even his scolding expression was fixed in place.
“Oh,” Loris said, instantly distressed. “Oh, Malachi, how could you? To my grandfather?”
The Earl of Graymar looked at her with thin patience. “Easily,” he said. “I’ve spent the past two days dealing with my cousin Steffan. You know him well, do you not?”
She nodded. Steffan Seymou
r was a redheaded Seymour, and redheaded Seymours, like Niclas’s infant daughter, tended to be mystics. Steffan was exceptionally gifted; he was also quite troublesome and insisted upon making his living as a highwayman, robbing travelers with the help of his band of wild men. They lived, Loris had been told, in a cluster of caves just inside Wales’s border.
“He and his men were arrested in Herefordshire and I was made to contend with the local squire—who also serves as sheriff—who proved to be a mere mortal of fantastic proportions. And I do not mean in the physical sense. I vow I have never in my life encountered such an astonishing combination of obstinacy and abstractedness. I could write a comedy about the experience and no one would believe it to be anything but complete farce.”
He moved closer, rubbing at the space between his eyes again.
“I am not in the pleasantest of moods. I’m very weary and not terribly happy with Lord Perham. He seems determined to wrest you from us in any manner that he can, and my dear young cousin’s execrable behavior”—he looked at Dyfed, who glared back defiantly—“has only given him further ammunition for doing so.”
“He wants to marry her off to a Cadmaran, Malachi,” Dyfed said furiously. “Only think of it—our Loris an accursed Cadmaran.”
“Be quiet, Dyfed,” Niclas said. “You know very well that Loris is free to marry as she pleases. The unoliaeth doesn’t force her to wed Kian. Or even to love him, for that matter.”
“But not a Cadmaran!” Dyfed exclaimed.
“Aye, even a Cadmaran,” Malachi stated with finality. “And I find it strange that you should be the one to protest so much, Dyfed, considering that you’re so eager to take a dark sorceress as your mate.” Malachi speared his younger relative with such a heated look that Dyfed sat down and fumed in silence.
“However,” Lord Graymar added, turning back to Loris, “I confess that I should do everything in my power to prevent such a thing happening. And so would Morcar. Tauron’s not a bad fellow, for a Cadmaran, but I can’t think Loris would be happy wed to him.”
Touch of Passion Page 25