Charming the Devil (3 page)

“He was seven-and-twenty,” she said. “Born the third day of June in the year of our Lord, 1782. Died on January twenty-first, 1807. He inherited his father’s shipping business five years before. He had no brothers. His sisters were named Edna and Ivadel.”

“Indeed,” Rennet said, and kissed the underside of her wrist. But there was something funny about the way he spoke. Almost as if he were amused.

She winced but held steady, stifling the fear.

“He had fair hair, blue eyes, and stood five feet, nine inches in his stocking feet.”

He kissed the inside of her elbow and glanced up. “I myself am a bit taller then,” he said. “But that’s hardly the true measure of a man, is it?”

“I believe one would have to take his mass into consideration as well,” she said, and glanced about, hoping to God that Madeline was near. Or Ella. Or any of her coven sisters. Anyone to wrest her from this pounding misery.

“I believe we both know what matters to a woman.”

If only that were true.
“Do we?”

He laughed, low and private. “It’s length, not height,” he said, and, stepping up close, pressed his crotch against her thigh.

Terror shot through her, paralyzing her throat. She tried to yank away, but he held her arm.

“Or is it girth that concerns you?”

“Only if it fastens my saddle,” she said, and he laughed.

“A witty minx, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” Her voice sounded breathy. “But I fear I must go now.”

“Go? Don’t be silly. The night is young. Young and beautiful. Like you,” he said, and wrapped an arm about her back.

“Release me.” She tried to jerk back, but a hedge was to her right, the wall behind her.

“Come now, don’t be so standoffish. I understand you might be shy after…” He leaned back, but still held her hips to his. “How long has it been since your husband’s passing?”

“Please—” she began, and he laughed.

“I love it when women beg,” he said. “Try this, ‘deeper Rex. Harder.’”

Terror wafted over her in deep shades of the past. “I’ll be of no use if I’m defiled,” she rasped.

“What?”

“I’ll…” she began, but fragments of reality came drifting back. She was no longer a child. No longer bound. No longer defenseless and scared and used like a weapon to ruin the lives of others. “Release me,” she said again and tried with all her might to inflect her voice with the gruffness Ella could conjure on command. But she did not have that lady’s astounding gifts. Only unpredictable powers of her own.

“Never fear,” he said, and kissed her neck. “I shall make certain it is as pleasant for you as it is for—” he began, but suddenly he was ripped away, torn from her as if a strong wind had taken him.

One minute he was standing before her. The next he was stretched out beside the wall like a tossed caber.

And in his place was Rogan McBain. His eyes struck her like a lance, freezing her to the ground.

He knew the truth! She could see it in his ungodly eyes. He had heard that she suspected him and had come to silence her.

He loomed over her in the darkness, shoulders so broad they shadowed the moonlight, blocked her escape.

Panic sliced her, ripping through her reality, throwing her into turmoil. She reached for the wall, longing for support. She had no wish to harm anyone. No wish, and yet the potted palm flew from the ledge like a launched cannonball.

The clay pot struck the Highlander directly in the face. He staggered backward, but she didn’t wait to see if he’d fall. Didn’t wait to see if he’d follow. Instead, she fled, leaping past him, scrambling like a hunted hare through the pennyroyal and away.

“Y
ou what?”

“You what?”

Lord and Lady Gallo sat very still, watching Faye as if she had suddenly sprouted fangs. They’d remained in the evening finery they had worn to Lady Tell’s, he in his formfitting breeches and cutaway coat, she in the powder blue gown that flattered her comely figure and contrasted nicely with the ivory divan occupying the north wall of the parlor. Beside it, a scrolled hatrack reached toward the ceiling, bearing a trio of frilly chapeaus.

Despite its somewhat unorthodox uses, including mock battles and conjuring spells, it was an extremely elegant room. Still, for a moment, Faye was tempted almost beyond control to hide beneath the delicate Queen Anne chair in which she sat. That, however, might be considered a bit odd for a woman her age. Thus, she straightened her back, cleared her throat, and glanced toward the hearth with the hidden compartment.

Stopping in the doorway to Faye’s left, Sha
leena glanced in, then smirked and entered. Faye refrained from closing her eyes, though the other was sky-clad yet again.

“I struck him with a potted plant,” she said, for the truth was too seductive to be ignored. It drew her, pulled at her, though she managed to refrain from admitting that she had not meant to harm the towering Scot. Failure to control one’s powers was a serious threat to all of Les Chausettes. “A fan palm, I believe.”

“But—” Lord Gallo began.

“Why?” Madeline finished.

Shaleena chuckled.

“I simply…” Faye shot her gaze to Shaleena, then dropped her attention to her hands. The knuckles looked rather pale. “I’m not entirely certain,” she said, and loosened her grip somewhat.

“Not certain.” Lord Gallo’s voice was steady but low, so perhaps Faye only imagined the frustration in it.

“I believed him to be…evil,” Faye said, and indeed, he had seemed to be the very embodiment of Tenning’s threats. He seemed to be Lucifer himself, come to find her once again.

Shaleena smirked as she sauntered nearer. “Better evil than scared out of your wits,” she said.

“Shaleena,” said Lord Gallo.

“I’m not scared,” Faye said, but her voice was faint. Even the least gifted would know she was lying.

“You’re a timid little field mouse who doesn’t—”

“Shaleena.” Gallo said again. He never raised his voice. Indeed, his tone rarely varied, but his warning vibrated through the house. “Leave this room.”

“I’ll not—” Shaleena began, but he stopped her.

“This moment or forever,” he said. There was finality in his tone, firmness in his expression.

Naked and angry, she left.

Faye fiddled with a fold in her skirt. The silence was as heavy as ash. “She does
own
clothes, does she not?”

“Yes,” Madeline said, and let the corner of a smile shine through for a moment.

Lord Gallo muttered something. Faye couldn’t quite decipher it, but it almost sounded like a curse, which was ridiculous, of course, because Lord Gallo did
not
curse. Not when out and about. But not in the privacy of Lavender House either. And that fascinated her. For in her experience, men were often entirely different in private than in public. Tenning had treated her like a coddled child when with others. Like his cherished pet. None knew the atrocities he forced her to perform. Just as none seemed to know of the beast he kept in his employ. Lucifer, he called him. Lucifer would come for her if she did not obey, if she did not garner the secrets he wished to know of others.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked softly, but he stood and turned away.

“Perhaps we should return to the business at hand,” Madeline suggested, not glancing at her husband.

Faye stopped her fiddling and forced herself to sit still.

“Maybe you could explain to us why you felt the need to strike Lord McBain with a potted palm.”

“As I’ve said, I believed him to be evil.”

Lord Gallo lifted the teapot from its place on the sideboard, freshened his wife’s cup, then seated himself again. Faye glanced at him and forced herself to relax. Though she had spent more than four years under his protection, his nearness still made her twitchy. But perhaps he was aware of that fact. Perhaps that was why he tended to remain in the background during these discussions.

“And what brought you to that conclusion?” Madeline asked.

Memories slid up Faye’s spine like phantom wisps of smoke, but they were not memories she would share. Not today. Not ever. “He’s…” she began, and felt her throat freeze up.

“A man?” Madeline supplied. and Faye zipped her gaze to Lord Gallo and away. “Is that why?” Her voice was quiet.

“You yourself said he may be involved in Brendier’s death,” Faye said.

“We know the Scot paid the baron a visit shortly before his death,” Madeline said. “But that hardly proves culpability.”

“No, of course not,” Faye agreed, nerves tangling. “But he’s…” She stopped herself.

“A man?” Madeline asked again.

Faye remained silent a moment, but finally forced herself to speak. “It seems likely,” she said.

“Faerie Faye…” There was humor in Madeline’s voice, but perhaps there was more. Disappointment maybe. The possibility steeped Faye with a soft infusion of sadness. “Not all men are evil.”

Faye shifted her gaze to Lord Gallo again. The sight of him made her stomach twist. “I realize that.”

“Do you?”

She dragged her attention back to Maddy. “I know it in my head.”

Madeline smiled as she crouched beside Faye’s chair and reached for her hand.

“But not your heart.”

Faye refrained from flittering her attention to Gallo again. “I’m having a little trouble convincing my stomach, too.”

Madeline laughed.

“And what did your stomach tell you about McBain?”

“He was large,” she breathed.

“He was that,” Madeline agreed, and there was something in her voice that made Faye search the older woman’s eyes.

“You do not think large a bad thing?”

“Well…” Madeline seemed flustered suddenly. Almost embarrassed. “Not in every…I mean, no. Not necessarily.”

Faye nodded. She could learn. She could change. She was sure of it. “I’m sorry. Truly I am. I know I should not have injured him.”

“That’s not our concern. Not principally, at any rate,” Madeline said. “I doubt you did him any great harm. He’s built like a stone garrison, after all. Legs like pillars. And did you notice—”

Lord Gallo cleared his throat. He was scowling a little, a rare expression on his usually stoic countenance. A mischievous smile almost seemed to flit across his wife’s classic features. “The point is, you cannot simply strike men whenever they frighten you,” he said.

“Yes,” Madeline agreed, but there was something in her eyes again. That intriguing spark of mischief as if she were playing some sort of incomprehensible game with her standoffish husband. “That is exactly what I meant to say.”

“But neither do we want you to take undue risks,” he added.

“Also true,” Madeline said. “Was there some reason you felt particularly at risk?”

The truth trembled on Faye’s tongue, but she held it there. Hid it there, though the similarities between Lucifer and the Scot loomed in her trembling soul. “It occurred to me…” Quite recently. This very instant, in fact. “That perhaps Luci…” She stopped herself, searching wildly
for his name. “Mr….” What was it? MacDoom? MacDeath? Mac…

“McBain,” Madeline said.

“Yes.” What was wrong with her? She had the social skills of a shrew mouse. “Perhaps Mr. McBain struck Lord Rennet to keep him from speaking to me.”

Now they were both scowling at her.

She refrained from clearing her throat. “That is to say, if Lu…Mr. McBain is, in fact, the murderer, and Rennet knows something of his crimes, then would it not make sense for him to try to keep the other quiet?”

“By knocking him unconscious,” Jasper said.

Faye nodded.

“However,” Madeline said, “it would also make sense for McBain to strike if he were attempting to protect you from some perceived threat.”

“Protect—” Somehow, in the near hour since the garden incident, Faye had never considered such a possibility.

“As Lord Gallo protects you,” Madeline added.

“But—” It wasn’t possible. That wasn’t how the world worked, Faye thought, then skimmed her gaze to Lord Gallo. He sat perfectly still, watching her. And for the hundredth time she wondered why he had found her. Why he had brought her here. To teach her, he said. To help her. And maybe it was true. Maybe. For never had he touched her or gained a farthing at her expense. Not in all the months since he had brought her to Lavender
House. Still, some men had patience. No souls. But patience.

“But what?” Madeline asked.

“I do not think that was his intent,” she said.

“And why is that?”

She shook her head, trying to explain without explaining. “He was so…large.”

“Indeed,” Maddy agreed, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Did you happen to notice the width of his—”

“I believe we’ve already discussed his size at some length,” Lord Gallo said, and Faye skittered her gaze to him.

Gallo was not a large man, though sometimes he seemed so. Large and intimidating, but his bride had never shown even a modicum of fear where he was concerned. Indeed, at the moment she almost seemed to be enjoying the unfamiliar terseness in his tone.

“Big does not equate bad,” Madeline said. “You must remember that.”

“Sometimes it does,” her husband argued, and now she laughed out loud though she didn’t turn toward him.

“They are not one and the same, Faerie Faye. Therefore…” Maddy paused, maybe to think, maybe for dramatic emphasis, but if that was the case, the pause was hardly necessary for her next words fairly knocked the air from Faye’s constricted lungs. “You must go to him and apologize.”

“What?” Faye rasped.

“I don’t know if—” Gallo began, but Madeline held up her hand, halting his objections.

“You struck a perfect stranger for no good reason.”

“I doubt he’s—”

“Not a genteel slap, mind. You hit him in the face with a potted plant.”

“A palm,” Faye whispered, though even in her own mind she wasn’t certain why that made a difference.

“For no good reason,” Madeline added. “A celebrated soldier who might very well have been trying to save you.”

Faye scowled, saying nothing, but it would have hardly mattered if she had. She was certain she would not have been heard over the erratic pounding of her heart.

“Rennet was trying to take liberties, was he not?” Madeline’s voice had softened.

Faye managed a nod.

“He’d drawn you out into the darkness of the garden.”

And the darkness had been lovely. It was the pretty golden baron she’d found frightening. But not as frightening as the towering Highlander. Never that frightening.

“Were you trying to escape?” Madeline asked. Her voice was little more than a murmur, as if she loathed belaboring the point. And yet she did.

Faye nodded again, desperately wanting the entire episode behind her.

“Did you tell him to stop?”

“Yes.” Her throat felt tight. She couldn’t look up, knowing she was not to blame yet feeling in the very depths of her being that she
was.

“Might the Scotsman have heard you?”

She thought about that for a moment, tried to swallow her fear. “Perhaps.”

The room went quiet, then, “Faerie Faye,” Madeline murmured.

Faye forced her gaze to her mentor…to her hero.

“Have you forgotten that you made us a vow?”

Her chest ached.

“You said you would become a full member of this coven. That you would embrace your powers, work for good, find the man who murdered Lord Brendier.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Brendier was well thought of by the committee,” Madeline said, “and we’ve no way of knowing what might have caused his death.”

“Perhaps he truly did die of the wounds sustained in the duel.”

“Perhaps, but we cannot go to the committee until we’ve exhausted every possibility. It is they who fund Lavender House, after all. Indeed, they hold this sisterhood in the palms of their hands.”

“Perhaps Shaleena could go to his estate,” Faye said, suddenly hopeful. “Touch his belongings and divine—”

“Brendier has been dead for more than a week
now. His killer’s imprint, if indeed he left one, has grown cold. Besides, Lady Onyx has been…” She shook her head and scowled. “Unpredictable of late.”

It was true. During the last few months, she seemed less focused. And even though she was still as sharp-edged as a saber, at times Faye would see her staring into space. Or stranger still, Shaleena would stare at Cur. Not in that way she stared at other men, as if she intended to devour them whole. But as if she was thinking, remembering. True, Cur was young, not yet twenty years of age. Still, that had not curtailed Shaleena’s flirtations in the past. And it had certainly not caused her to remain clothed.

“What of Ella?” Faye asked.

“My nephew is not yet walking, and Ella is a mother even before she is a witch.”

“Rosemond then. Or Heddy or—”

“The committee is counting on you,” Madeline said, and the room, always so comfortable, always her haven, suddenly felt too small. “
I
am counting on you,” she added, and Faye caught her gaze. Her mentor’s eyes were solemn, as green as smooth-cut emeralds and wise beyond Faye’s wildest hopes. “You are stronger than you know,” she said, and, rising smoothly to her feet, left the room.

Not half an hour passed before Jasper turned down the gas on the bedchamber lights and eased onto the mattress behind Madeline.

She remained as she was, staring dismally at the wall in front of her, worry gnawing her gut like a rabid hound. “Was I too harsh with her?” she asked.

Jasper sighed. “You are the one who insists she is stronger than we realize. That she has yet to trust her own powers.”

She rolled onto her back and found his face in the darkness. He had a beautiful face. But it was not necessarily his best feature. Not when he was naked, as he was now.

“Maybe I was wrong,” she said, and refused to be distracted by his chest or his arms or his other attributes, equally astounding but not quite so visible. “Maybe I pushed her too hard. After all, the mission is…”