Dangerous Magic (10 page)

Rafe stood at the library window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a tumbler of whiskey. Outside, heavy gray clouds had moved in, and a steady rain fell.

Brampton sat just behind him in an armchair drawn close to the fire. “Twelve years, Rafe, and no word. Why now after so long?”

Hearing the suspicion in his brother’s voice, Rafe kept his eyes trained on the forested parkland. “At first, I just wanted to escape the past. Father made it clear I wasn’t welcome here, and any other ties had been severed even before I took ship with Captain Lovejoy on
Ancamna.
”

“The Hilliers’ daughter?”

Rafe chose to ignore his brother’s question. “Later, I grew too caught up in my new life to think of returning home. Business was such that coming back to Bodliam was out of the question.”

“Or even sending word to us that you were still alive?” Brampton questioned. “Are you back now because your business has gone sour? I warn you I have enough trouble keeping up with Derek’s scrapes.”

Rafe left the window. “On the contrary. My future is secure. I returned because now that Father is dead I wanted to see if I might find a place within this family’s circle again.” He swept an arm around the room. “I simply wanted to come home.”

Brampton nodded, unconvinced. “And once the homecoming is over? What then?”

A satisfied smile played across Rafe’s lips as he answered. “I thought I’d lease a house in Hampshire while I searched for more permanent accommodations. I understand Swiverton Park is for sale.”

Brampton’s eyes widened as he sipped from a glass of claret. “An estate?”

Rafe sank into the chair opposite his brother. “It’s nothing on the scale of Bodliam, but with fair acreage and good rents.”

Brampton’s dark brows snapped together. “What business were you in exactly?”

Rafe threw back the whiskey, the soothing heat sliding into his stomach. “Let’s say it was shipping and leave it at that.”

“I deserve more of an explanation than what you’re offering me.”

“Are you sure you want the truth, Edmund?” More than a hint of challenge in Rafe’s voice.

“You’ve changed, Rafe—hardened.”

“I’ve become what desperation and circumstance have made me,” Rafe said. “I was just luckier than most.”

Brampton turned to stare out the long windows.

“You won’t have the authorities pounding upon your door,” Rafe said coolly. “I made sure no connections could be made between the Honorable Lt. Ranulf Fleming of the Royal Navy and the…” he struggled for the words, “the more informal title I took on. When I left my business, I left that world behind.”

He only hoped that was true. They’d had no more run-ins with the man who’d followed them from Kerrow. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t tracked them here. That he didn’t still wait and watch. But for what purpose? Subtle wasn’t a word he’d use to describe smuggler justice.

He shrugged it away. There was little he could do about it. Keep a weather eye open. See what developed. Then react.

Looking down his long nose at Rafe lounging in the chair, Brampton sniffed. “All except for one small part, it would seem. Did you meet Miss Killigrew during your adventures? She’s not exactly what I expected in a future sister-in-law.”

Rafe toyed with his empty glass. “Be very careful, Edmund. I wouldn’t want to take anything you said the wrong way.”

“I’m only concerned for your welfare. As the head of the family, it’s my duty to inquire. You must admit she’s well beneath your touch, and I doubt she brings much more to the marriage than her face. Is that wise? Swiverton Park may be vastly smaller than Bodliam, but it will take money to run.”

Rafe shrugged the warning off. “I’ll manage.”

“Miss Killigrew is lucky in your change of fortune.”

“Gwenyth cares not for wealth or position,” Rafe replied. “She’d be equally happy in cottage or castle as long as we were together.”

Brampton sipped at his claret. “A rare gem, indeed,” he replied dryly.

Rafe shoved himself to his feet, crossing to the sideboard where the liquor sat. Pouring himself another whiskey, he tossed it back, knowing he was being needled. Why should he care what Edmund thought of Gwenyth? What any of them thought of her? If she did her job well, she’d be gone by season’s end and he’d be courting a woman his family could approve and embrace, a woman he could love without fear. That was the goal. So then why, looking around, did he suddenly miss the quiet companionship of Gwenyth’s small cottage? And why did he wish that everything he said about her was truth?

“How could you know about Gerald and myself?” Cecily asked again.

Gwenyth knew she’d stepped a foot wrong. Within her village, everyone knew of her Sight and the talent she had of reading those about her. But here her gifts remained hidden, and she meant to keep it that way.

“It doesn’t take a seer to understand what troubles lie between your mother and yourself. Men seem to lie heavy at the root of all problems between women, if you ask me,” Gwenyth replied smoothly, hoping this would be enough to quell any more questions. “No doubt all will work itself out, given time.”

She reached back into the valise, carefully pulled out her mother’s rolled tapestry and laid it on the bed. Cecily craned her neck as Gwenyth untied the string and unrolled the hanging.

“What’s that?” Cecily asked, rising from her chair. She put out her fingers to caress the soft worn weave of the threads and trace the designs with one long finger. “Did you make it? It’s lovely.”

Gwenyth smiled her pride. “Though I’ve much skill with loom and shuttle, I can’t be taking credit for this. It takes a rare magic to weave such a piece. My mother held such a special talent. It was her doing that brought the prayer rug forth.”

Cecily looked up. “You mean like the mats the followers of Islam use while praying toward Mecca? I learned about them from my brother, Derek. He’s a vicar, you know.”

“I wouldn’t be knowing about Mecca or Islam.” Gwenyth smoothed her hands across the fabric. “It’s a piece of home while I’m so far away. A talisman to keep me safe until I can return.”

Cecily bit her lip. “You want to go back? I mean surely Bodliam is finer than what you’re used to. I mean the way you speak…and…” she blushed. “I mean…you’re not…that is to say…” She finally stammered herself to a halt. Her fingers shook as they fiddled with the threads of the prayer rug, and one after another she nibbled three more almonds.

“Do you think I’m ashamed of who I am and where I come from?” Gwenyth asked quietly. “Shame and envy are gnawing beasts. They’ll devour you if you let them take hold. Bodliam is as fine a place as I’ve laid eyes on, but Kerrow and the Cornish cliffs are home to me and always will be. They’ve made me what I am.” She brought her gaze to bear on Cecily’s contrite face. “And now they’ve made your brother who he is.”

Rafe wandered slowly down the long gallery, enjoying the solitude after his frantic arrival. His conversation with his older brother made Rafe realize how much he’d changed since driving away from here on his way to taking up his lieutenancy on
Ancamna.
No longer was he the earnest young man set to uphold the world as ordered by tradition and men like Edmund. They believed the worth of a man lay in the importance of his name and the age of his title. Rafe had learned the hard way that a man’s name and position meant little when it came to honor. He’d found more honest men in the ports and harbors of the West Country than in all the mansions in Mayfair.

Gwenyth stepped out of the shadows of the far doorway. “Bill told me you’d come this way. A dark man with a grim face, he said, and so I knew it must be you.”

Rafe ran a tired hand through his hair. “Bill?”

Gwenyth approached. She’d changed from this morning into a light blue gown that clung to her curves and accentuated the graceful cat-like way she walked. “A young man loitering about in the hallway.”

“A footman?”

A smile teased the corner of her lips. “I believe so. A sweet young man, though a bit fresh.”

Rafe frowned as he started forward. “He didn’t dare to speak—”

Her smile blossomed. “He said nothing, but I can tell what a man’s got on his mind simply by the look in his eye.” She caught Rafe’s gaze as it lingered over her and chuckled. “Young Bill’s thoughts were innocent compared to yours, Captain Fleming.”

He took her hand, his voice rich as cream. “Only a few hours more and you’ll know exactly what I’m thinking.”

Pulling her hand away, she darted forward a few steps. “Has much changed since you left?”

Rafe dropped his shoulders and allowed her turn of conversation to go unchallenged. If she was still uneasy, he understood. So was he.

He looked around. “In small ways, certainly. But Sophia’s management has been a boon. My mother’s health has always been fragile, and she never took much of an interest in household matters.”

Apparently reassured that Rafe wouldn’t press his attentions, she relaxed. She paused at a portrait of all the Fleming children painted when Edmund was seventeen and Cecily barely one. “Lady Brampton is due soon with your brother’s heir,” she said.

Rafe wondered what she thought as her clever gaze settled on each individual face. “Brampton says she expects to deliver in a month or two. She’s hired a fancy accoucheur from London to attend her. He’s due to arrive in a few weeks.”

She dropped her eyes and moved on down the gallery. “Your family is of two minds about your return.”

Rafe dug his hands into his pockets. His jaw tensing as he remembered Brampton’s cutting comments about Gwenyth. “I’m an unexpected problem.”

She caught his eye, her gaze troubled, a line between her dark brows. “And my being here has only made things worse for you. This isn’t wise. Talking it over in Kerrow was one thing, but living such a lie in this house is something else. They can’t think we really mean to wed.”

Rafe stiffened. He strode forward and grabbed Gwenyth’s hand. She started in surprise but he wouldn’t let her pull away. Not this time. “I don’t give a damn what my family thinks of your presence in this house. You’re my betrothed and to hell with all of them.”

Gwenyth gave a slight shake of her head. “But I’m not. That’s the lie.”

“Ranulf? Darling, are you in here?” His mother’s voice broke the tense standoff.

Rafe dropped Gwenyth’s hand and swung around. “We’re down here, Mother.”

Still dressed for outdoors in a pelisse and bonnet, Honoria hurried into the room, Sophia a sedate presence behind her. “You’ll never guess who I ran across in the village.” His mother held out a hand, summoning someone forward.

A woman glided into the gallery, auburn hair upswept beneath a fashionable bonnet, green eyes brilliant in her oval face. “Ranulf? Can it really be you?”

Rafe scowled in confusion. “Anabel?”

Anabel Woodville née Hillier, the conniving bitch, extended her hand as if daring Rafe to kiss it.

Gwenyth receded into a shadowed alcove to watch this reunion. Rafe’s reaction, though quickly shuttered, told her everything she needed to know. This woman held the key to his fear, his need to understand the heart of the woman he wed before he could trust her with his own.

He spoke as if he chewed glass. “Anabel, this is a surprise.”

“Sophia and I met her walking in the village,” the Dowager announced. “When I told her about you, she just had to come back with us.”

“That’s not exactly true, madam.” Anabel stepped forward and boldly took Rafe’s hand, squeezing it. Her green eyes teased. “I wanted to see for myself if thirteen years had softened his harsh tongue and given him time to forgive a thoughtless young girl’s foolishness.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s given me time to realize you were right. I could never have given you what you needed. Charles was much the better choice. How is he? Marriage to him seems to agree with you.”

The Dowager’s face fell, and Sophia’s eyes grew troubled. Only Anabel showed no outward reaction to his remark, though Gwenyth knew the woman felt something. Bitterness and anger simmered just beneath the surface of her skin. “He’s dead. Didn’t you know?”

Rafe flushed. “I’m sorry.”

Anabel shrugged. “It’s been eighteen months. He died in a fall from his horse while hunting. He was always a neck for nothing rider, you know.” She spoke this last sentence with pride.

“And you’re visiting your parents?”

Anabel’s lips arched into a thin smile. “A visit that’s lasted since they put Charles in the ground. His cousin inherited the baronetcy. I refused to be an unwanted houseguest where once I ruled as mistress, and so I came back to Hampshire.”

The Dowager beamed. “Isn’t it fortunate? You were always so close as children. I’d always hoped…” Her eyes clouded. “…but then that friend of yours from school swept in and—”

Rafe cut in. “Charming Charles, we called him.” His face hardened. His stubborn mouth firming into a tight line. “Yes, well, that’s all water under the bridge. Lady Woodville and I were once close, Mother, but our youth is far behind us. There is no going back. Too much has changed.”

Anabel sighed. “I can see the years neither softened your tongue nor blunted the edge of your anger. It was wrong of me to come.” She dropped her eyes. Her teeth caught her trembling lower lip as she turned to leave.

The Dowager sniffed her displeasure, but Rafe neither moved nor spoke. Obviously knowing there was nothing she could do with her son, she followed in Anabel’s wake, her voice a low murmur of comfort.

Sophia remained, surveying Rafe then Gwenyth as if wondering how much she might say. “Your mother meant only good when she invited Lady Woodville here, though it might not seem so by her bold attempts to throw the poor woman at your head.” To Gwenyth, she said, “I apologize for the Dowager’s brutal manners. Rafe’s homecoming has overset her nerves. She’s not herself.”

“She dreams of a past that was over long ago,” Gwenyth replied.

Sophia’s gaze was drawn back to Rafe who stared after the two women, even after they’d turned a corner and were lost from sight. “At least one that should have been over long ago,” Sophia said. “Take care, Miss Killigrew. Dreams can often lead us astray.”

Cecily brushed the biscuit crumbs from her bodice and hid her yawn behind Lord Byron’s latest book, relieved that her mother never monitored her reading as she did her other pastimes. In Mama’s eyes, anything printed must be enlightening or educational and therefore no threat to her daughter’s virtue. If she only knew, Cecily thought deliciously as she stretched and turned the page.

“Are you paying me any attention?” her mother whined. “Of course not. I only gave birth to you and raised you. Why should you pay me the slightest attention now?”

Cecily sighed and lowered her book. Her mother was dressing for bed with the help of her lady’s maid. Cecily had been ordered to keep her company in her chambers as penance for her playacting of the afternoon. “I heard every word you said. Derek’s immoral and reckless. I’m flighty as a pigeon with the appetite of an ox, and now Rafe has come home ready to embarrass us all by marrying a peasant from the wilds of Cornwall. We are all ungrateful wretches for bringing such misery upon you, and we’ll have only ourselves to blame when you’re dead from a broken heart. Have I gotten it right?”

Her mother scowled and shook a pointy finger at her daughter. “Don’t be flip with me, young lady. I shall have Edmund lock you in your room and feed you on bread and water for a week if you pay me no more respect than that. See if I don’t.” She surveyed her daughter’s generous form. “Probably do you a world of good.”

Cecily let the jibe roll off her as she usually did when her mother was in one of her peevish moods. It did no good to argue and only prolonged the unpleasantness. Instead, she bit her lip and looked adequately contrite. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

Her mother huffed as she was helped off with her gown. “Careful, my dear. If I hear any more from you, I shall keep you at home instead of allowing you to attend the ball at Carrisbridge next week.”

Cecily grew truly alarmed. She dropped her book with a thump. “But…but Gerald…I mean—”

Her mother’s lips widened in a cat-like smile as she pulled her nightrail over her head and tied the ribbons of her dressing gown. “I thought that might put some fear into you. Gerald Minstead, indeed. He’s a simpleton. You’ll ruin yourself with such a fool.”

Cecily glared but held her tongue. How dare she disparage Gerald, whose only true failing in her mother’s eyes was a marked lack of funds and an easy manner that repelled all the Dowager’s barbed comments. If she wasn’t worried her mother might follow through and keep her from the Carrisbridge assembly, she’d tell her so.

“Not that Ranulf’s woman doesn’t make Gerald look an absolute prize,” she continued, settling into bed.

Her lady’s maid drew the covers up around her mistress’s lap. Turning to the bedside table, she poured out a draught of magnesia and handed it to her. This was followed by two spoonfuls of Daffy’s Elixir before the woman passed her a cup of chamomile tea, curtseyed and withdrew.

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure my heart went into spasms when she opened her mouth. Fishermen, farmers, healers bah! I feel palpitations even now thinking back on it. What could have induced your brother to ally himself with such a low creature? He’s a gentleman despite that horrible scandal with the Navy.” Her voice grew indignant as she rambled. “I’m sure hardly anyone recalls the wretched business, and who can blame poor Ranulf? It’s obvious he knew all along what sort of villain that Captain Lovejoy was. It’s just a shame the man’s infamy came out after…after…” She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes.

Cecily was unsure if she should answer, and what she should say. She’d known for years about Rafe’s disgrace, but it was only in the last few that she’d really understood what had happened to her brother. She flinched whenever she thought of it, and even now she wondered what Rafe must have felt those awful hours as he suffered through his horrifying punishment.

“But that’s neither here nor there.” Her mother sniffled into her handkerchief. “It’s this woman who concerns me now. She’s got her claws in him, that’s easy to see, but I won’t stand for it. My son shall not lose his last chance at happiness.” Her eyes glittered as she looked toward the window. “Not when it lies so very close at hand.”

Gwenyth stood at her bedroom window. A pale moon washed the park in silver and cast its reflection across the still, dark lake she spied through the trees. Bats’ wings stirred the air while night creatures rustled in the shrubs below the window. The shadows of the ancient forest stretched out toward the house. What would it be like to walk beneath the ancient, gnarled trees on such a night? To smell the scent of loam and salt air and feel the sigh of breezes ruffle her hair? The stuffy atmosphere of Bodliam’s elegant rooms and marbled halls chilled her. The shuttered glances and tight looks made her yearn to escape if only for an hour or two.

Her distraction coupled with the silence of Rafe’s movements kept her from hearing him until he stood just behind her. “There’s a grotto just beyond those trees. We can walk there tomorrow if you like.”

His breath tickled her neck. She closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t hide any longer. She must do what she’d come here for. Gathering her strength, she leaned into him, enjoying the solid feel of his chest and the steady rhythm of his heart. Gods, just standing there felt so good.

“I wondered if you’d come tonight. You and your family have much to talk about. They must have questions.”

A low rumbling chuckle was her answer. “What should I tell them? I’ve been practicing piracy and smuggling with a dash of espionage to spice up my otherwise dull existence?” He took her by the shoulders, spinning her round to face him. “I haven’t volunteered much, and they’ve been remarkably reticent about asking. Afraid of hearing the truth, I’d imagine.”

The darkness hid his expression. Gwenyth stroked his cheek. “They fear you. You’re a wolf that’s wandered into the fold.”

He caught her hand and held it tight. His other arm slid around her waist, pulling her against the hard length of his body. “There are those who seem enticed by that notion.”

“Anabel Woodville,” she answered even as every inch of her caught fire. “She searches for what she can never find. She dreams for something that does not exist.”

Rafe dropped his head to nuzzle at her neck, sliding his tongue around the curve of one ear. Down the column of her throat and into the valley of her breasts.

She shivered, her body alive in keen anticipation. Running her fingers through his thick hair, she met his lips in a heated, devouring kiss. Tried to forget long enough to enjoy the wanton demands of her body. The blaze of his mouth against hers. The wicked play of his hands as they moved over her set her heart pounding, flushed her skin with heat.

Locked together, she felt his need. Sensed his tension in every muscle that brushed against her, but more than that she could not tell. Did he come to make love to her tonight—or was it Anabel he pictured as his hands caressed and teased? And more important, why did this trouble her? She needed only his body, not his heart.

She wanted to open her mind to touch his thoughts, but he’d sensed her presence before. She dared not pry.

She should be glad that things played out in such a way. The woman he yearned for once was free again and obviously ready to accept him this time. Rafe could have the life denied him thirteen years ago. It seemed perfect, except for the air of danger she felt. It slithered across her skin like a snake, and made her shudder with repugnance. Was Anabel the cause of this feeling, or was it what she represented? Gwenyth refused to examine these questions too closely. Only sorrow lay in that direction.

“This yearning makes Lady Woodville restless…and unpredictable,” she added.

Rafe ran his fingers down the arch of her back. “Anabel wants a knight in shining armor,” he said in a rough whisper. “She doesn’t know my dragon-slaying days are far behind me.”

His lips traced a path down Gwenyth’s neck to the hollow at the base of her shoulder. His hands clasped her bottom, squeezed and lifted her until he’d settled her against him, on him, the ready bulge at his groin hard between her legs and only a thin layer of fabric away. She gave a shuddering gasp, the blood in her body hot with desire, but still the danger she felt within her could not be stilled.

“Be careful. She sees your arrival as a challenge.”

He sighed and raised his head. “Why are we talking about Anabel?”

Gwenyth tried to remain in control despite the heat pooling at her center with each nudge of his hips against hers. Why, indeed? “You asked for my help in finding a bride,” she managed between the shocks of pleasure racing along every nerve ending.

He wasn’t doing anything but standing there, and still her body tremored with suspense over what was coming. It knew what it wanted even if Gwenyth fought against the knowledge. It wanted Rafe. Here. Now.

He cradled her face between his hands. “Can we begin the search tomorrow?” She felt the amusement in his voice as well as his own battle for control. “Right now, I’m happy fulfilling my half of this ridiculous arrangement.”

Gwenyth answered with a sigh as she rocked against him, smiling at the hiss of his indrawn breath, his sudden tensing. He’d not be thinking of Anabel Woodville tonight. Not if she had anything to do with it.

She pushed aside the roiling thoughts flitting through her brain like the bats beyond her window, letting Rafe’s hands and mouth lull her into a dream where the past had no power and the future called to her with a promise of love.