Magic in the Stars (11 page)

“I won’t have more hysterical females fainting on my
doorstep,” he grumbled in response to her struggles.

“I am not hysterical! Although I very well could learn to be
if you don’t let me off this monster.”
Hysterical
—the
very idea was laughable.

“Walking with an injured limb when you can ride is either
hysterical or stupid. Take your choice.” His tone was unrelenting.

“I am not a cripple! I can walk. I cannot ride. That is not
stupid. That is logical,” she argued, wishing she could squirm around to see
his expression but not daring to move given her current position between his
thighs.

“You won’t ride with the others because you think
you
caused the accident!” he shouted.
“If you’re not hysterical, you have maggots for brains. Did you not see
Montfort’s phaeton? I intend to horsewhip the lackwit the moment I see him.”

“By all means, beat the stuffing out of him,” she agreed
through clenched teeth, wrapping her glove tighter in the horse’s sumptuous
mane. “But you cannot beat my planets into submission. I bring harm to those I
love.”

“Planets have no effect on anything!” he shouted in
frustration as they cantered up the long drive to the manor. “
You
had no effect on the phaeton or the
carriage or the damned Earth’s movement. It was an
accident
.”

“Language, sir,” she scolded. “Besides, even Sir Isaac
Newton believed in the effects of the sun. He studied calculus so as to better
chart the planets, just as I do.”

“He bloody well did not,” he said, ignoring her objection to
his language. “One cannot mathematically chart the fates.” He hauled his horse
to a halt at the portico.

She could point out that, among a number of other things,
she had accurately predicted his brother’s injury. But she was too breathless
to state the obvious.

The massive sprawling mansion looming above her may once
have been a medieval hall. It had been added on to so often that Azenor could
not quite discern all its dimensions. It was all gray stone blocks, blunt
square towers, and row upon row of windows. She assumed from this angle that it
formed a giant U or perhaps a square. Not a single rose bush adorned the walls.
No pretty shutters or ivy lightened the heavy stone. The portico was slate and
marble without a single potted tree or flower to welcome guests.

A groom came running. At least they had not misplaced
all
their servants.

“Send for a physician,” his lordship snapped. “Jack is hurt.
We’ll need horses to haul the carriage out of the ditch and a blacksmith for
the wheel. I’ll send whichever of the layabouts I can find to help push it.”

“Aye, milord.” The groom tugged his forelock. “The team just
ran in. I have fresh cattle saddled and ready.”

Aster struggled to free herself, but the ground was a long
way down.

Lord Theo effortlessly swung off, holding her in the saddle
until his boots were on the stairs. He lifted her down as if she were a sack of
flour and
carried
her up to the door.
She was being helplessly hauled about in a man’s arms! He might not be the size
of an ox like some of his family, but surely he had the strength of two men. His
hand was on her knee! Her heart pounded surely more than was good for it.

“Stop it!” she cried, beating at his shoulders. “Put me
down! I am not one of your lightskirts.”

He ignored her, shouldering open the front door as if he
were a battering ram. “Jacques! Will! Anyone in the sound of my voice—get your
posteriors down here
now
or I’ll toss
you out the windows.”

A dog howled from the depths of the house. The billiard
table still adorned the foyer, apparently serving as a convenient receptacle
for outer garments, books, and assorted paraphernalia.

“Honestly, this is how you order your household?” she asked
in amazement, almost forgetting that she was riding in his arms. “Do they
actually listen?”

“Only when they’re bored and not up to mischief,” he
admitted. Carrying her up the stairs, he bellowed in her ear, “There are ladies
in dire need of help down the lane.” The cacophony of barking dogs obliterated
most of his command.

Aster covered her ears. Two spaniels and a beagle puppy
raced up the stairs after them, yapping happily.

“I am perfectly capable of walking,” she insisted, wriggling
as they reached the stop of the stairs. “I will start screaming if you don’t
put me down.”

“I might actually enjoy that,” he retorted, “so don’t tempt
me.”

But he let her feet drop while continuing to hold her waist.
Aster winced at the pressure on her twisted ankle but straightened and marched
out of his hold. She glanced around at this heretofore unseen part of the
house. She’d not put a great deal of thought into where they’d actually be
staying in this monstrous mansion.

The first floor corridor was long and wide, the carpet as
threadbare as the ones she’d seen downstairs. Gas sconces sputtered on the dark
paneled walls, illuminating marble statues decorated in various forms of male
outerwear apparently tossed at them in passing. She limped past the long line
of carved, oak-paneled doors, admiring what she could see of the paintings hung
on the wall.

“Are any of these rooms prepared for my family and our companions?”
she asked, not daring to open any of the doors.

“I asked our housekeeper to open a few in the wing we don’t
use. You can station an army battalion in between to prevent forays by my
family into your territory, but I make no guarantees. The place is riddled with
staircases and bolt holes.” He offered his arm.

Reluctantly, she took it. “I need to be placed in the attic
or somewhere as far from my family as possible,” she said. “I cannot risk more
accidents.”

“That’s preposterous. We need a physician to look at your
injuries, and you’re not stomping up any stairs until he does. Mrs. Smith
doesn’t have time to clean up any more chambers for you.” He steered her down a
side corridor.

“I must insist—”

A shout and loud crash, followed by a litany of creative obscenities,
buried the rest of her sentence. She thought the clamor echoed from the far end
of the corridor they’d just departed. Lord Theo ignored it.

When no one responded to the uproar, Aster straightened her
shoulders and pretended she hadn’t heard
quailing
puling fester of an ass
shouted down the hall.

“I am perfectly capable of putting linen on a bed—or
sleeping in the stable if you don’t show me to a suitable room,” she continued
without quivering. “Do you, or do you not, want us to help you stage a party
for your potential wives?”

Lord Theo muttered irascibly and flung open doors, revealing
beds without mattresses, parlors stacked with riding gear or telescope parts,
and the general detritus of decades of neglect. Finally, he found one near the
end of the hall with a dusty counterpane covering a narrow bed that might once
have belonged to a lady’s maid or a valet.

“And where will my family sleep?” she asked, limping over to
test that no mice ran from the mattress.

“Far end of the west corridor. Take a left and limp clear to
the end,” he said with sarcasm, gesturing to indicate the direction. “I can’t
place you any further away without kicking Ashford from his chambers.”

Ah, that explained the crash and obscene roars. The marquess
had the rooms at the back of the main corridor. These intersecting rooms
between the two wings were probably intended for bachelor guests and their
servants. The housekeeper had installed Aster’s family in the ladies’ wing.
That placed Aster between his lordship’s family and her own.

She glanced out the tall, narrow window into a partial
courtyard between the two enormous branches of the U at the rear of the house.
What had once probably been an elegant parterre garden was now a jumble of
kennels, carriage parts, and rusting unidentifiable bits.

“This should suit,” she acknowledged. “Just leave me here
while you find help and look after the carriage and driver. I’m sure your
housekeeper will show everyone to their proper places.”

“I daresay she’s tippling from the cooking sherry about
now.” He opened a brass circle on the wall and shouted into it. “Everyone,
front and center! We have guests. You have five seconds before I start flinging
you out windows.”

Aster studied the round contraption. “What does that do?”

“Speaking tube. With luck, the sound carries further than my
voice. Except that means they know I’m not near enough to catch them and
they’re free to slip out the back.”

“I see.” She lifted the brass lid and examined the dark tube
before speaking into it. “I will see that you’re fed fried worms and turnips
for dinner unless you help my sister and cousin to their rooms. They’ve been
badly shaken by a carriage accident,” she said sweetly into the hole.

Heavy boots clattered into the main corridor and whoops
rattled the rafters as they raced down the front steps.

Lord Theo scowled. “Threaten their rations, good thinking.
Were you a soldier in a former life?”

“I am the eldest of six siblings.” Six
surviving
siblings, but she did not bring up that painful subject.
“Go lead your pack. I’ll be fine here.” Aster wished she had her trunks so she
could begin dusting, but she’d find a cleaning closet once she drove this
maddening gentleman away. His proximity muddled her mind, and she needed time
to deal with the stimulating sensations created by an
astronomer’s
strength in carrying her.

“The layabouts know how to find the road without my help.”
Without warning, Lord Theo arrogantly scooped her up again and proceeded down
the corridor and toward the ladies’ wing. “They can take care of the servants.
I’ll take care of you.”

“That’s the very last thing I need!” she cried in all
honesty. “You have no idea how dangerous the part of catastrophe is in my chart
or how wide the effect might be.
You
must stay as far from me as my family!”

***

With his arms full of curvaceous female, Theo wasn’t
inclined to be reasonable, particularly when she wasn’t exactly rational
either. “I thought it was only friends and family who die in your proximity?”
he asked, dodging an excited spaniel to fling open the door to the bathing
room. “Just call me your worst enemy and we should be fine.”

“If you don’t put me down, I’ll call you worse than that!”

Maliciously, Theo decided he couldn’t go wrong there. He
could do whatever he liked, and she’d hate him. Then she couldn’t tell him to
go away—because she apparently only assassinated friends and family, not
enemies. That was a plan he could get behind.

He deposited her on the marble floor and let her stare. He’d
made certain the housekeeper had thoroughly cleaned this room before she did
anything else. This was Iveston’s one claim to fame—a tub that filled with hot
water any time it was needed.

“That isn’t . . .?” She touched the brass dolphin and turned it.
Water gushed into the porcelain tub. She hastily spun it closed.

“A Roman bath? Almost. One of the great-grands built it for
his wife, and it’s been improved upon over the years. There’s another in
Ashford’s wing my family can use. We’ll leave this one for you and your ladies.
You need to soak that ankle before it swells. I’ll send one of your maids up
when they arrive. There are linens in that cabinet.” He nodded at a large
wardrobe.

“You have running water, gas sconces, and speaking tubes,
but can’t keep the carpets maintained?” she asked, her dark eyes widening in a
disbelief that made him squirm.

Theo shrugged off his discomfort. “None of the family weaves
carpets or we’d no doubt have them hanging from the walls.”

“I have a cousin who weaves tapestries . . .”
she said in a dangerous tone that Theo already recognized as plotting.

He shoved the spaniel out the door and left the lady there
before she discovered the risqué murals. As an afterthought, he turned the key
in the lock and took it with him. That kept both the lady and his brothers from
exploring until he had order restored.

She was a rare handful, and Theo had to quit thinking about
her naked in the bath until he was decent enough to re-join the ladies. He
blamed the long dry spell between mistresses for his illogical reaction to an
irrational female.

He was not, by nature, an anxious man, but circumstances
were in the process of giving him gray hairs at an early age. Instead of
hurrying to help with the coach, he turned down the hall to Ashford’s chamber.

The marquess was standing in the middle of the room in a
clutter of spilled books and tea trays, blindly kicking any object he
encountered. The puppies who’d been waiting eagerly outside the door pranced in
to play tug-of-war with the papers scattered about.

“The physician said you might stand on that leg?” Theo asked
dryly, since his brother’s injured limb was still wrapped in tight bandages,
and he wore nothing except his nightshirt to conceal the fact.

Duncan uttered a German epithet of a particularly obscene
nature.

“Fine, then, wallow as you like, but keep it down to a low
roar or the ladies will think we’ve confined a mad uncle to the attic. And
these particular ladies seem more inclined to go looking for a Bedlamite rather
than running from one.”

The marquess swung his sightless eyes in the direction of
Theo’s voice. “They haven’t run screaming from the premises already?”

“Their carriage overturned and was dragged half way down the
lane, and they merely protested when I insisted they not walk to the house.
I’ve locked one in the bathing room, however. She’s as much a Bedlamite as you.
She’ll no doubt be in here as soon as she figures out how to unlock the door,
so I suggest you either get in bed or put on trousers.”

“Fitting,” Duncan muttered, easing his way through the
puppies in the direction of the wardrobe. He still limped badly. “We’d be
better off hiring an army sergeant.”