Magic In The Storm (29 page)

“Er, I had hoped that you would. You see, I
am looking for a gentleman who matches your description.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He was seen at a meeting a few weeks
ago near London Fields.”

The man shook his head again. “Haven’t been
to any meetings out there.” He then leaned closer to Morgan who
bent down to hear what he said. “Wasn’t a secret sort of meeting,
was it?” the man whispered.

“Yes!” Morgan whispered back, becoming very
excited. Maybe this was his man, after all.

“Lots of young females? Virgins? I’ve heard
of those meetings. Didn’t know they held ‘em out in the
fields though. Somehow thought they were in basements and cellars
and such.” The man whispered to him, giggling a little.

Morgan feeling his stomach begin to churn a
little, sighed and straightened up. “No, I’m sorry, it wasn’t that
sort of meeting.”

“Oh.” The gentleman was clearly very
disappointed. He too straightened up in his seat, and turned his
attention back to his food, Morgan clearly forgotten.

“Thank you for your time,” Morgan said,
giving him a slight bow and turning to leave. The man grunted in
response, but didn’t look up from his plate.

Morgan went back and sat down opposite
Adriana once more.

“Not the right gentleman?” she asked.

Morgan just shook his head. He was too
crestfallen to say anything just at the moment. For a minute there,
he thought he had found his man. For a minute, he had allowed his
hopes to soar, but now...

“I don’t think I’m ever going to find him,
Adriana. I’m sorry,” Morgan said, rolling the bottom edge of his
glass around on the table.

“Oh, no, Morgan. You can’t give up. You
will
meet him. There are many more stout gentlemen here who
you haven’t met yet, and probably many more in society who may not
even be here this evening. I’m certain you will find him.”

Morgan gave Adriana a little smile. He
appreciated her kind words, but no longer did he actually believe
them to be true. With a sigh he pushed himself up from the table.
“Please excuse me, Adriana, I need a moment.”

M
organ stepped into
the darkened room. Although there was an acrid smell of tobacco,
there didn’t seem to be anyone there.

He went in, but did not close the door all
the way behind him, needing the little bit of light provided by the
wall sconces in the hall way. Moving toward the fireplace, he
pointed at the stack of wood that was laid there. Immediately, a
fire burst to life, providing enough light so he could close the
door.

He had just turned from doing so when a deep
voice came out of the darkness from one of the corners of the room.
“Very impressive,” it said.

Morgan’s blood and body froze. He turned
toward the voice. “Who is there?”

The wood floor creaked under a man’s weight
and there was a shuffling of uneven footsteps. Slowly, into the
soft flickering light of the fire, a man appeared. His thin face
was startlingly handsome, despite a slightly long nose. His eyes
were heavy–lidded, his hair dark and curly. As he approached, he
casually removed the cheroot he had been holding between his teeth
and blew a cloud of smoke. Morgan recoiled a bit from the
smell.

“My name is Byron,” the man said. “And you
are?”

Morgan had heard of Lord Byron, and had even
read some of his poetry, but he had never thought to actually meet
the man in person. How exciting to meet a famous poet, he thought
as he took a step forward again. “My name is Vallentyn, Morgan
Vallentyn.”

Lord Byron paused before casually resuming
his awkward gait toward the fire. “Well, that explains that,
doesn’t it?”

Morgan’s heart stopped for a moment. “Have
you heard of my family?” he asked quickly.

“But, of course. Who hasn’t?”

“No one outside of the world of the Vallen,”
Morgan said, daringly.

The man spun around to face Morgan once
again. His face registered shock for a moment and then he threw
back his head and laughed a deep, full–bodied laugh. “Indeed, my
friend, indeed!”

Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. It was a
risk to be so bold and direct when speaking of Vallen. He wasn’t
quite sure what had made him say such a thing. He just knew he
suddenly felt very bold, even adventurous.

At a wave of Lord Byron’s hand, a chair slid
across the floor toward him. Casually, he sat down again and
crossed his legs. He indicated Morgan should pull up a chair as
well.

Morgan did, but could hardly sit still. He
was too worked up. He wanted to be up and moving about, doing
something—and yet just before he had come into the room, he’d
wanted nothing more than to sit quietly by himself and think about
how he was going to try to find a powerful Vallen. It didn’t seem
to make a lot of sense that he should feel so energetic now.

“So you are a Vallentyn. Yet another child of
Lady Vallentyn’s or a more distant relation?”

“I am the youngest of Lady Vallentyn’s
children,” Morgan stated.

Byron perked up at that. “The youngest? The
seventh?”

“Yes. Is there something notable about that?”
Morgan asked, leaning forward.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Byron replied,
looking at Morgan warily. He took a few more pulls at the cheroot
in his mouth.

“I know nothing except that my mother has
never forgiven me for being male.”

Byron nodded slowly. “Yes, that is...
awkward. But what of your powers? I see that you can control fire.
What else? Are you very powerful like your mother, or are you more
like your esteemed brother and sisters?”

Morgan side–stepped his question for the
moment, not sure if this was the time or place to try and get his
questions answered. “Are you a powerful Vallen?” he asked.

Byron raised one eyebrow. “I suppose it
depends on who you ask. Some of my friends believe me to be quite
powerful, but I have known others who are much more powerful than
I.”

“Where does your power lie? What can you do?”
Morgan asked, unable to sit still any longer. He stood up and moved
to the fire place.

“Let’s just say that I inspire others, and
help them to reach out for what they want.”

“Oh. And you do that with magic?” Morgan
asked.

“Yes. And I have some small ability to craft
words.”

Morgan laughed. “Small ability? Sir, you are
a master poet!”

Byron spread his hands out. “I do my
best.”

“There are so many different types of
Vallen,” Morgan marveled aloud, “with such varying powers.”

“Indeed, as individual as the person who
wields them,” Byron agreed.

Morgan wondered if he dared to ask Lord Byron
to help him in his quest for his powers. Did he have the knowledge
to become the mentor he’d been looking for? He hardly hesitated a
moment before deciding that it couldn’t hurt to ask—why not take
the risk? If he didn’t ask, he would never learn the answer.

“I have been looking for someone,” Morgan
began, quelling his need to move. “A powerful Vallen who might know
the answers to... to some questions I have regarding magic and the
world of the Vallen. And I am looking for a tutor to help me
control my powers.”

Byron sat back in his chair. “I am not
certain I can help you. Why don’t you ask your mother? She would
surely be much more capable of helping you than I.”

Morgan slumped back against the mantel piece.
“No. I can’t do that.”

“Can’t?”

“Absolutely cannot,” Morgan stated
firmly.

Byron nodded slowly, stroking his chin in
thought. Even in the quiet of the room, the sounds of the party
still going on above them could be heard.

“If I agree to help you—assuming I can—is it
possible that Lady Vallentyn may not be happy I have done so? I’d
rather not risk the wrath of the high priestess.”

Morgan hadn’t thought about that. He
certainly didn’t want to put anyone else in danger—it was bad
enough Adriana might be in his mother’s sights.

Morgan stood up again. “I swear, no word of
your assistance will reach my mother’s ears.” He was too desperate
for help to give up this one possible chance at finding it.

Byron thought about this for a moment, then
sat up. “Very well. I will do what I can, but not here, and
certainly not tonight.” He took a last draw on his cigarillo, and
flicked the butt of it into the fire. “Meet me tomorrow, at my
home.” He stood, and with a wave of his hand, moved the chair back
to where it had originally sat. “Three o’clock.” He limped from the
room, not waiting for Morgan to respond.

Morgan finally felt free to walk about the
room as he’d been eager to do for so long. The sensation was not
quite as strong now, and was growing less and less by the minute,
but it was still there—this recklessness, a restless need to be out
and doing something.

He stopped suddenly, realizing what it was.
It was Lord Byron. He himself had said that this was his magic—he
inspired people to do things. Morgan nearly laughed. He had been
caught up in the man’s magic and hadn’t even realized it!

Well, but just look at the outcome—he was
invited to Lord Byron’s home, and hopefully would get all the
answers he needed.

<><><>

Adriana stifled a yawn, but it was certain
she was not going to get to sleep anytime soon. Morgan’s usual
calming presence was anything but. He was agitated and excited. He
could hardly keep still—his leg was bouncing, and for the fifth
time in two minutes he leaned forward and peered out of the
carriage window.

“Mr. Vallentyn, is there something wrong?”
Henrietta asked.

He stopped moving and turned toward her. “No,
not at all, why?”

“It is clear you are anxious about
something,” Adriana said, laughing at how oblivious he was to his
own actions.

“It is? But I’m not.” He paused. “I’m not
anxious about anything.” He looked out of the window again and
then, turning back to Adriana, added, “Well, I suppose I am a
little anxious, but it’s more that I’m excited.”

Even Henrietta had to laugh at this
disjointed speech. “And what is it you are so excited about?”

Morgan was looking out of the window again.
His knee continued to bounce, adding a jiggle to the movement of
the carriage.

“What? Oh. Did I not mention? I met Lord
Byron.”

“Lord Byron?” Henrietta sighed. She had read
and reread all of his works aloud to Adriana, quite a few
times.

“That is exciting. Have you read his poetry?”
Adriana asked. Somehow she just couldn’t imagine Morgan being a
great fan of the poet’s works—or, indeed, of any other. He didn’t
seem to be the type who read a lot.

“I’ve read some. Kat gave me one of his books
once,” Morgan admitted, calming his bouncing knee.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Henrietta sighed once
again.

“Well, to be honest, it’s not quite what I
enjoy, but I’m not a great judge of these things.”

“Oh, but his Childe Harold...”

The carriage rolled gently to a stop, and
Henrietta was interrupted by the footman opening the door.

Morgan quickly got out first then turned to
help the two ladies out of the carriage. Following Adriana up the
stairs and into the house, he placed his hand on her arm when she
turned to say goodnight.

“Do you think I could have a word with you
for a moment... alone?” he asked quietly.

Adriana could not resist the look in his
eyes. He seemed to be so eager to speak with her, and he clearly
needed to tell her something—he had ever since he had rejoined her
at the ball. Henrietta had joined her, though, and he hadn’t been
able to speak freely.

She gave a little nod, and led him up to her
drawing room. When Henrietta followed them, Adriana said, “It’s all
right, Henrietta. We’re only going to have a very brief word, and
then Mr. Vallentyn will be leaving.”

Henrietta paused, before giving Adriana a
very sly little smile and leaving the room. The door was left
mostly open for propriety’s sake, but Morgan closed it further,
leaving it open only a crack.

He took two long strides to reach Adriana’s
side. Taking her hands in his own he declared in a quiet voice that
was no less full of enthusiasm for its volume, “Lord Byron is
Vallen! He is a powerful Vallen, and he’s agreed to speak with me
tomorrow.” Morgan was radiating excitement.

All of Adriana’s exhaustion evaporated in his
fervor. “Morgan, that’s wonderful. It’s wonderful you managed to
find a Vallen to help you. Oh, I am so happy for you!” Adriana gave
his hands a squeeze.

“You’ve got to come with me,” he said,
leaning toward her, his face alight with happiness.

That stopped her. “What?”

“I need you there. I want you to be with me
when I find out about my powers and, hopefully, he’ll even know
about my destiny. He seems to be a very knowledgeable man.”

“I...I don’t know.”

He took another step closer to her so that
their toes were nearly touching. He placed his hand on her cheek,
his deep black eyes looking into her own. “Please, Adriana, I need
you there. I don’t want to go alone.”

Adriana’s her heart stopped momentarily at
the sweet, earnestness of his plea. His eyes sent chills of warmth
skimming through her. How could she deny this man? How could she
deny him anything when he asked her like that? He didn’t try to
force her into it by placing a suggestion into her mind. He simply
asked, with all of his heart. She could feel it, and it touched
her.

Adriana swallowed hard and nodded. “If you
need me, I’ll be there for you,” she said, her voice not working
quite right.

The smile that slowly spread across his face
was all that she needed to know that she had made the right
decision. The kiss that followed just reinforced it, tenfold.

“Thank you, Adriana,” Morgan said, gently
nuzzling her cheek. His voice, deep and husky, made Adriana’s knees
weak. She leaned against his strength and was rewarded with sweet
little nibbles across her cheek and down her neck. She buried her
fingers into his soft black hair. She was so glad he hadn’t cut it
short as so many men did. Instead, he kept it tied back in a queue
from which she could easily free it to splay all over his broad
shoulders. She was tempted to do so now.