The Magic Between Us (Faerie) (23 page)

“I feel like hell,” Finn grumbled back.

“Dare I ask what the matter is? It’s a bit early in the day to be so deep in your cups.” He urged his brother to sit before he toppled over. He was nearly as big as Ashley, so it would take at least two footmen to bring him back upright.

“Oh, I had a bit more enjoyment than I’d planned,” Finn groaned as he adjusted himself in the chair.

Ashley sat behind his desk and steepled his hands in front of him, waiting for the man to tell him what the matter was. It didn’t take as long as he thought for his brother to unburden himself.

“Do you remember the chit I set up in Mayfair?”

“Vaguely.” If Ashley remembered correctly, there was nothing truly remarkable about the girl.

“She’s up and left me.”

“And?” Certainly, worse things could happen to a man. Like being shunned for killing one’s wife.

“And she started a bit of a rumor.”

“About?”

“My lack of physical attributes and attention to her needs,” Finn mumbled.

Ashley tried to hide his chuckle behind a cough into his closed fist.

“It’s not amusing,” Finn pointed out.

“Certainly, it is,” Ashley said, laughing a bit louder.

“How do you deal with it? The whispers behind your back? The constant judgment from your peers?”

Ashley shrugged. “One becomes accustomed to it with time.” He’d had seven years to learn to accept his lot in life. The only time it rankled was when he met a lady like Miss Thorne. Then he wished he was anyone but himself.

Finn reached for the whiskey bottle again. Ashley intercepted it and moved it out of his brother’s reach. “Drinking any more will be a waste, because you’ll not remember the taste of it when you wake up.”

Ashley stood and called for Wilkins. The man appeared within moments. “Let’s find a room for Lord Phineas and help him to it, shall we?” he asked of the butler.

Wilkins nodded his head and called for footmen to assist. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, the rest of London should know what a good man you can be,” Wilkins said.

“I prefer to let them think the worst.” Ashley sighed. “They’ve no expectations of me that way.”

Ashley returned to his study and began to open his correspondence. Despite his sordid past, he was a bit too well connected to be ousted completely from society. For the first two or three years following his wife’s death, he’d been avoided as though he had a communicable disease, as though the propensity to murder was contagious.

Then the few friends he had, namely his brother Finn, Matthew Lanford, and Jonathon Roberts, whom he’d met at Eton many years before, had rallied around him and forced him to resume his place in the House of Lords and step back into society. They all believed him innocent of any wrongdoing. It was unfortunate that they were all incorrect.

The clip of quickly moving slippers in the corridor made him groan and hang his head. Within seconds, the Duchess of Robinsworth flung open his door and burst inside his sanctuary, without even the good graces to knock.

“Mother,” was his only response as he looked down at the note before him. “What brings you to my home?”

“You really should replace that butler,” she scolded.

“And why should I do that?” he asked as he closed his ledger. She obviously had a purpose for visiting. And would most likely get to it as soon as she got over whatever slight Wilkins had given her. He would curse the man, but the butler seemed to be one of the only people who could keep his mother in line.

“He’s impertinent. And rude.”

Said the pot about the kettle.

“He blocked my entrance to the old library. The one in the west wing. He stood right there in the doorway and refused to let me pass. Of all the nerve.” She harrumphed and dropped into a chair.

That wing of the old house had been closed for longer than Ashley could remember. Since before his father had died when he was a boy. “And what purpose did you have for visiting the west wing, Mother?” he asked as he poured himself a liberal dose of the whiskey Finn had left behind.

“It’s awfully early to be drinking, dear,” she scolded.

“It’s awfully early for you to be visiting, Mother,” he returned. His mother never rose from bed before the luncheon hour. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping off the excesses of the night’s activities?”

“I wouldn’t call them excesses,” she mumbled.

He fished a note from the pile of correspondence Wilkins had given him. “You do not find one thousand pounds to be an excess?” he questioned.

“Give me that.” She held out her hand and leveled him with a stare that would have made him quake in his boots when he was younger. With her icy glare and pinched brows, she could freeze him in his tracks when he was a boy, but no longer.

“I think not,” he returned. Then he took a deep breath and dove directly into the issue at hand. “I believe it’s time for you to move back to the Hall, Mother.” He would hate having her underfoot, but he couldn’t keep an eye on her if she wasn’t at hand.

She pulled back and turned up her nose. “I’ll do no such thing. My town house is perfectly acceptable.”

“You mean
my
town house,” he clarified.

“It’s mine in theory,” she huffed as she sank primly onto a chair across from him.

“The amount of money you’re losing at the gaming tables is tremendous,” he said as he withdrew more notes from his drawer. They arrived nearly every day. From people his mother had gambled with and lost. They all knew she wasn’t good for the debts. Yet they played with her anyway because the Duke of Robinsworth never left a debt unpaid. His presence in their drawing rooms might not be valued. But his purse certainly was.

“I’ll take those,” she said again.

“Why, Mother? You cannot begin to pay them.”

Her face fell. “I do not know why you feel you have to be so cruel,” she said as her eyes welled up with tears.

“I do not understand why you gamble with money you don’t have.” He tapped the cards on the table. Then he made a clucking sound with his tongue. “But I’m prepared to pay them in full.”

“As you must, Robin,” she said quietly, using his childhood nickname.

“On one condition,” he amended.

Her face contorted slightly. “Which is?” she said from between gritted teeth.

“I’m closing the town house effective immediately. You’ll be moving back to the Hall.”

She jumped to her feet. “I will do no such thing,” she gasped.

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I will reconcile your debts. Every last one of them. Then you will cease gambling with money you do not have. You may use your pin money any way you see fit.”

“But there’s not enough,” she protested.

Still, he continued. “You will spend nothing more than your pin money. You will move back to the Hall. You will assist me with my daughter.”

“Anne hates me.”

Anne hated everyone. “You will assist me with your granddaughter. She could use a feminine presence. You will behave respectably and set a good example for her.”

“You need a wife,” she snapped. “It’s unfortunate that no one of respectable breeding will have you.”

Oh, his mother knew how to throw the barbs that would hurt the most. “Then I am free from the wife search, it seems, since no respectable woman would pay me her favors.” He leveled her with a glare. Though Miss Thorne had graced him with a smile and no fear in her eyes.

“It took years for me to get over your past deeds. To find my way back into society. You have no idea how arduous the task was.” He couldn’t gather sympathy for her, despite the look of anguish in her eyes. “If I move back to the Hall, I will once again be cast beneath your dark cloud of suspicion.”

“Do you think I killed my wife, Mother?” he clipped out.

“Of course not,” she rushed on.

“Then I would assume a mother who finds no fault with her son will be quite content to return to the family estate.”

“My friends won’t know what to think.”

“Quite frankly, Mother, I don’t give a damn what they think,” he drawled. “I’ll have Wilkins begin the preparations to move your household.”

“And just when do you think this will take place?”

“As soon as I bellow down the hallway,” Ashley replied. Wilkins would take great pride in ruffling the duchess’s feathers.

“That man hates me,” she grunted. “When I’m in residence, I’ll expect him to treat me as befits my station.”

“He’ll treat you as well as you treat him, Mother.”

“I’d prefer being dropped into a vat of hot oil over being nice to that man.” She jumped to her feet and headed for the door.

“I’m certain that can be arranged,” Ashley called to her retreating back.

From
The Magic of “I Do”

Autumn 1817

A faerie without magic was about as useless as a carriage without a horse. If Claire Thorne had known that this would be her reward for trying to save her sister from the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth, she never would have gotten involved in her sister’s mission. She would have stayed at home. The land of the fae was so much more comfortable than the land where others resided.

Claire refused to look at her abductor. She refused to acknowledge his presence, although he did have her magic dust. It was in his pocket at that very moment. Despite the fact that she’d warned him it could explode in untrained hands, he’d taken it with no hint of hesitation. And now he refused to give it back. Claire lifted her chin and stared out the coach window. If anyone had told her a sennight ago that Lord Phineas would take her hostage, she would have laughed in his face. Yet here she was, at his mercy.

“Oh, blissful silence,” he said. He must have said it to himself, because he certainly couldn’t be talking to her.

“You really should return my dust to me before it does you harm.” She didn’t look at him as she talked. She continued to stare at the changing landscape. They’d left behind the bustle of Mayfair and were headed toward… nowhere, it appeared.

“And just what kind of harm might a little bottle of shimmer do to me?” He looked much too composed.

“It could explode and blow off an arm.” She finally turned to look toward him and found him grinning at her unrepentantly. That man had a smile that could stop a lady’s heart. Though it had no effect on hers. Well, almost no effect. His sparkling blue eyes made him look impertinent enough to annoy her to no end.

He held out his hand and appraised his arm with a critical eye. “I can live without an arm.” Lord Phineas swiped a lock of hair from his forehead and lowered his arm back to his side. He arched a golden brow at her as though taunting her to continue her threats. He hadn’t seen threats yet. Just wait until she turned him into a toad. Or a pig so that his outside could reflect his inside.

Claire let her gaze roam up and down his body slowly. “It might blow off something you use on occasion.” Her eyes stopped at his lap. He fidgeted in his seat. “It’s really quite volatile in the hands of the untrained.”

That wasn’t true. Not in the least little bit. But he didn’t need to know that. In his hands, the dust was useless. Just shimmery flecks of shiny things he didn’t understand. In her hands, however, it was quite useful. If she wasn’t afraid to commit one of the Unpardonable Errors—never use your magic to do harm—she would take a chance and wrest it from his possession. But if she had the dust in her hands right at that moment, she would use it to harm him. In a most satisfying way.

She forced herself into a casual shrug. “Take a chance. Blow off an appendage. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and it’ll be the smallest one. One you probably don’t get to use much.”

His smile vanished. “I can assure you there’s nothing small about my appendage.”

She grinned. “That’s not what
she
said…” She left the taunt dangling in the air. His face flushed. She must have touched a sore spot. But since he was holding her hostage, he deserved to be just as uncomfortable as she was.

***

How the devil could a faerie be aware of his problems with his mistress? Katherine had only left him a few weeks before. It wasn’t his fault that she’d spread a bit of a rumor about his prowess in the bedroom. One that was
completely
unfounded upon reality. He narrowed his eyes at Miss Thorne. “Are your people omniscient?”

She didn’t answer. She simply turned to look out the window again. Blast and damn. The woman was already driving him toward Bedlam and he’d only had her in his possession for a few hours. His brother, Robin, would owe him dearly for this. Very dearly.

The carriage hit a rut in the road and she bounced in her seat. She uttered a most unladylike oath as her head bumped the roof of the carriage. “Beg your pardon?” he asked. He cupped a hand around his ear. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

“If I’d meant for you to hear it, you would have heard it.” She adjusted her skirts, settling back more heavily against the squabs. The bounce had left her looking a bit disheveled, with a strawberry blond curl hanging across her forehead. She blew the lock of hair with an upturned breath.

She really was quite pretty if one could get over the shrewish behavior. Her body was tall and willowy, her limbs long and graceful. Her heart-shaped face would probably be beautiful if she ever graced it with a smile.

“Just where are we going?” she asked. She still didn’t look at him. She gazed out the window with the countenance of someone who had the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

“My house in Bedfordshire.”

Her shoulders stiffened and then she exhaled deeply.

“And just what recommends such a place?”

“It has bars on the windows and heavy locks on the doors.” It didn’t. But she didn’t have to know that.

“It will take more than bars and windows to keep a faerie under lock and key.” She sniffed and raised her nose in the air.

“Then thank God there are ropes aplenty. I will tie you to my side if I must. I did promise Robin I’d take care of you.” That was a bit of a long and sordid tale, and he still didn’t understand the half of it. “Pray tell me how you people came to exist.”

She arched a delicate brow at him. “The same way you did.” Her face flushed scarlet. “Do you really need me to tell you about reproduction?”

Damn her hide. He didn’t need her to explain anything about reproduction. This lady knew how to jab him where it hurt, though. He would have to take great care with her. He grinned slowly and leaned forward. “Please do. If you’re lacking anything in the telling of how babes are made, I’ll fill in the blanks for you. Certainly, you have questions about it.”

“Should any pressing questions arise, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She looked back out the window. Damn, he hoped that Robin finished up his business soon so he could free the harpy.

“How long do you plan to keep me there?”

“As long as it takes for Robin to finish his business.” The sooner, the better.

“I’m certain he’s done by now. So we can turn around and go back to the city.” She looked quite pleased by that idea. A smile tipped her lips and the beauty of it nearly took Finn’s breath away.

“He’ll send word when he’s done. I’ll set you free not a moment before.”

She laughed lightly, and the sound raked over his skin like silky fingertips in the night. “Only an idiot would think he can keep a faerie confined.” She snorted lightly. It was a most unladylike noise, but he found himself biting back a grin at the sound.

Finn leaned over and looked out the window at the cloud-filled sky. If he couldn’t keep her confined, the inclement weather would. Unless he was mistaken, the snow would begin to fall before they reached their destination. Then she would be as confined by the elements as she was by him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to tie her to him. He’d have to wait and see.

***

Robin had sent a messenger to the house to ready it for company before he’d left for… wherever it was he’d gone. But that didn’t help Finn at the moment. Evidently, they’d arrived before the messenger did. None of the staff greeted them at the door. Where the devil were they? Mr. Ross should at least be nearby. He never left his post. And Mrs. Ross, the cook-housekeeper, should have been there to greet them as well. Blast and damn. Finn moved to pull off his gloves but changed his mind. It was damn cold in the house. And dark. And empty.

“Hullo,” he called. His voice echoed around the empty foyer.

“Looks like no one is home. Let’s head back to London,” Miss Thorne chirped. She started back toward the door.

“Something is wrong,” Finn murmured to himself. “Wait here,” he muttered as he started toward the kitchen. Certainly someone would be in the kitchen. But that room was empty as well. “Where the devil is everyone?”

“It appears as though your house isn’t quite ready for company,” Miss Thorne said, a satisfied smile on her face. “I believe we should make the trip back before the weather gets any worse.”

Just then, the back door opened and a tall man stepped through it. He had an apple clenched between his teeth and bit into it viciously. He stopped short when he saw Finn and Miss Thorne standing there. “Beg your pardon,” he said around the mouthful of apple. He held up one finger as he chewed and swallowed so hard that Finn could hear the gulp across the room. “My lord,” he finally croaked out. He bent at the waist, and that was when Finn finally recognized him.

“Benny?” Finn asked. That man with shoulders as broad as the doorway couldn’t possibly be Benny Ross, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Ross. The last time he’d seen Benny… He couldn’t remember the last time.

“Yes, my lord,” the young man said. “It’s a brisk day, isn’t it?”

If brisk meant cold enough to freeze a man in his tracks, yes, it was. “Where are your parents?” Finn asked. “Did you receive the notice that I would be arriving?”

“Yes, my lord. We received it. That’s why I’m here. Papa took a fall down a flight of stairs a few days ago.” He held up a hand when Finn began to protest. “Don’t worry. He’s going to recover. Just got a nasty bump on the head and a sprained ankle. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“And Mrs. Ross?” Finn asked. Certainly she was on the premises.

“She has refused to leave Papa’s side.”

This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He had a house with no servants. An offended faerie and a house with no servants.

“That settles it,” Miss Thorne chirped. “We’ll be going back to London.” She waved at Benny and said, “It was nice meeting you.”

Benny looked to Finn for confirmation. “You’ll be leaving, then?”

Benny looked much too happy about that. “No,” Finn sighed. “We’ll be staying.”

“I was about to say, you don’t want to get caught in this storm.” Benny parted the kitchen curtains to look out. “It looks to be a nice one.”

“Is there anyone else who can come and take care of the house? One of your sisters, perhaps?” If Finn wasn’t mistaken, Benny had five sisters, all of whom were older than he was.

Benny flushed. “Oh no, my lord. Papa suggested that, and Mama said it wasn’t a good idea. What with you being a bachelor and all.”

Mrs. Ross thought he would defile one of their daughters? He shrugged. One of them was quite attractive.

“But I’ll be here for you. Mama sent a cold lunch. And I’ll go back and get the evening meal before the storm sets in fully.” He looked quite pleased with himself. He pointed toward the front door. “Shall I go and take care of the horses?”

“Build a fire, first, will you?” It was growing colder by the second. Even the kitchen, which was always hot as blazes, was cold enough to make his face numb. “In the sitting room, the library, and the bedchamber.”

Benny’s brow rose. “One bedchamber, my lord?”

Finn nodded. “Yes, just one.”

***

One bedchamber? Was the man daft? There was no possible way Claire was going to share a bedchamber with him. “Have you lost your senses?” she hissed as Benny stalked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. “I will not share a bedchamber with you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Miss Thorne,” Lord Phineas drawled. “Trust me, the idea of it doesn’t settle well with me, either.”

He
didn’t like the idea of sharing a bedchamber? She highly doubted that. A small part of her was momentarily offended by his comment. She’d been told she had striking features. “Why don’t you want to share a bedchamber with me?” she asked impulsively. She wanted to bite the words back as soon as they left her mouth.

“I tend to favor a warm bed partner, Miss Thorne. Not a cold one.” He stalked past her and into the corridor.

Her offense at his lack of interest was absolutely absurd. But it niggled at her more than a little. She shoved the thought aside and forced her attention back to the facts at hand. “I think we should go elsewhere. At least an inn would have staff.”

“They have staff where you come from, Miss Thorne?” He continued down the corridor toward… Where was he going? “In your land, Miss Thorne?” he prompted.

Of course. Her land was structured much like his, except hers was prettier. And in hers, things tended to be a little more fanciful. “My grandfather is one of the Trusted Few, my lord. Do not doubt my origins.”

“Trusted Few?” he parroted, his brow quirked at her. A grin tugged at his lips. Why was that amusing?

“The governing body in our world. Much like your aristocracy. The House of Lords.”

“Only you have a house with a trusted few?” He chuckled. “Certainly, you do.” He finally came to a grand room lined with books, which must have been his library. Claire gazed at the overstuffed shelves. One of her favorite pastimes was reading, and she nearly salivated at the thought of looking through all the books. She forced her attention back to him. “When will we be leaving?”

“When Robin sends words that his business is concluded.” He dropped into a chair behind his desk and began to sort through a stack of correspondence. “Is Ramsdale really your father?”

“No.” She didn’t say more than that. Just the single word.

“Robin says differently.”

“We were raised by our grandparents.” She turned and pretended to peruse the shelves. Talking of her parents still hurt a little. She had never met them. She’d been raised with the fae, along with her brother Marcus and her sister Sophia. There were never any parents in their lives until Sophia stumbled across the Ramsdales. They’d lived in London all her life, right where she could have found them, if she’d only known they existed. Claire still hadn’t met them. Nor did she plan to. Nor did she plan to meet her human brother and sisters. The children her parents had kept.

“Would you prefer that I call you Miss Thorne? Or shall we throw out all social constraints and call one another by our first names, Claire?” he asked, a crooked grin lifting the corners of his lips.

“Miss Thorne will do nicely.” she corrected.