Touch of Passion (18 page)

“No, Elen, I'm quite sure I won't be needing my gardening clothes in London.”

The girl obediently folded the worn, much-faded garment and put it back into Loris's clothing chest. “Won't it be lovely to have new clothes made, miss? His Lordship said you're to have the most beautiful gowns and hats and shoes.” She sighed happily. “And he said I'm to have new things, too. He's so kind and good, isn't he, miss?”

“She isn't the right person to ask, Elen,” came a voice from the doorway, and they both turned to see Kian standing there. “I feel quite certain she'd not agree.”

“You're back!” Loris exclaimed, both surprised and relieved. She felt an unusual, and somewhat alarming, urge to rush at and hug him. “Thank God.”

He sauntered into the room. “Why, Loris, darling, you almost sound glad to see me. Were you afraid Cadmaran would murder me outright or hold me captive, leaving you all alone to manage Tylluan?”

She gave a shake of her head, angry anew that he'd gone to Llew in the first place. He should have waited for Dyfed to return and accompany him or at least taken some of the men for added protection. She had never met Morcar Cadmaran,
but she knew enough about him to understand that he wasn't a man to be trusted. It had been unutterably foolish for Kian, who had so many lives dependent upon him, to go right into his enemy's fortress, completely unarmed save for his enormous ego and various powers—powers that Cadmaran was, at least for now, more than equal to.

“You may leave, Elen,” Loris said. “Go and tell Cook to prepare a plate with some bread and cold meats for His Lordship. I'm sure he's hungry, having missed the afternoon meal. Unless Lord Llew was kind enough to feed you?” She looked at Kian inquiringly.

“No,” he said, grinning at her. “Cadmaran wasn't that pleased by my visit. Tell Cook to have it sent to my study, Elen. I'll be there just as soon as Miss Loris has finished venting her wrath upon me.”

Giggling, Elen curtsied and departed.

“Now she's going to tell the others that we're fighting again,” Loris chided, returning to the task at hand. “I believe you're already familiar with my feelings regarding your ridiculously foolish visit to Llew. What I want to know now is what transpired, and what you and Cadmaran said to each other. And the young woman—did you meet her? Is she just as Dyfed told us?”

“She was a statue of ice,” Kian said, casting his gaze about Loris's chamber, taking in the various trunks being packed. “She said very little, but what she did confirmed to me that she's not a pleasant woman. Cadmaran was his usual uninspired self. Malachi has always said that Lord Llew isn't a particularly clever wizard, and I believe he must be right.”

“Was she beautiful? And powerful?”

“Very, on both counts. And memorably frightening. Poor Dyfed, having to face such a dreadful female alone. You're a fearsome enough lot when you're merely trying to manage men's lives, but add the ability to wreak havoc and mayhem and women become impossible to live with.”

Loris couldn't stop the laughter that escaped her lips. It wasn't in her nature to be easily amused, though Ffinian had
always had the ability to make her smile, but Kian's mood, at the moment, was light and teasing, and Loris felt her own spirits rise. She knew, though he never would have admitted it, that Kian been worried about facing Morcar Cadmaran. Now that the deed had been successfully done, he was clearly buoyant.

“She's his betrothed,” Kian went on, picking through the pile of unfolded clothing that Loris intended to pack.

“Cadmaran's betrothed?” Loris asked, much surprised by the news. “He intends to wed an American? Is it allowed?”

Kian shrugged. “I suppose it must be, especially as he hasn't been able to find a potential wife among the Families in Europe. Certainly not after my cousin Ceridwen was married before he could force her to the altar.”

“But if she's very powerful, won't the Families be concerned about such a union?”

“Deeply concerned,” Kian agreed. “Their coming together will likely produce magic mortals possessed of vast powers. I'm surprised that the Guardians would allow it. And Miss Caslin didn't appear to be fainting with joy at the idea, either.”

Loris glanced at him as she bent to pick up one of her better dresses. “Perhaps the marriage wasn't of her choosing,” she suggested.

“That may be,” he replied. “I'm going to have to do some reading in the Seymour family history to discover if there's any mention of a clan named Caslin. From what I saw of Desdemona Caslin, they may very well be the American version of our Cadmarans. Which is a truly unpleasant idea.” He picked up a tattered wrap with obvious revulsion. “Gad, you do need a new wardrobe, don't you? How old is this thing?”

Reaching out, Loris snatched it away. “I made that years ago. I made all of these clothes. You've never found them lacking before. And Tylluan is not precisely the center of fashionable society, is it?” she asked. “I need clothing that is practical and comfortable, not fine. And whatever you buy for me in London will be a waste of good money—which we
happen to need just now. I can't imagine that any of it will be usable once I've come home.”

Kian ignored this and picked up another garment, wrinkling his nose after closer examination. “I shall write Julia and instruct her to burn every last item once your new wardrobe has been delivered. Come to that, she'll probably consign them to the fire upon sight, so you may be required to remain indoors for a few days.”

Dread twisted in Loris's stomach at the words, for she knew very well that it wasn't only her wardrobe that society in London would find lacking. She possessed none of the fine manners that both Kian and Dyfed could so easily call forth, nor the kind of education that would lend itself to good conversation. She was plain and simple and only knew about plain and simple things, and she felt quite certain that none of the people she was going to meet at grand balls and parties were going to be interested in either of her lives, current or former.

“I would far rather remain at Tylluan and spare you the expense. We could use the money to repair the fences along the southern border.”

“There's no need for you to worry about having sufficient funds,” Kian said, briefly playing tug-of-war with her over the garment he held, at last letting her win. “We have our share of the Seymour fortune, and there should be enough for both your Season and the repairs that will be needed at Tylluan once the troubles are gone. And as this is likely the only time in your life that you'll be in London again, considering your aversion to travel, I want you to enjoy your visit there as much as possible.”

Loris abruptly dropped the garment she was folding and turned about, truly angry now. “Kian Deiniol Owain Seymour,” she began, and he laughed.

“God's mercy, this is going to be unpleasant. She's said my full name in that fearsome manner.”

Loris put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Never tell me you've dipped into that money for this journey. Even
Ffinian never touched it, and you know how dearly he wanted to. That money is only to be used for Tylluan, and we may well need it before long.”

“Is that what has you so worried?” he asked, clearly amused. “Put your mind at ease, darling Loris. I should have said that
you
have a share of the Seymour fortune. Malachi made certain that money was put away years ago so that you could have a proper Season, and it's been growing by the day beneath Cousin Niclas's tender care. You and Elen may enjoy your new wardrobes with a clear conscience.” Kian's gaze traveled slowly over her figure, and he moved nearer. “I only wish I could see you in the latest fashions, with your hair stylishly cut and arranged.” Lifting a hand, he touched one of the curls that had fallen loose from the simple manner in which she wore her hair each day. “You're going to cause such a stir in Town, Loris. You must be careful not to let any gentleman do anything foolish. I should hate to have to harm anyone.”

It took Loris a moment to realize what he meant. “You can't be serious, Kian.” She slapped his hand away. “Do you mean to say that you'd actually fight a duel with some poor man because of me?”

Kian's amusement died away and he took her chin in a firm, but careful, grasp, keeping her gaze steadily on his. “I believe I could even kill a man if he harmed you, Loris. You know how I feel, and regardless of your own emotions, you accept that I'm speaking the truth. I love you. You're mine. I won't tolerate another man forcing his attentions on you. If I thought it would do any good I'd let you and Dyfed trot out that ridiculous betrothal that somehow came into being years ago, but your behavior toward each other is so much like brother and sister that no one would believe it was true.”

Loris twisted away, furious as only Kian could make her. “You'd best make up your mind, my lord, whether you want me going to London or not, and whether I'm to enjoy myself or not, and whether I'm to dress in fine clothes and cause a sensation. Or not. And when you do finally decide what you
want of me, be so kind as to let me know. Until then, I'd prefer not to speak on the matter.”

“What I want of you?” he repeated, his own angry expression mirroring hers. “Damn you, Loris, have a care what you say to me. You think it a difficult thing to leave Tylluan, and perhaps it is, but I dread the days and nights that are to come, being parted from you. But you don't wish to speak of that, either, do you? Or of what's between us.”

“There is
nothing
between us,” she countered. “Save a seemingly never-ending conflict. Why can we never have five minutes of peace between us, Kian? God above.” She set a hand to her head, where an ache was beginning to throb. “Perhaps a trip to London will be welcome, after all. I shall have a little peace while I'm there, at least.”

“No, my love, that you won't,” Kian said, and before she could move away had gathered her up in his arms. “And neither will I.”

He set his lips over hers, ignoring her attempt to strike him, and held her still, kissing her in the manner that always made her lose her senses, not harshly, but with a gentleness and care that belied the hard arms lashed about her. It was impossible to fight him when he kissed her like this, and the trouble was that she never wanted to.

No one else could do this to her, not even Liw. Only Kian could make her forget everything but the feel of his lips caressing her own, the heat of his body warming her, his strength enveloping her. Her hands lifted of their own accord and grasped him, one digging into the hard muscles of his shoulder, the other sliding around the soft skin of his neck. He moaned at her touch, and with his tongue parted her lips, stroking gently inside.

Her body felt suddenly light, as if she might float if let go and was only kept from doing so by the arms about her. Some of her senses were dimmed, so that both sound and light faded away, while others were heightened, and her awareness of Kian grew almost painfully acute.

His grip on her lessened, and his hands slid upward, stroking her bare upper arms. The Fingers of one hand journeyed farther upward, sliding into her hair, imparting a sweet caress that made her helplessly murmur with pleasure.

And then it happened, as it always happened, though this time it had taken longer to begin. The pleasure faded, to be replaced by a sharp, burning pain. Needles pricked her skin where his hands and lips touched, quickly becoming unbearable. Wincing, she pulled back, hearing Kian plead, breathlessly, “No. Loris, no.”

“I can't,” she managed, firmly pushing him away and turning aside.

“The curse,” he muttered. “As always.”

“Yes,” she agreed, not looking at him. “As always.” She busied herself with smoothing down the front of her skirt and waited for the odd feelings to pass. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to the task of packing, folding clothes with but the slightest trembling in her hands. Kian stood nearby, fuming.

“You shouldn't kiss me,” she told him. “It always ends badly.”

“Aye, that it does,” he agreed, “but it's a journey well worth making. One you enjoy as much as I do.”

“Believe that if you wish,” she replied. “Pass me that heavy skirt, please. I'm not entirely certain, having only packed clothes for men before now, but I believe the heavier items should go on the bottom.”

“God's mercy, how is it that women can recover their wits so quickly?” he muttered, running both hands through his hair. “I find it incredibly difficult. And frustrating.”

“So you've told me,” Loris said, aware that he was still breathing rather harshly. “Perhaps you should make a visit to the village soon,” she suggested, placing the skirt neatly on top of another garment. “While Dyfed and I are gone.”

Kian was quiet for a long moment, and Loris could feel him gazing at her.

“To have a woman, do you mean?” His voice was low and
carefully measured, but Loris noted, with surprise, that there was a slight edge to his tone.

She glanced at him and saw that his expression matched his voice exactly.
Is he angry?
she wondered.
But why should he be? Surely he isn't embarrassed by the suggestion?
She found the idea vaguely amusing, considering how legendary his prowess with women was. The girls at the Red Fox had told Loris astonishing stories about both Kian and Dyfed.

“If it would be helpful to you,” she replied, keeping her own voice level, unperturbed, though she allowed herself a little smile as she gave her attention again to the task at hand. “I doubt Neli Wynne's tavern has as much variety to offer as the places you frequent in London, but surely the outcome of your visits is much the same. And that's what truly matters to men, is it not?”

He touched Loris's arm, pulling her to face him. “You want me,” he said slowly, “to go to the village and lie with one of the women available there? You
want
me to do that, Loris?”