Prince of Magic

by Anne Stuart

  And just that simply, her life had ended. “M . . . married?” she’d stammered.

  “Aye. Time for me to start a family. I’ve got the home farm to think of, and me mum’s not getting any younger. I have to think of meself, you know. I won’t be coming back to Hernewood Manor once your father comes home. You’ll have to find someone to replace me.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand,” she said dizzily.

  “What’s to understand, Miss? Servants leave their masters all the time. They get married and raise families. It’s no concern of yours.” He turned his back to her, fiddling the bucket of feed he’d brought with him.

  “Obviously not,” she said in a hollow voice. “Well, I wish you all the best, Peter. When’s the happy day?”

  “I’ll let you know, Miss.” His voice was muffled. “It’ll only be family and the people from the village, none of the gentry. I’m sure you’d understand that well enough. Classes just don’t mix properly.”

  “No,” she said, numb and dead inside, “I suppose they don’t.”

  She’d managed to keep her calm when she walked from the stable into the gray morning air. He hadn’t told her who he was marrying—maybe he’d simply made it up for some bizarre reason of his own. And then she’d seen the stout, cheerful form of his mother, Alice.

  She’d looked up, suddenly hopeful, and Alice’s face had crumpled. “Ah, lass,” she said, and put her arms around Jane, pressing her head to her ample bosom.

  She’d cried then. In the middle of the farmyard, with servants all about and Peter not that far away, she cried in Alice Brownington’s arms, as Alice stroked her head and murmured, “There, there, lass,” and other words of meaningless comfort. And when Jane’s tears finally slowed, and she lifted her face, Alice simply shook her head sadly. “I only wish it could be different, love.”

  She’d never known she possessed such dignity. She’d managed a wry smile, despite her red and swollen eyes. “So do I, Alice,” she whispered. And then she took off, running down the road, away from watching eyes and pitying looks, until she wound up where she was now, hiding.

  The carriage stopped, and she cursed beneath her breath, a word she’d learned from Peter long ago, when they’d been children together and life had been so simple. It had been Peter, Jane, and Gabriel against the world. Now it was Peter against Jane, and the world had won.

  She heard the carriage door open, and she froze, hoping she’d blend with the woods around her. She should have known it would be too much to hope for, given the wretchedness of her day so far. And she should have known it would be the last person she wanted to see.

  “Miss Durham?” Delilah Chilton’s light, piercing voice floated down to her. “Oh, Jane, dear. I know it’s you. I can see you quite clearly. Come up, do.”

  So much for blending with my surroundings, Jane thought miserably. She lifted her head. “Hullo, Lady Chilton,” she called out in a muffled reply. “I’m afraid I’m rather busy right now. I promised my . . . my brother’s cook that I’d find some herbs. This is the only place they grow, and they’re most useful . . .”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Jane,” Delilah snapped. “You don’t know anything about herbs. Besides, I’ve been looking for you. It’s important.”

  Something in Delilah’s tone of voice broke through her misery, and she scrambled to her feet, peering up through the foliage. “Has something happened?” she demanded urgently. “Is Lizzie all right? I haven’t seen her all morning, and I didn’t stop to think . . .”

  “She’s perfectly fine,” Delilah said smoothly. “She simply lost her way when she was out for a walk and ended up at Arundel. I persuaded her to stay for lunch and promised I’d bring you back to join us.”

  “She lost her way? That doesn’t sound like Lizzie,” Jane said, climbing back up the embankment. Delilah took in her twig-strewn clothing, her swollen face, but simply gave her a deceptively sweet smile.

  “Well, she’s a newcomer to this area. She can’t be expected to know where one person’s lands end and another’s begin. Come along, dear. I think she’s a bit anxious, being surrounded by so many gentlemen. You would provide a great comfort.”

  The door to the huge black carriage stood open, waiting. Two of Lady Chilton’s servants stood by, large, hulking men dressed in funereal black as well. They looked entirely capable of forcing her into the carriage if she didn’t choose to go willingly.

  Once that thought entered her mind she couldn’t dismiss it. Jane took one step forward, then suddenly whirled around, diving back toward the bushes.

  She hadn’t realized how anyone so large could be so quick on his feet. In less than a minute she was bundled into the carriage, her ankles and wrists tied with stout rope, a dry, dusty cloth silencing her screams. They dumped her on the floor of the carriage, and then Lady Chilton climbed in, stepping around her quite delicately as the door closed behind her, plunging the carriage into an eerie, unnatural gloom. There were dark covers on the window, shutting out the light, and no one had lit the tiny lamps.

  “Don’t worry, Jane,” Delilah’s soft, sweet voice murmured. “If your dear friend Lizzie isn’t at Arundel yet, she will be soon. You can keep each other company until your sister arrives.” Delilah leaned closer, and her oversweet, musky perfume washed over Jane. “No need to be frightened, darling. You’re just being invited to participate in our May Day celebrations, which I’m certain you’ll enjoy enormously. Such a nice, well-bred, pure young creature like you.”

  Jane kicked out with her legs, connecting with Lady Chilton’s long silken skirts. Delilah let out a little shriek of pain, then laughed. “I’ll pay you back for that, my girl. You can count on it.”

  The ride in the dark seemed endless. Jane could scarcely breathe around the smothering gag, and every now and then Delilah would give her a little kick with her pointy-toed shoes, which she’d follow with an eerie trill of laughter. By the time the carriage finally came to a halt, Jane was ready to scream.

  They hauled her out like a sack of potatoes and tossed her over someone’s burly shoulder. The world swung crazily about her as they carried her into the house, and she saw a crowd of people, mostly men, who seemed to be watching the proceedings with unholy amusement.

  “Ah, you’ve brought her,” Francis Chilton’s light, affected voice greeted her. “Set her down, Joseph, and let me take a look at her. Maybe she’s more presentable than I thought.”

  She felt herself put on her feet, but her ankles were tied too closely together, and she toppled over onto the floor, unable to break her fall. The room shook with thunderous laughter, and she glared up mutely.

  “What say you, Merriwether?” Francis murmured.

  “She’s not as pretty as your little prize, is she? Still, she’s a virgin—how could she not be?—and as well-born as her sister.”

  She didn’t recognize the beefy man who stepped forward and peered down into her face. “Is this the other daughter? Durham›s?” he demanded.

  “Of course,” Francis said smoothly. “I thought you realized we were going for both. Two well-bred innocents are better than one, and if things work out according to plan, we might even have three.”

  Merriwether stepped back. “I don’t know whether she’s innocent or not, and I don’t care,” he said. “But she ain’t well-bred.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Francis said, affronted. “You mean that old story about Gabriel and his sister? I’m fully aware that the Durhams are not their real parents. There’s royalty in their blood, which makes it even better.”

  “In Gabriel’s blood, not this one. They’ve got the same mother. I should know, because I bedded her some years past, and she was a corker, even in her fifties. She’s dead now, of course, but she was a talkative one. Gabriel’s father was one of the royal dukes. But this one was sired by a stable lad.”
r />   “A stable lad?” Francis said, horrified.

  “She’s no better born than half the servants around here,” he said flatly.

  Jane didn’t move. If she hadn’t been bound and gagged, she would have leapt up and thrown her arms around the disgusting gentleman who’d once tupped her mother. She was deliciously, gloriously lower class, and if she survived the next few days, she planned to celebrate her fall from grace in no uncertain terms.

  Francis shrugged. “So we burn a baseborn virgin as well. I doubt the gods will mind.”

  “Seems an awful waste with the other one,” Merriwether said. “Don’t you think we might have a go at her? I mean, once she’s burned up, how is anyone to know whether she still had her maidenhead or not?”

  “Don’t be crass,” Francis said with a sniff. “When you bring a gift to Belarus, you cannot soil it first. Really, how often must I explain how these things are done?”

  “How do you know how these things are done?” Merriwether said in a cross voice. “What made you such an expert and all?”

  “I learned from Gabriel,” he said in a silky voice.

  “Ah,” said Merriwether, accepting it. “And will he be here for the Beltane fire?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here,” Francis said in a soft, purring voice. “You can trust me on that.”

  THEY LOCKED HER in a small, dark room in an outbuilding near a kennel of growling dogs. “Don’t try to escape, love,” one man said as he untied the ropes around her ankles. “Them dogs would just love a tasty handful like you.”

  She didn’t make the mistake of kicking at them. She sat on the narrow bed, still and silent, biding her time. “Someone wall bring you something to eat,” the man called Merriwether said. “And maybe we’ll have a little surprise for you. A nice visitor to cheer your spirits.”

  “My brother will come looking for me,” she said with icy calm.

  “Your brother doesn’t give a damn about anybody and never has. Didn’t you hear Francis—he taught him everything he knows. Cheer up, though, Miss Durham. I’ll see if we can’t do something to make sure it won’t hurt.”

  “What won’t hurt?”

  “Why, the fires. The fires of Beltane. We’re Druids, and we burn our sacrifices in the fires of Beltane. And you’re one of the chosen ones.”

  She didn’t scream. She didn’t say a word. She just sat there, numb, as the door closed behind them.

  She was still sitting, an endless time later, when someone unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was Maudie Possett, a tray of food resting on her slightly swelling belly, looking both wary and smug.

  “Maudie!” Jane breathed. “Everyone’s been so worried about you! No one had any idea you were here. You’ve got to get away from here. You’ve got to help me . . .”

  “I don’t ‘got to do’ anything,” she said, setting the tray down on the edge of the bed. “I like it here just fine. They treats us nice here, me and Josie and Mary. They’re real sweet, except for that old bastard.” She laughed nervously. “But then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Mean old man, he is.”

  “Who is?”

  But Maudie wasn’t going to answer any questions. “Eat your food and be quick about it. I haven’t got all day. There’s a gentleman waiting for me, and I do mean a real gentleman. Treats me nice, he does. Says he’ll give me money for me baby.”

  Jane shuddered in horror. “Maudie, these people are evil.”

  Maudie grimaced. “And what would you know about evil, Miss? You who’ve always had a full belly and a roof over your head?”

  “I know evil when I see it,” she said in a low voice. “And it’s all around us.”

  Maudie shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ve got things to do. I’ll be back for the tray. Don’t you get any ideas, now. There’s no way out. The dogs run loose, and I wouldn’t want to come up against them. They’re mean, and they starve ’em. They’d tear you apart as soon as look at you.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere.” It was a lie. That was the second time she’d been warned about the dogs. If they were that dangerous, they wouldn’t have bothered to tell her. They would have simply let her find out for herself.

  Maudie slammed the door behind her, locking it securely. Jane looked at the tray of food, feeling her stomach revolt at the very thought of eating. She forced herself to pick up the piece of stale bread—she hadn’t eaten since last night, and if she was going to get out of here, she needed her strength.

  Her throat was so dry she could barely manage to choke it down, but she forced herself, leaning back on the sagging iron bed and surveying her surroundings. There was only a small, horizontal window set high in the wall. The walls were thick, and there was no help to be had in this wretched place. She would simply have to hope Maudie would forget to lock the door when she came back for the tray.

  The moment the idea came to her, Jane thought better of it. Maudie was a silly girl, but not stupid. She wouldn’t forget anything so crucial. If Jane had any sense at all, she’d hide behind the door when Maudie returned. If it came to a struggle, she didn’t know who would win. Jane was taller, but Maudie was wiry and tough, having worked hard all her life. And Jane didn’t know if she could bring herself to hit a pregnant woman for fear of hurting the child.

  She had to try something. She heard the footsteps outside her prison, and she scampered off the bed. There was nothing she could use as a weapon but her bare hands, so she would simply have to rely on the element of surprise.

  She stood poised, waiting, as the door opened inward, ready to leap.

  And then stopped in shock as her beautiful, golden-haired sister Edwina walked into the room, for all the world as if she were at a garden party.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “WELL, YOU’VE SCREWED this up royally, love,” Francis said with acid in his voice. “Where’s the other girl, then?”

  Delilah shrugged, blissfully unconcerned. “Does it matter? Sooner or later Gabriel will come looking for his sister, and then we can snatch the girl.”

  “I’m not so certain he’ll come after her at all. And I’m not willing to wait. Send Merriwether after the redhead. He did an excellent job bringing darling Edwina from London—I imagine an unprotected young lady out in the country would be child’s play.”

  “Ask him, darling,” Delilah said, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were wide, and ever so slightly glazed. “I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help you.”

  Francis surveyed his exquisite wife for a long, thoughtful moment. He would miss her, he truly would. He had never known a woman quite as soulless, quite as unrepentant as she. She enchanted him with her total lack of morality, but all things had to end sooner or later. He wasn’t a man to waste his time with useless regrets.

  He leaned down and kissed her gently on the temple. “You look ravishing, my pet,” he murmured.

  Her perfect mouth curved in a small, wicked smile. “I know.”

  SHE WOULD MISS him, she truly would. Francis had been the perfect husband for her: beautiful, wealthy, and without a shred of decency. But he’d made one thing very clear: to gain the most from the ceremony, you must sacrifice the most. Slitting the throat of a pregnant serving girl could hardly be considered a worthy gift when a handsome, adoring husband stood nearby.

  Besides, she’d begun to tire of married life. She was still young, still exquisitely beautiful, and she was growing weary of trailing along in Francis’s wake. She wanted to go back to civilization, to London, the beautiful, grieving, extremely wealthy widow. She’d always looked good in black.

  And she would mourn him, quite sincerely. But all things must come to an end, sooner or later, and it was past time for her to move on.

  If Francis knew, he would understand. Why, he was more than capable of doing the same.

&nbs
p; No, she need feel no guilt whatsoever. A generous amount of opium in his wine, a little slip, and he’d go up in flames, a simply grand offering. And the next day she’d read her future in his ashes.

  She giggled softly. Coming to Yorkshire hadn’t been quite as big a waste of time as she had once thought.

  It was dreary, tedious, but it would provide her freedom. It was worth the months of boredom.

  LIZZIE OPENED HER eyes in sudden shock. She was lying completely naked in Gabriel Durham’s bed, and there wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t throb, ache, or itch. She was sticky, scratched, and sore, and completely horrified by the memory of what had passed between them last night.

  At least, she knew she should be. Particularly since it was midafternoon and she’d been abandoned, left alone in the old tower without a word. Her torn dress was halfway across the room. Her shift lay on the floor beside the bed, and the door stood open to the outside. She wondered if she’d dreamt that locked door. She wondered if she’d dreamt everything.

  She crawled out of bed, too weary to do more than that, and looked down at her body. No, she hadn’t dreamt it. He’d taken her maidenhead last night—he’d taken her every way he could think of and ways she couldn’t even imagine. She pulled back the velvet throw and saw her blood staining the sheet.

  She yanked her shift back around her, shivering in the warm air. She found her dress, doing it up as best she could, when she heard footsteps on the stairs. For a moment she knew absolute panic. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t look at him after last night, the things he’d done to her, the hot, needy words he’d spoken. For a moment she considered hiding, anywhere rather than face him, but a last remnant of pride stiffened her backbone, and she stood straight and tall in the middle of the room, waiting for him.

  It was no relief when an absolute stranger walked through the door. He was a burly, well-dressed man, past his first youth, with a corpulent belly and a flushed, degenerate face. He didn’t seem surprised to see her.