The Magic Between Us (Faerie)

by Tammy Falkner

  He motioned the servant forward. “Take Miss Hewitt’s plate over to the other side of the table, would you?” he grunted.

  “Yes, Mr. Thorne,” the footman said with a smile.

  Cecelia grumbled, but she went. The footman arranged her plate across from Marcus, and that was when her father and his mother walked back into the room.

  “I’m so sorry,” his mother was saying. “I thought the roses needed some attention, but the gardener must have gotten to it before we got there. I regret wasting your time.”

  “No harm done,” Mr. Hewitt said. He narrowed his eyes at Marcus. “Everything going well, Marcus?” he asked.

  Well, I had my hand up your daughter’s skirt and you almost caught me, but aside from that… “Wonderfully,” Marcus said. “Did you sleep well?”

  Mr. Hewitt arched a brow at Marcus. “Aside from a disruption or two.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I hope we won’t have the same interruptions tonight,” Mr. Hewitt warned.

  Marcus heaved a sigh. “Certainly not.”

  Marcus would go mad before he got to hold Cecelia in his arms again.

  “Certainly not,” Mr. Hewitt repeated.

  His mother broke into their head-butting. “Cecelia, I thought you and I might be able to go shopping today.” Her eyes sparkled at Cecelia. His mother was up to something. He just didn’t know what.

  “Of course,” Cecelia said. “When do you want to go?”

  “Claire and Sophia are coming. We can go when they get here.” She winked at Cecelia.

  Cecelia looked up at Marcus, a question in her eyes.

  ***

  Cecelia wasn’t at all certain what was going on, but something was. Lady Ramsdale came to collect her, and they climbed into the carriage. “Where are we going?” Cecelia asked as she settled back against the squabs.

  “We’re going shopping,” Lady Ramsdale chirped. She looked at Claire and Sophia and raised her brow. “You’re going to see Marcus.”

  “What? I don’t know what you mean.”

  Claire pushed back the curtain that covered the window, and there stood a painting. It was a beautiful painting of a small meadow. A tree stood in the corner, and a small stream meandered across the field. A blanket lay nestled in the tall grass with a basket of food beside it. “Marcus is waiting for you in there,” she said.

  “He is? How did you?” Cecelia sputtered.

  “Dear God,” Lady Ramsdale said, throwing her head back. “If I have to wait a fortnight for you and Marcus to spend time together, it’s going to be like talking to a bear. A big one. One that will bite my head off at every turn.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Cecelia groused. He kind of was. Or she could imagine he would be. And she was dying to see him alone. She’d missed him so.

  “Why are you really doing this?” she asked.

  Lady Ramsdale wiped beneath her eyes. “I remember what it’s like to be young and in love. Embrace it, Cecelia.”

  Sophia and Claire looked on sympathetically. Then Claire gave her a nudge. “He’s waiting for you.”

  “We can’t give you very long,” Lady Ramsdale warned. “So spend your time wisely. We’ll collect you in four hours. Then I have to deliver you back to your father.” She looked out, her eyes dreamy. “You can take a long walk by the stream. You can sit beneath the shade of that tree. You can talk for four whole hours.” She grinned.

  “Or you can just make love for four hours,” Sophia said, her voice bland. “Though it’s rather wretched sounding, and it makes me want to cast up my accounts. So, if that’s what you’re doing, I don’t want to know about it when you come back.”

  “As if they would do anything else,” Claire said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

  “This is a bit awkward,” Cecelia said, hanging her head.

  “He loves you. You love him. Enjoy your time together. Because you’re not likely to get any more.”

  Claire held out her hand, and Cecelia dropped to her knees, ready to crawl into the painting.

  Twenty

  Marcus jerked his watch fob from his pocket and looked down at it. It had been three quarters of an hour since he’d entered the painting. With his blasted luck, he would be stuck there for the rest of his life. It would probably serve him right. But when his mother had presented him with the opportunity to spend some time with Cecelia after having been away from her for a whole month, he’d jumped at the chance.

  Her father had probably figured out their plot and foiled it. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cecelia climb into the painting. Claire poked her head in long enough to wave at him and yell, “Four hours, Marcus! And please don’t be naked when I come back!”

  Marcus reached down and helped Cecelia to her feet. “What is this place?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s one of Claire’s paintings. It’s not a real place. You can tell by the walls.”

  “There are walls?” she asked, walking toward the edge. She sank her hand into where the painting ended, and her hand disappeared through the fog. “The walls are fictitious.”

  “All of this is,” he said.

  “That’s some talent Claire has. How did she end up with it anyway?” Cecelia asked.

  Marcus looked at her and bit his lower lip. “That’s an amusing story.”

  He took her hand in his and walked with her to the blanket beneath the willow tree. The sky was blue and the clouds puffy and billowy, and the stream lent a low rushing noise to the background. “Tell it to me,” she said as she sat down.

  He sat beside her and straightened one leg before him, while keeping the other one up. He drew her to lean against his leg so that she reclined in front of him, and he tangled his fingers with hers. “It all started with Sophia.”

  “Sophia can walk into paintings too?” Cecelia asked.

  “No, Sophia is entranced by music. It’s how she met the Duke of Robinsworth. She was at a house party his mother threw when she heard music in the night. She was entranced by it, and it drew her to his chambers. They spent a lot of time together over the piano, and she couldn’t resist his songs.”

  “I didn’t know the duke played,” Cecelia said.

  “He doesn’t do it often. But Sophia says he used to do it when he was feeling melancholy. He had a piano in his chambers.”

  “That’s an odd thing to have in one’s chambers,” Cecelia mused.

  “He’s a bloody duke. He can have whatever he wants.”

  “So what does the music have to do with the paintings?”

  He took a deep breath. This was difficult to explain. “It appears as though Mother and Father left a token with each of their fae children so that we could recognize them later in life. For Sophia, she was entranced by music. And the purpose was so that she would recognize the song of a loved one.”

  “And she recognized the duke?”

  Cecelia ran a finger down the center of his chest and stole his attention. “What were we talking about?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Sophia recognized the duke as someone who loved her.”

  “Oh, yes. He was the one. The tokens have backfired, apparently. Because by the time Sophia’s token began to work, the duke was in love with her, so it was his song that entranced her. She recognized him as the one who loved her, and then they fell in love, and the rest is history.”

  She mulled it over in her mind, the crease between her brows growing deeper. “Wait, so you’re saying that the token was so that she could find her parents, your parents, but she found the duke instead? Because he was the one who loved her and it was his song she recognized?”

  “Exactly. Mother is a singer, and she thought it would be her song. But the duke fell in love with her before she found Mother and Father.”

  “But what about Claire and the paintings? Is that her token? The fact that she can paint?”

  “Father is an artist,” he went on to explain. This really was very convoluted. “They left Claire with a magical pai
ntbrush, and when she has the paintbrush in her hand, she can walk into any painting of her choice. If it’s a real place, she’s in that place, like when we went to Paris and to the land of the fae. And if it’s not a real place, then she goes to a place like this.” He held up his hands, indicating the picturesque little field and the tree.

  “I still don’t understand,” Cecelia said. “What does her walking into paintings have to do with your parents?”

  Marcus heaved a sigh. “They left her with a painting of a tiny door that Grandmother kept in the attic. Over the door it said ‘Sweet Home’ in Latin. When Claire was angry one day, she went to the attic, found the painting, the paintbrush, and the door, and she went through it, hoping to escape Mother and Father’s presence in the land of the fae. She didn’t yet like them at that point.”

  “And?” Cecelia prompted.

  “When she went through the painting, she tumbled directly into Lord Phineas’s bedchamber, because he was ‘home’ for her. He was mad for her, and she was already increasing, so this all made sense at the time.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “Did you get a token, too?”

  “I did.” He nodded.

  She elbowed him in the belly. “Tell me what it is. Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “First, I need to tell you what we’ve come to know about the tokens,” he said. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “We learned that the tokens represent home. When we were younger, that home might have been with our parents. But since our tokens took effect later, they pointed us to homes of a different sort. They took us all to the home in our hearts. The ones we love.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his compass. “This used to point me home when I went on missions. It always did. I would leave home, and I could always find a portal by using my compass. It never failed me. Until I left you. And I found you again. The night you appeared at the ball where we were all introduced to society, I opened my compass and it pointed to you.”

  “I’m home for you?” she asked, sitting up, the sweetest of smiles on her face.

  “Wherever you are is home. Here, there, the land of the fae… We could be on the moon and it would be home for me as long as you’re there.”

  “But does that mean each of you were fated to fall in love with one specific person?” She didn’t appear happy. Not at all.

  He rushed on to say, “No, it doesn’t work like that.”

  “Are you certain? Because that doesn’t sound very fair if that’s the case.”

  “No, no.” He’d bungled this royally. “We were all in love already when our tokens took effect. I love you, Cece. The only one who doesn’t know it is you. The universe already knows.” He jiggled the compass at her. “The magic knows. The world knows. You need to know.” He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes.

  “But it’s almost like none of you had free will.”

  He threw up his hands. “It’s not like that at all.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “The tokens point to who we love, you ninny.” He tweaked her nose. “They are merely further proof that we are with the people we’re supposed to be with. I’m supposed to be with you for the rest of my life. You’re home for me.”

  She lay back, her head on his thigh. Usually, their positions were reversed. But he rather liked this, too. He began to pull the pins from her hair, dropping them one by one to lie beside him on the blanket. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to touch you all over. And I’m starting at the top,” he said with a chuckle.

  “What if I wasn’t the one, Marcus?” she asked. “What if your compass pointed to someone else one day?”

  “My compass will never point to anyone else, Cece. Ever.”

  “But what if someday it magically does?”

  “Then I will bash the blasted thing into oblivion. Because I know my heart better than any compass ever could.”

  “Hmm…” she said.

  “Stop thinking,” he urged. “The tokens are just further proof. They have nothing to do with how I love you or why I love you or how long I’ll love you.”

  “How do you love me?” she asked with a giggle. She looked up at the clouds with a smile on her face rather than looking at him.

  “Desperately and completely,” he said.

  “Why do you love me?” she asked, her smile even bigger than before.

  “Because you’re home for me.”

  Her smile softened. “How long will you love me?” she asked.

  “Forever and a day.”

  She was quiet, and he could tell she was thinking. He nudged her head with his knee, brushing her hair back from her face with gentle fingers. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m thinking about how much I missed you when we were apart.” She turned onto her side to face him. “I’m thinking about how I felt abandoned and alone.”

  She might as well have stuck a knife in his gut. He could never say he was sorry enough. “When we were in the land of the fae, did you sleep with me because you were in love with me? Or because you needed to escape from your life?”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “A little bit of both,” she finally admitted. “I used you shamelessly.” She giggled. “I would be angry at me if I were you.”

  A grin tugged at his own lips. “I would be willing to pay penance such as that anytime you choose.”

  “You’re so selfless,” she chided.

  “You should have told me about your father,” he said softly. “I could have helped you long before I did.”

  “You left me. And I didn’t want to call upon you for anything after that.” She shrugged. “Stubborn pride.”

  “I would have come back for you,” he said, taking her chin in his hand so he could look into her eyes. “I would have come back for you anytime.”

  “I wanted you to come back for me just because you loved me. Not because I needed someone to save me.”

  “Yet you came for the mission to secure my place in human society.”

  She looked everywhere but at him. “I needed a reprieve from my father.”

  “You didn’t want to see me at all?” He was only jesting, but he was also curious.

  “Oh, I wanted to see you.” She grinned. “I wanted to see you strung up by your toenails and flogged to within an inch of your life.”

  “You’re not harsh at all, are you? Should I live in fear of you for our entire marriage?”

  “Definitely!” she said. Then she raised a hand to pull him down to her. She breathed against his lips. “You should be afraid of me. Very, very afraid.”

  He hardened immediately.

  Marcus spun around, pushing her back onto the blanket. He lifted her arms above her head and held her hands there, tight within his fists. “I think it is you who should be afraid,” he said softly.

  “Of who?” she asked. “You?” She grinned. “Do your worst, Marcus.” She wiggled beneath him.

  He couldn’t let a taunt like that go unchallenged. He nestled his leg between hers so he could lie against her heat and bent to kiss her cheek. Then her jaw. Then he drew the lobe of her ear between his teeth and sucked it gently. She squirmed beneath him.

  “I’ve thought about this for a month,” she admitted.

  He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “What have you thought about?”

  She flushed, her cheeks flaming cherry red. “I thought about the way you kiss me.” Her voice was soft and quivery.

  He bent and did just that, drawing her lower lip between his teeth where he could lick across it. She let her tongue slide across his, and where he’d been only hard a moment before, he was now painfully hard. He pushed against her heat and her eyes closed.

  ***

  “Tell me what else you thought about when we were apart,” he requested.

  The words trembled on her lips. “I thought about the way you kiss your way up and down my body.”

  He tugged the
string at the bodice of her gown, opening it down the front, and then he pushed it down her shoulders. Her chemise followed, until they both bunched around her hips. He sat up on his knees. “Lift,” he said.

  She did, and he pulled her gown and chemise down her body, taking her drawers with them. She covered her breasts with her hands, and he took her hands in his and lifted them back over her head.

  “Tell me what else you thought about.”

  “I thought about when you put your fingers inside me. And when you found that little spot that makes me go mad.”

  He pretended to be puzzled. “What spot was that? I don’t recall.”

  “Marcus!” she squealed. He took her nipple into his mouth and licked across it, his tongue scratchy and soft at the same time. He bit down gently on her left nipple, and heat shot straight to her groin. “Marcus,” she crooned more softly.

  “What?” he whispered, his mouth popping off her breast long enough to talk, but then he suckled her again, drawing on her nipple until it made her belly clench. “You were talking about this special spot that makes you go mad.”

  She leaned up and kissed his forehead. “If you can’t find it, I can show you where it is.” She laughed, throwing her head back, her eyes closed. She opened them when his head suddenly shot up and he looked her in the face. She would never live this down.

  “Did a little exploring, did you?” he asked with a grin. “How did that go?”

  “Well,” she squeaked.

  Good God, the thought of her doing that would unman him. “Did you think of me when you touched yourself?” he asked.

  “Every time,” she breathed, her warm words blowing across the shell of his ear.

  Thank heavens. “What was I doing in your fantasy?”

  “The same thing you’re doing now, only you were moving down there a little bit quicker.” She couldn’t keep from laughing.

  He kissed between her breasts and down across her belly button, stopping to flick his tongue inside it. Then he kissed all the way down to where her springy hair hid her mound. And then he kissed and licked his way down through it, until he settled with her knees over his shoulders.