A Certain Magic

by Betina Krahn

  "That's what you said about the magnetizing table," he grumbled. "I've made quite enough of a fool of myself. Passing out from sniffing perfume, laughing myself into oblivion… You probably already think I'm the most peculiar man who ever walked."

  "No, I don't. I'm rather used to eccentric behavior, even a bit fond of it. And I think you're—"

  His whole body suddenly came to attention. "You think I'm what?"

  "Wonderful."

  It came out on a breath, before she had a chance to think whether it was wise or not. It must have been the right thing to say, for it produced a boyish, lopsided smile on his face. With a deep breath, he ducked under the mapper to seat himself on the stool. When the machine started to work, Mimi could see his hands blanching as they gripped his knees. Her smile broadened. He really was the most adorable man.

  When the noise stopped, Mimi released him from the contraption and held up the paper containing the numerical map of his head. "Well, here you are—your character, your talents, your destiny."

  "So… what does it say about me?" He gave his still-tingling head a good rubbing.

  "I haven't the faintest idea." She shrugged with an impish smile and set his cranial map aside with hers. "Only Aunt Phoebe can interpret the numbers. The rest of us have to do it the old-fashioned way, feeling a person's bumps." Her cheeks wanned under his intensely personal look.

  Lord, there was nothing he wanted more at that moment than Mimi Edgethorn feeling his bumps—every last one of them! "Show me," he said, his voice thickening as he lifted her hand and gave her slender fingers a sultry glance and a coaxing caress.

  She led him to a straight-backed chair and stood before him. Her skin glowed warmly in the candlelight as she nudged forward and her knees made contact with his. She wet her lips and swallowed hard, then set her fingertips to his eyebrows, feathering a touch over them, pausing to rub here and there along that ridge around his eye.

  "Doctor Gall determined that human intelligence and character are located in thirty-six well-defined regions of the brain, which correspond to the shape of the outer skull. This one"—her thumbs stroked the outer edges of his eyes and arched over his brows—"is your area of 'perceptives.' It indicates how observant you are. This is your sense of 'time and tune.'" She massaged his temples and ran her fingers up into his silky hair. "Ummm… I can feel you have a very nice sense of rhythm," she observed breathlessly. The throb in his temples migrated through her fingertips and began to drum in her blood.

  "And you seem to be quite developed in your regions of 'ideality' and 'acquisitiveness.' But that's balanced nicely by your 'conscientiousness' and 'veneration.' " She could feel the intense heat of his gaze on her lips, and she licked them. He was so close… so solid… so male… Tingles were rippling up and down her front, beneath her properly laced corset. "And it's quite obvious," she said, rubbing the top of his head, "that you possess a great deal of 'firmness.' "

  "Firm… ohhh yes… I can be very firm." The low rumble from deep in his throat drew her gaze to his. His features were bronzed, his eyes were molten silver rings around dark wells of simmering heat. She felt herself melting into those eyes, turning hot and liquid inside.

  "And here…" Her hands slid to the back of his head, curling in his hair, caressing, exploring as she sank deeper and deeper into the fluid heat he was generating around her. "Here is your area of 'friendship.' " His hands were hot as they closed on her waist and he drew her between his thighs. "And below that is…"

  "Is what?" he demanded, nuzzling and nibbling the lace that trickled coyly down the front of her dress, over her breasts. The sight of his sensual lips, moving, caressing her lace as a proxy for what lay beneath it, set the tips of her breasts on fire.

  "Your 'amativeness.' " She held her breath as his arms closed slowly, relentlessly around her, reeling her to his broad chest, clasping her against his hardened male frame so that she felt the swelling of his passion. "You seem to have a lump… on your region of amativeness."

  "Oh, Mimi, I have more than a lump." He groaned and writhed on his seat as he pressed hard against her and threaded his fingers into her hair. In a heartbeat, he joined their mouths in a searing kiss that melted all the barriers between them. His mouth was so hot and soft and caressing… Then he was rising, rubbing against her as he gained his feet.

  "Aunt Phoebe says a man and woman should have compatible… bumps," she murmured into the corner of his mouth. His wicked chuckle rumbled through her lips and trickled down the back of her throat.

  "Then by all means… we should see if our bumps are compatible." He lifted her and carried her to an old armless settee he had spotted in the shadows. Soon he was seated with her on his lap, his hands sliding up her sides and spreading over her breasts. The rigid boning of her corset and the soft bulge of her breasts above it made a starkly erotic contrast against his burning palms. "Oh, Mimi… such lovely—" Her mouth on his cut off his next words, and a moment later her hands left his neck to slide the draped silk of her dress down her shoulders. He groaned as her tongue darted softly over his, and he accepted her invitation. His fingers pried the tightly budded tips of her breasts above the restrictive edge of her boning and ran his hands over them again and again… soft, sinuous abrasions that made her gasp and squirm delectably.

  He pulled back to look at her sitting on his lap, her eyes heavy with desire, her dress peeled down around her shoulders, her full, silky breasts and taut velvety nipples bared to him. She was perfection, sensuality and innocence, rare clarity of heart, cloaked in feminine mystery. And a moment later, she was working the buttons of his shirt. "What are you…?"

  "Seeing if we're compatible… my bumps and yours," she whispered, tugging his shirt open and pushing it aside. Breath stopped in his throat as she shifted on his lap and pressed her nipples against his bare chest, slowly, instinctively rubbing against him. It was his dream come true… his bare chest, her sleek breasts…

  "Oh, Mimi, sweet Mimi—" He clasped her tightly against him and shuddered through the shattering eruption of need that rocked him. "I have other lumps—" he said in a rasp. And he slid her onto the settee beside him and lowered her onto her back, pressing his length against her, letting her feel his heat, his maleness… finding the rounded parts of her, molding his hands to her woman's heat… and letting her find him. Her touch was gentle, exploratory, then her fingers wrapped him, claiming him, and he stilled, unable to absorb one more drop of pleasure without exploding.

  In the dim light, his eyes found hers… liquid and shimmering, receptive. "Your other lumps… should we see if we're compatible there, too?" For a long, precious moment the possibility stretched between them, hot, breathtaking, perfect. Almost.

  "We're compatible, sweet Mimi," he whispered with all the urgency in his blood compressed into each syllable. "Can't you feel it… in your skin, in your blood, in your very bones? Lord—I'd never even imagined a wanting like this. I'm half afraid I'll burst into flame every time you touch me."

  She cradled his face in her hands, and he turned it to kiss each of her palms. "I'm not sure what's happening to me, Mimi. I don't know if I'm dreaming or losing my sanity. Everything I wanted, everything I was, it's all turned upside down since I came here. I've tried to think how long it had been since I smelled a flower, or a pretty woman's perfume, and I couldn't remember a single time, a single event. Lord, Mimi, did I never smell anything wonderful before now… before you? And laughter—I can't remember a hale, hearty laugh in years, no expression of joy, no delight deep enough to actually penetrate my body. Suffocating years without the release of laughter… Can it possibly be true?"

  He paused and showered savoring kisses on her glowing cheeks, her eyelids, her temples, and her nose. "You made me smell and laugh and think and feel… You're a feast for the senses, Mimi, a banquet of life." His voice poured over her like heated cream. "And I want every morsel of you."

  She closed her eyes, gathering those precious words into her heart. Then she arched,
offering him the laces at her back. "My corset," she whispered.

  "My tie… my collar," he countered.

  Suddenly, all was a sweet flurry of heated yearning, fumbling fingers, and shifting limbs. Her laces snarled, his tie knotted, and the button on his collar seemed to shrink. She twisted to give him access, and he slid to give her room, and rolled straight off the old settee, landing with a thud.

  She sat up, her eyes wide and glowing. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to reach my laces if I just stood up."

  But the short fall had jolted more than just his frame; it had jarred his deeply ingrained sense of honor. When he helped her to her feet he paused, holding her hands and gazing at the sweetly disheveled picture she made… with her curls tumbling onto her shoulders, her bodice and corset cover peeled aside, and her rosy nipples peeping above the edge of her boning. She seemed so girlish, so open and vulnerable. Every protective instinct he'd ever harbored toward little Miranda Edgethorn suddenly roared to life in him again to do battle with his own desire. After a long moment he kissed her fingertips, then tenderly began to restore her clothes.

  "Graham?" she breathed, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice. In the shadows, her eyes were great, burnished disks of wonder.

  "I'm here to protect you, Mimi, and I will." His smile grew wistful. "Even if it's from myself. I want it to be right for you. No… I want it to be perfect." He caressed her cheek and ran his fingertips across her shoulder.

  She shivered, feeling that touch on her very heart. "Perfect," she murmured. "I'd like that. But I'd also like it to be soon."

  He laughed.

  Somewhere in the hallway, as he walked Mimi back to her room, Graham realized he was in love with her. Love. The divine madness. The ultimate mystery. The conqueror of kings. He was passionately, feverishly, distractedly in love with sweet, mystical, quixotic Mimi. And he was solidly, sensibly, understandably in love with orderly, logical, and compassionate Mimi. She was a woman who fitted every part of him: his hands, his habits, his very soul. And she had breathed joy and passion back into the arid order and stultifying predictability of his life.

  He stood in the dark hallway for a long moment after she said good night and slipped through her door, carrying the candles with her. The heady impact of it washed over him again and again, like joyous, foaming waves. He understood now: it wasn't just the prospect of saving Miranda Edgethorn that had sent him charging out of London .He'd been fleeing the suffocating limitations of his overplanned existence— searching, seeking, but unsure of what it was he wanted or needed. He'd come to the rescue, not realizing he was in equal need of saving. And he'd run straight to Mimi and her crazy old aunts…

  At the thought of them, his smile faded. Mimi's aunts. They were a threat to his love, the one point of contention that still stood between him and Mimi. There had to be a way to learn the truth! He looked around the gloomy hallway, realizing that it looked much the way it had that first night. The notion seized him; he had to find that tower room again, had to see it for himself.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he retraced his steps down the east hallway, past the center stairs, and into the unfamiliar territory of the west wing. The wall became rough stone once more, and he found that iron-bound door. It was so similar to his recollections that he had to fight back a wave of remembered panic. He entered the tower and began to climb through the blackness, keeping to the side of the wall, feeling his way along.

  The doorway at the top loomed before he realized it, and the door stood ajar as it had that first night. Dim, silvery light spilled over the landing, beckoning, lighting the way into the unknown. With a thudding heart and a dry mouth, he stepped through the door… into the moon-drenched silence.

  The chamber had an odd, undisturbed air about it; the atmosphere seemed heavy and stale. He located a candle-stand on the mantel and managed to light the stubby candles. By that dim golden glow, he surveyed the odd bits of wire and metal, the crocks and coils and piping that littered the tables, and found them to be very like what he'd seen in the old ladies' workshops and laboratory. There was one difference; these were covered with a notable layer of dust. He tested it with his fingers… and felt a part of his anxiety slide. No one had used this stuff in a very long time.

  He drew a heavy breath, and a flush of chagrin spread from underneath his collar. The chamber was as he recalled it… almost. And those small but significant differences made him doubt his own perceptions. How much of it was real and how much had been manufactured by his herb-tainted wits? He had to know. For Mimi's sake, for the sake of the future he wanted to make with her, for his own sanity…

  There was only one sure way to learn the truth. If they were witches, they would dance by moonlight… on Halloween… in the meadow where only starflowers grew.

  Chapter Six

  Phoebe barreled into the breakfast room the next morning, her eyes alight and her plump face crimson from her run through the hallways. She lurched to her chair and braced herself on it as she waved two pieces of paper at her sisters. "I got it," she declared triumphantly. "The map of his head. Mimi must have taken him to my workroom last night after we retired." She held up one cranial map. "This is Mimi's head. I've done her a hundred times, I'd know her numbers anywhere." Then she brandished the second paper. "And this is his!"

  "Well?" Caroline demanded. "What did you learn?"

  "He is well developed over all," Phoebe informed them, savoring her pronouncement, "except in his 'parental love' area. And wherever she's a bit shy of something, he's got an abundance. Wherever he's deficient, she's got a plentiful supply. Extraordinary, how complementary they are." She scowled, pursing one corner of her mouth. "All except in one area. You wouldn't happen to know if Mimi hit her head on something recently? She's all swelled up in her 'amatives,' too—"

  Just then Graham started through the doorway, and Phoebe frantically stuffed the pages on the seat of her chair and plopped her ample frame on top of them.

  "Good morning, Mister Hamilton," the old ladies chorused together.

  "Good morning, ladies." He nodded, seeming a bit preoccupied. But when Mimi entered the dining room, he shot to his feet and looked at her as if she were made of bonbons and peppermint drops. The boyish admiration that warmed his countenance also warmed the cockles of the old ladies' hearts. They smiled and nodded secretively to one another.

  "And what have you planned for today, Mister Hamilton?" Caroline inquired. "More poring through our books? Do give a care… we wouldn't want you taking an eyestrain or getting that disagreeable accountant's hump."

  "I've finished with the books," he said without taking his eyes from Mimi. "And it's such a marvelous autumn day, I had hoped I could persuade Miss Edgethorn to take a walk with me."

  "Oh, just excellent…"

  "Wonderful idea…" and "Do see the view of the bay from the cliffs!" the old ladies answered all at once. When he turned to them, they smiled so sweetly at him that he actually blushed.

  Midmorning, he helped Mimi don her cloak, and together they strolled the paths along the cliffs overlooking the bay. When they reached a crumbling round wall and a pile of stone rubble that had once been a castle watchtower, he scrambled up onto the stones and took in the view. He called to Mimi and pulled her up to stand beside him. Wrapping his arms around her to steady her, he nuzzled her temples and the warm skin of her neck with his cold nose, and she laughed. From that vantage point, standing with their arms around each other, they gazed over the white-capped bay toward the ocean. Slowly they turned their attentions inland, to the village and the woods just north of it, along the road toward Asher House.

  Graham asked her to walk through those autumn woods with him, and soon they were strolling hand in hand through fallen leaves, marveling at the colors and stopping occasionally to kiss. Mimi coaxed him into talking about his family, his childhood with crusty, irascible old Uncle Throckmorton, his partners, and his London house.

  "Electrical lights and marble mantels—
it sounds perfectly lovely," she said softly.

  "I think it sounds lonely," he said, pausing and gazing intently at her. "Come with me to my big house, Mimi."

  Her smile faded, and her heart beat faster. "Don't be silly. What would I do there?"

  "I'm not being silly. I've never been more serious in my life. You'd do all the things women do—rearrange everything; spend money; organize people, places, and events… and generally make the world a more decent and enjoyable place." He strode through the leaves to take her hands in his. She was so adorably wide-eyed. "And, of course, you'd have to sleep with me," he said with a roguish twinkle in his eyes. It was wicked of him to shock her like this, but he just couldn't help himself—it sounded so deliciously indecent. And he'd never made an indecent proposal to a woman in his life.

  "Sl-sleep with you?" she said, forcing the words past the tightening in her throat.

  "Wives do that, I'm told." He countered her resistance and pulled her into his arms. "They sleep with their husbands. Marry me, Mimi, and come to live with me in London."

  The longing his words generated in her was awful to behold. "But I can't be a wife, Graham. I don't have a proper dowry or family or social connections. I don't know anybody in London." He laid a finger against her lips and countered her objections point by point.

  "I don't care about your money, Mimi. I'd want you if you had only the clothes on your back. And as for not knowing people in London, I know hordes of them and I'll arrange to introduce you, to as many or as few as you like. Knowing you, you'll soon have lots of friends and admirers. "

  It sounded so wonderful… Graham, London, a whole new life of her own! Her winging hopes were pierced by a sharp thought and plummeted back to earth. "But, Graham, my aunts. What about my aunts?"