Chemistry of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  But it had been such a damned long time. . . Closing his eyes and indulging in sensation, he nibbled on the shell of her ear and felt her quiver delightfully. Still, she did not turn toward him. What would it take to stir white-hot passion in his bluestocking wife? Her corset offered no hindrance—

  The hunt was on. He undid the tidy corset bow beneath her bodice, and his lady inhaled sharply.

  Just that slight inhalation heightened his lust to feverish. Either that, or he was actually fevered. He was a sad, pathetic excuse for a man, but her newly-aroused excitement intensified his enjoyment of the experiment. With satisfaction, he knew he could now determine just how much bosom his bride possessed.

  He ran kisses down her cheek and throat while he maneuvered his hand beneath her bodice and corset chemise, cupping a sweet peach of a breast. The nipple was already at full peak, and her moan as he tweaked it nearly crippled him. He needed to yank all that fabric out of the way and taste. . .

  The driver shouted at the team and the carriage slowed.

  Mentally cursing, Dare rested his forehead against the silk of her hair, regretfully stroked a furled nipple, and removed his hand. “I know waiting enhances the anticipation, but I fear I may collapse in a swamp of need before this journey ends.”

  She didn’t immediately right herself but clenched her gloved hands in her lap and continued leaning against him, head bent. “I. . . I am at a loss as to what to say, as usual. Should we stay in the carriage?”

  Tempted, but aware of the constraints of travel, Dare wound a loosened tendril around his finger and kissed her ear again. “The next stop will not be as nice an inn as this one. We’ll only change horses there, so it’s best to use the facilities here.” He forced his legs over the side of his makeshift bed and secured her garden hat, returning it to her. Sighing with regret as he gave her fair bosom one last glance, Dare refastened her silly purple cape over her shoulders. “I’ll have no other man admire what is mine. I’m feeling oddly possessive today.”

  Which struck him almost as hard as his lust. His mistress could have taken a dozen lovers, and he wouldn’t have cared so long as she made time for him. But this woman. . . This one was his and his alone. Somehow, that made a difference. Perhaps because all that mattered to him had been inherited—except his horse. He had gained Emilia of his own accord, and she was a precious asset he must nurture, as his father had never tended the wealth of resources he’d been given.

  The footman handed Emilia out. Dare had to adjust his trousers and don his coat before he was even remotely decent. Grabbing the door frame and using the steps instead of leaping out as he had once used to do reduced his ardor somewhat. He was only half the man he’d been. He’d do well to remember that.

  “We should arrive in Alder this evening, shouldn’t we?” she asked in a low voice before they entered the inn.

  “Barring lame horses and broken axles, yes,” he said with fervency, taking her hand on his arm and leading her to an inn maid who would see to her needs.

  He’d been a selfish idiot to believe they could travel without her personal maid. He still didn’t regret the rose in her cheeks when she threw him a thoughtful glance over her shoulder, before she was led away down a dark corridor. Tonight, they could share a bed.

  He arranged a luncheon basket so they could return to the road immediately. Then he availed himself of the facilities, felt no need to cast up what remained of his breakfast, and forewent the medicine bottle.

  His lady returned with her hair properly rearranged, looking as modest as was possible in that fashionable outfit, by the time a fresh team had been harnessed.

  He climbed in, helped her up, took the lunch basket and set it on the floor, and signaled that they were prepared to proceed. As the door shut and he returned to his damned bed, he watched in satisfaction as her hat landed on the far seat. She deliberately untied her cape and flung it to join the hat, conveying her surrender.

  A surge of joy and lust energized him.

  They had an hour or more before the next stop. Dare tugged his bride until she tumbled across his lap.

  Emilia gasped at suddenly being enveloped in big, warm male. She, who barely hugged her own family, was now shoulder to thigh with a near stranger, with his strong arms surrounding her. She could feel his limbs through her layers of clothing.

  And it was. . . interesting. Exciting even, if she could recover from her attack of nerves. If only she could think clearly. . . She couldn’t, but it seemed their mutual lust diverted the healing connection that began with prickles warning of pain and energy depletion to follow. She might suffer later but it was worth the risk. This contact was too new and marvelous to forego.

  “We have at least an hour to play, more, if we leave the curtains drawn,” he whispered in a deep voice low in his throat. He returned to fiddling with her bodice fastening.

  She’d been the one to wantonly cast aside her pelerine. She could not complain if he took full advantage of her loose behavior. She did not want to complain. She had not been able to think of anything else the whole time they were separated. She wanted his hand on her breast again. That had been the most amazing. . .

  She gasped as he located the bodice hook beneath the ruffle.

  “I will double your modiste’s wages,” Lord Dare said in admiration, easily unhooking her. “A front-opening bodice is nothing short of brilliant.”

  It had been Celeste’s idea, actually. Her new cousin was a seamstress with very practical notions. But Emilia was incapable of discussion while her husband systematically worked her fastenings and his bare fingers came closer to her aching flesh. The prickles were always worse when flesh touched flesh. She held her breath, praying. . .

  “And the corset, too!” he covered her face in kisses, distracting her from what his agile fingers were accomplishing—until his big hot hand had covered her breast.

  She almost melted. Instead of noticing pain, she became excruciatingly aware that she was sitting across his thighs, and there was a long, hard. . . movement. . . beneath her bottom.

  “It’s too much,” she gasped, clutching his waistcoat and dislodging his encroaching hand.

  He arranged her more comfortably across one hard thigh but returned his hand to her breast. “Your turn, then. What would you like to do next?”

  She was in serious danger of expiring from sensation and could scarcely pull two words together. “I. . . I do not know.”

  But she did. She wanted to touch his bare chest, except his waistcoat was fastened for a change. And his shirt was tucked into his trousers. And of course, touching bare skin was likely to. . . She settled on untying the black cravat around his neckcloth.

  He shrugged out of his coat while she pried at the knot she’d unfortunately made with trembling fingers. He nuzzled her throat, reducing her thoughts to oatmeal. By the time she had the knot undone and started on his wilted linen, he was rucking up her skirt and petticoat.

  “What. . . what are you doing?” she whispered as the heat of his hand caressed her stockinged limb. She didn’t know if the rush of sensation was lust or his pain or her imagination.

  “Wishing there was a respectable inn at the next stop,” he said fervently. “You have legs a mile long, and I want to feel them wrapped around me.”

  Just the notion of wrapping her legs around him. . . Her mind flew out the window.

  Then he ran his hand up to her garter, his finger brushed her bare thigh, and Emilia nearly elevated off his lap. Tension and excitement pooled in her lower parts. “This is. . . I think. . . Perhaps we should wait.”

  But she didn’t want to wait. She wanted his hand to keep doing what it was doing and more.

  He chuckled, bent his head, and nuzzled her exposed breast, and she couldn’t have fought him if she’d wanted.

  She was sitting in a carriage with her bodice open and her skirts up to her waist like a wanton! He really was the devil!

  And then this tongue lapped her nipple, and she came apart, sh
aking and trembling and turning to liquid inside. His finger brushed her nether lips, and she almost cried her need.

  “You are as hungry as I am,” he said in satisfaction. “Let me thank you for offering your business proposition.”

  And he pushed his finger inside her, rubbed a magic spot, and sent her over the brink.

  Surrounded by the delicious scent of sex and lavender, enrapt in the moans of the innocent he seduced, blanketed by soft feminine flesh, Dare held back his cough for as long as he could. He was so immensely grateful for this moment he’d never hoped to know again, that he didn’t even regret his inability to achieve his own satisfaction. His arousal wilted as he struggled with his cough and the searing pain in his belly. He fumbled for his handkerchief, and his satiated wife immediately unburied her face from his shoulder.

  He had to help her return to her seat from the awkward position he’d put her in. As he coughed up his lungs, he noticed she didn’t even take time to fasten her bodice while she rummaged through their bags for lozenges and water.

  Admiring her white breasts eased him past the embarrassment of his ridiculous illness. Pert pink cherries capped plump vanilla confections. He wanted to lick them all over.

  “I’ve heard the sun and fresh air can ease the congestion,” she offered, holding the water bottle while he sucked on the lozenges. “We’ll set up a chair outside where you can rest when the sun is out.”

  “I have too much to do to lie about,” Dare declared with a firmness that brooked no argument. “Once I’ve separated the minerals in the water, I need to test their properties as restoratives. Bath’s water is high in magnesium, for instance. I thought I’d see how that reacts with sputum.”

  His bride curled her lip in disgust. “Ugh. Spitting into a beaker sounds most unhealthy. My grandfather had a workshop where he made his medicines. You can probably set your equipment up there. It won’t hurt for you to sit in the sun and read and write occasionally outside the shop.”

  Dare regarded her with fascination. He’d just given her what he would swear was her first sexual encounter, and now his bride sat there like a prim miss, fastening her underclothes, and discussing workshops. How had he managed to marry the one woman in all the kingdom with brains?

  She sent him a sideways glance that said he’d been silent too long. He took the water, swallowed, and was at a loss as to how to reply. His formidable mind had shut down beneath the conflicting messages she sent.

  When he said nothing, she finished fastening her bodice and sighed. “I am no good at small talk. Was I supposed to thank you for teaching me carnal lust?”

  Dare choked and coughed, more in surprise than because his lungs demanded it. He pulled her close again, leaned back on his pillows, and closed his eyes.

  “I suspect this is what is called the honeymoon period, where we are in constant awe and admiration of the creature we have brilliantly chosen to marry. In another month or so, you will be yelling at me for ignoring you, and I will be locked up in my room, exploding things, and the honeymoon will end. Until then, accept that I adore everything about you, including and specifically your lack of frivolous speech.”

  “You adore me? That is a trifle far-fetched.” She settled her head against his shoulders, though, relaxing at his silly declaration. “I have a great many peculiarities, so the shouting should be of firework quality.”

  He laughed. “Shouting takes too much breath. I might just torch your draperies in frustration.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” she said sweetly. “I have a dozen recipes for purgatives, some especially designed for the spleenish.”

  “Spleenish!” he sputtered, relaxing with soft woman in his arms. “Don’t turn silly on me now. I’ll give you nights to remember.”

  After he was gone went unsaid. Perhaps he ought to drive her mad and make her glad to see the end of him. It didn’t seem right to leave her mourning his worthless carcass.

  Chapter 6

  Emilia read restlessly while her husband napped. She wasn’t a silly miss. She was a Malcolm, after all. She had access to her family journals. She knew women enjoyed carnal relations. Her fear of pain had led her to believe she wouldn’t enjoy them so much.

  Instead, she sat here wanting more—much, much more, when she ought to be considering consequences.

  Her entire existence had been predicated on the notion that she could not safely have a fulfilling marriage. What if she had been wrong? Had she thrown away her chance for love?

  She cast her napping husband a glance. Although his color was healthy, and his broad chest rose and fell normally, she feared she had exhausted him with just that little bit of exertion. Or had her gift connected without her being aware, due to her. . . mindlessness? Should she refrain from indulging in sexual congress for the sake of their mutual health?

  He had touched her more than any other person since her childhood, and his pain had been swallowed by her hunger and excitement. She wasn’t feeling exhausted, either, so maybe desire disconnected her healing gift. Witless lust was entirely new to her experience.

  The whole downfall of having inexplicable gifts was that they were just that. . . inexplicable.

  Lord Dare woke at the next stop but didn’t seem inclined to climb out and stretch, so she offered him their lunch basket. They ate and talked with none of their earlier seductive exchange. Instead, he picked her brain for the little bit she knew about her great-grandfather’s property and the abbey where she hoped to set up her experiments.

  At the next stop, she needed to use the facilities. Lord Dare approved of this inn and climbed out after her. As they approached the door, a familiar groom raced up.

  “My lord, the wagon has broken a spoke.”

  In moments, all the servants they’d sent ahead had anxiously clustered around them. Deciding there was little she could do about a broken wheel, Emilia asked her maid to accompany her to the facilities, letting Bessie tell her all about the day’s exciting events. Only a little younger than Emilia, she seemed more a mousy, excitable child than an efficient lady’s maid. But she had been trained to be exactly what Emilia needed.

  “And his lordship’s man, James, he helped push us out of the ditch, but it was no use. We had to walk here. He carried my bag! He’s quite handsome, although a little short. Isn’t this a fancy inn? I’ve never quite seen the like.”

  Bessie’s chatter reminded her of home, and her younger sisters all nattering at once, and Emilia almost smiled, even though the news wasn’t good. She’d been dreaming of sharing a bed with her new husband, in their new home this evening. Now it looked as if they must delay their journey.

  When she returned to the common room, she found Dare talking with the innkeeper, a frown creasing his handsome brow. He glanced up and smiled at her, making her heart dance just a little, but the smile faded as the innkeeper insistently shook his head.

  “We are in a bit of a pickle, my dear,” her husband said. “It seems the wagon has lost a wheel and it will take a day to replace it, so even if we go on to our new home, it will have to be without our trunks and servants. I’ve asked if we might take rooms here, but our host says they are all spoken for due to a prizefight in Leeds. He can put up the grooms in the stable, but I don’t think you’ll find that satisfactory.”

  Emilia wrinkled her nose. “So there will be no other inn between here and Harrogate for us?”

  “Not even Harrogate, I fear, my lady,” the innkeeper said. “They hold a horse fair this time of year, which is why there’s a fight scheduled in Leeds. It’s all of a piece.”

  “To catch the purses of traveling gentlemen, he means,” Dare said. “They’ll stop on their way up from London to see the fight, and if they have any coins left, will continue on to buy their horses. We could throw ourselves on the mercy of the clientele and beg that someone give up a room, I suppose, but I’d rather go on and leave the wagon behind.”

  Emilia nodded agreement. “My grandfather had several elderly retainers
who should still be looking after the place. I don’t see a problem. We might try to fit Bessie and James into the carriage with us, though. I don’t know if Mrs. Wiggs and Mr. Barton can manage the stairs these days.”

  That meant no more instructions in the art of lovemaking until they were in the privacy of their chambers. And Bessie’s chatter was likely to drive them both into walking. But she had to offer the suggestion. The grooms might be happy to sleep in the stable, but a lady’s maid and valet were accustomed to better.

  “All right, then we shall journey on,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best to take bread and cheese with us, and a jug of lemonade. We might be arriving late.”

  With Bessie settled in the narrow slice of rear-facing bench that the mattress did not occupy, and James riding with the driver, the carriage set off, leaving their main baggage behind. It would only be another day, Emilia reassured herself. It wasn’t as if she were a clotheshorse needing fancy gowns three times a day. Her traveling gown and the changes of clothing in her valise should be sufficient.

  Dare napped the better part of the afternoon. With Bessie watching, Emilia didn’t venture to feel his chest to see if he breathed any easier. His coughing was less when he slept, which she thought might be a good thing. She read and Bessie mended. As predicted, the remainder of the drive was long, and even though it was summer in the north, the shadows were lengthening by the time they arrived in the village of Alder Abbey.

  Emilia strained to see how much had changed since her youth, but in the gloom, she could see no more than familiar shops and cottages. Her grandfather’s house was a mile or so north of the village, she believed, on a rather large property. Many of the hedgerows along the lane after they left the village belonged to her. Or Lord Dare. She didn’t understand the complexities of marriage trusts.

  As they turned down an overgrown drive, she could see no lights anywhere in the modest three-story country house. Emilia knew word had been sent ahead to prepare for their arrival. She’d expected to dodge Mrs. Wiggs’ hugs and had looked forward to Mr. Barton’s dry commentary on the state of good help these days. Although, she supposed, now that she was a married lady, they might not treat her as the child she had been.