Under Your Spell

by Lois Greiman

  She winced at the hot memories. “Harrison,” she began, but he ran his hand down her throat.

  She shivered, but not from anticipation.

  “You’re cold.”

  “No,” she said. “I—”

  But he was already removing his jacket, curling it around her shoulders, pulling it snug across her breasts. The warmth from his body surrounded her. Maybe she was wrong. This was what she wanted, after all. What she had wanted all along. A lover who would not wound her. Who would give her the child she longed for without making demands on her.

  “Come home with me,” he whispered again.

  The image of a fire filled her head. Of poetry and candlelight and security.

  “I fear it wouldn’t be right.”

  “Right?”

  She forced a smile. “What would our friends think if I left with you?”

  “I would not smear your reputation,” he said. “We shall travel separately.”

  “’Tis good of you to concern yourself with my character, but—”

  “Come with me,” he whispered again.

  “I cannot.”

  “Then I shall come to you.”

  She paused. She would be safe in her own home, but did she want him there?

  “You ride ahead,” he murmured. “I shall wait, say my good-byes. None need know that we are together.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

  “None need know,” he repeated.

  And she nodded. In an instant, she found herself beside her mount. She was astride before she remembered his jacket and drew it from her arms, but he placed a hand on hers.

  “No, please, keep it, my love. Keep it, until you are in my arms.”

  She acquiesced.

  “Go now,” he said, and she did.

  Beyond Haymarket, the cobblestones clicked beneath Silk’s hooves. Firelight flickered in Ella’s head. Poetry felt soothing in her brain. But suddenly Drake’s face was there, filling her mind, taking her thoughts, warming her limbs. She shrugged out of Sutter’s jacket.

  If Drake intended her harm, why hadn’t he tried to coerce her into going with him? Why had he not insisted? In truth, he had never been anything but kind, protective. Never overpowering or overbearing. Not tonight. Not ever.

  But perhaps that meant nothing. Perhaps he knew his influence over her. Perhaps he was simply biding his time, knowing she would come to him. Perhaps he was simply…She shook her head, driving the thoughts from her mind and urging Silk onward. But suddenly Drake’s town house appeared in the darkness before her, as if it were at the end of every path, as if it could not be avoided. In a moment she had dismounted. She was at his door in an instant, but there was no reason to knock, for it opened as if by magic. And he was there.

  Then she was in his arms, crushed against his chest. His lips felt hot and firm against hers. He lifted her into his arms, carried her up the stairs to his bedchamber.

  The door closed, but she failed to notice. She was caught in his eyes, in his embrace. His bed was broad and curtained. Moonlight splashed across his mesmerizing face. The bedsheets felt cool against her back. Then he was kissing her lips with slow, burning passion and she was lost, floundering until she no longer wished to escape.

  She was sinking in the warmth of his touch, the strength of his allure, embedded in it, immersed in it. She reached for his buttons with her uninjured arm and they peeled away, revealing smooth sheets of sun-darkened skin over glorious, shifting muscle.

  Yes, she was powerful. But he was stronger, irresistible. She smoothed her palm over his chest. He closed his eyes, trembling at her touch, and it was that movement, that shiver of weakness that thrilled her, for even with all his strength, he wanted her.

  “Drake.” She touched his cheek. His hands were dark magic, holding her to him. She was lost. That much she knew, but she would not hide from it. She would know the truth, hear it said out loud. “I know—”

  “I am in love with you,” he said, and kissed her again, then found her eyes. “Though I have tried to be otherwise.”

  She studied him from inches away, heart pounding with hope. But she had been wounded to her very soul, and that wound would not heal quickly. “There is no reason to lie,” she said, her voice soft in the darkness. “I cannot resist you. Little matter how you feel.”

  His face was dispassionate, as though he fought to hold his emotions at bay, but his eyes were burning. “I love you. God save me, but I do. I know you are…” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I know you are not what you say you are. That you are more than you admit, and yet I can think of nothing else. Whatever you have done, whatever you will do—” he began, but in that moment she kissed him, for it was true. All true. She had not bewitched him. As much as she had tried to deceive him, she had been unable. From the first he had seen her honestly. And yet he loved her. Perhaps it was because he too was gifted in some almost imperceptible way. But whatever the reason, it was right. It was good.

  Their joining was magical. No misgivings. No uncertainty. They were one. Their gazes never separated. Not even in the final moments when she crested the wave and rode to ecstasy. He shuddered against her and she collapsed to her side, breathing hard, wrapping her good arm around him.

  She loved him. His strength, his face, his scent, his—

  But suddenly she froze, trying not to think, yet her mind was scrambling over the bumpy past to days of worry and hope and fear for a young girl, a fledgling witch to whom she had given a gift, a scent, a potion that would keep her safe.

  Jerking her gaze from Drake’s, Ella scanned the room. And there on the mantel, she saw the small amber bottle she had given Sarah.

  Chapter 24

  “Where did you get the cologne?” Ella’s voice sounded hollow, as if it came from a great distance, as if it were not her own. She sat up, gown wrinkled about her waist, chilled, scared.

  Drake turned, glancing toward the mantel, toward the bottle, and suddenly the warmth was gone from his face. His expression was tense, his eyes guilty. “It was given to me.”

  She was frozen in place, playing a scenario back through her mind. Sarah, face somber as she took the bottle in her hand, vowing to use it, to keep it safe. “She would not have given it away,” Ella intoned.

  Drake rose to his feet. He looked beautiful, beautiful and powerful, but his expression changed, flashing to anger, to hatred. “What do you know of her?” he asked.

  Ella stood up, trembling. “Sarah.” She whispered the name like a prayer. “She was my friend.”

  “So that’s how you snared her,” he said, and grasped her arm. “With that potion? With that scent?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just as you snared me. So I can think of nothing else.” He shook her. “Can dream of nothing else.”

  He seemed very large suddenly; tall, terrifying. “Who are you?” she whispered, though she knew the answer.

  “I’ve told myself her death was my fault. Caused by my jealousy. My pettiness. But it was you…” He gritted his teeth as though he couldn’t go on, but rage and terror and sorrow were brewing in Ella’s soul.

  She caught him with her gaze, lowered her voice. “Set me free,” she ordered, but he only tightened his fingers on her arm.

  “You cannot hold me,” she intoned, but she was wrong. He had a power she couldn’t bend with her mind, couldn’t break with her will. “Let me go.”

  “Who are you?” he gritted, shaking her. “Tell me—”

  And in that instant she saw Verrill, saw his rage, his cruelty. An incantation formed in her mind, boiling up, consuming her. She thrust it at him. Her spell was nothing but a puff of air. Still, he staggered backward, stumbling into the bed frame, his injured leg giving way beneath him.

  She stepped toward him, wanting to help, to soothe, but he struggled to his feet, eyes ablaze with anger, with hatred. And she fled, flying down the hall, leaping through the door, throwing herself into the saddle. Silk�
�s galloping hooves echoing against his voice as he called her name. But she didn’t stop.

  He had Sarah’s scent. Had stolen it. But that was the least of the things he had taken from her. He had stolen her gift, her power, her very life.

  Once again Ella had allowed herself to be duped. She’d been drawn in by a power she didn’t understand, couldn’t contain. Yes she was strong, yes she was trained, but it was nothing compared to the earth-shattering feelings he’d conjured in her soul.

  Tears streamed down her face, obscuring her vision. She slowed Silk to a walk, leaned over her crest, crying. He was a warlock, a killer. And she had loved him. Had wanted him. Still wanted him, if the truth be told.

  But she could not…would not succumb to his dark allure. Would not make the same mistake again. For she had suffered that route, that pretend love.

  He had seemed so right for her. But Verrill had seemed right too. So kind, so loving, when in reality he had been the personification of evil. Just as Drake was.

  She had thought they shared a bond. Had thought they had both suffered and overcome and had become better for the experience. She winced at the memory of the puckered scars on his thigh. How had he survived such a hideous injury? How but by—

  It was then that the truth struck; ’twas not his own power that had saved him from such a grievous injury. It was magic. Her magic. He had taken the potion she had given Sarah. Had used it for himself. How powerful he must be to make the essence his own; it was formulated for Sarah alone, or for one very much like her. A sister perhaps or…

  She straightened, realizing suddenly that Silk had stopped.

  In her mind, Drake stared at her, echoing the glance of another. Of Sarah. The eye color was different, but the rest was the same, somber, intelligent, moving.

  Ella’s mind soared away, remembering Sarah’s words of her brother, Thomas, a military man. A handsome man. A serious man, a poet in his heart, she had said. And wounded. But he had a good soul. She was certain of it, and one day they would be friends.

  Drake had her potion, Ella realized dazedly. Not because he had stolen it. But because Sarah had given it to him, to keep him safe, to keep him whole.

  “Thomas,” she whispered, and prepared to turn Silk around, only to realize she had done so long ago.

  Drake was not the evil warlock who had drawn Sarah into a life of crime and eventual death. He was her brother. Her guardian. Ella was certain of it suddenly.

  Silk’s hooves clattered against the cobblestones. Lantern light slashed across the street, leaving them more in darkness than light, but she did not slow the mare’s pace.

  They slid to a skittering halt in front of his door. Throwing herself from the saddle, Ella flew up the steps and burst inside. And he was there, dressed in trousers and coat, black hair tousled, dark eyes troubled.

  “I didn’t mean to harm her,” she rasped, tears burning her throat.

  “Ella—”

  “But she was entranced. She came at me. I tried to stop her without hurting her. But she struck her head.”

  “Leave,” he said, face ashen. “Get out.”

  Sorrow squeezed her heart. Guilt clawed at her, but she pressed on. “I tried to keep her safe. Truly I did. But—”

  “Get out!” he ordered, but she shook her head. And in that moment Harrison Sutter stepped into view.

  Ella started, then froze, for the pistol he held steady in his hand was pointed directly at Drake’s heart.

  “It’s no use,” Sutter said, tone level, eyes steady. “Our Ella is not easily dissuaded once she sets her course. Are you, Ella?”

  “Grey,” she said, and felt the truth of her words singe her soul.

  He smiled, still looking harmless, kind. “At your service, my lady. Or shall I call you Josette?”

  “Why?” It was the only word she could force from between frozen lips.

  He shrugged. “Because I can, I suppose. I learned that some time ago. In Madrid, actually.”

  “You killed Leila,” she hissed, but he laughed.

  “No, my dear. I did not kill her. In actuality I seem to have convinced her to kill herself. At the time I was as surprised as any by my powers of persuasion.”

  “Why? She—”

  “I believe she was to meet with a friend of ours. A woman you so charmingly call Vision. A woman who would have told her of Napoleon’s intentions to invade Spain.” He canted his head. “France was willing to pay rather handsomely to keep that information quiet, and I was just then beginning to realize the power I have over a very select group of people.”

  She felt breathless, lost, floundering in a sea of regret. “You’re a warlock.”

  “Warlock.” He considered that with a smile. “The word has negative connotations, I fear. But yes, I suppose that is indeed what I am.”

  Ella shook her head, trying to understand, to think. “Why Sarah?”

  He opened his mouth, but Drake spoke first. “Because he’s a coward.”

  They turned toward him.

  “Too weak to challenge someone older.” Drake said. “Someone stronger.”

  The two men stared at each other. “I hate to disagree,” Grey countered, “but as you can see, I am challenging you this very minute. You…” He glanced toward Ella without moving his weapon the smallest degree. “And your beloved here.”

  “Let her go,” Drake said, voice steady, eyes the same, steady and low and unmoved. “I’m Sarah’s brother. I’m the one to be concerned with.”

  “Do you think so?” Sutter asked.

  “Yes.” The edge of a dark smile curved Drake’s lips. “In fact I do. For I’m the one who is about to kill you.”

  For an instant, fear shown in Grey’s eyes, but then he laughed. “Funny thing though. I seem to be the only one holding a gun.”

  “Then you’d best shoot me now,” Drake said. “Before I—”

  “It’s me you want,” Ella rasped.

  They glanced toward her and she nodded, rushing on. “It’s why you came to London, isn’t it, Sutter?”

  Grey stared at her an instant, then nodded admiringly. “Tell me, my dear, can you read minds too, as well as your other talents?”

  “There’s no need to read your mind,” she said. “For I can feel your evil. You came here for me. That I know. But why?”

  “As it happens I make a very good living convincing witches to do my bidding.” He laughed. “That sounds rather diabolical, doesn’t it. Indeed, I—”

  “Sarah was naught but goodness,” Drake countered. “She was gifted, yes, but she was not a witch.”

  Grey stared at him, eyes shining, and tsked. “I suspect it is the older brother’s place to declare his sister’s innocence, is it not?”

  “She was an innocent,” Drake said.

  “Perhaps when I met her,” Sutter said, and brightened his grin. “But I felt her fledgling powers from the first. And I knew, knew she would be of use.”

  “Then why kill her?” Drake hissed.

  “Kill her?” Surprise showed on his mild features. “I did no such thing. Nor did I intend to. Not for some time at any rate. Until she could be replaced by someone better, someone more powerful. I knew another would come along, for you see, witches are attracted to their own kind.” He smiled fondly. “In actuality, Sir Drake, it was your beloved here who killed her. Just as she was trying to explain to you.”

  Drake turned toward her. Ella met his gaze like a blow.

  “It’s true.” She could stop the words no more than she could stop the beating of her heart. “I killed her,” she said, and dragged her attention back to Grey. “You and I will work well together, Sutter.”

  He lifted a brow. “I believe we will. As soon as we are rid of your beloved here.”

  “He is not my beloved.”

  He smiled a little. “Even better then,” he said, and raised the short muzzle.

  Panic burned her like acid, but she struggled to keep her tone steady, almost bored when next she spoke. “But
I’ll not risk another death.”

  “Some risk is necessary.” Grey thumbed back the hammer.

  “They’ll hear the shot,” she said. He looked at her again. “If you kill him, they’ll hear the shot. Tie him up instead. Leave him here. I’ll go with you. Anywhere you like.”

  “Oh my dear,” Grey said, and shook his head sadly. “Is this what you’ve been reduced to? Groveling? For him?” Moving to the right, he circled Drake, putting them both in his line of fire. “Is that what love has brought you to?”

  She curled her lips in the semblance of a dark smile. “I believe I have already told you that I don’t love him.”

  “But you lie.”

  “No—”

  “You lie,” he repeated evenly. “Would you like to know how I came to realize that?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but he was already continuing.

  “It’s because I have no power over you. I gave you every opportunity to become enamored with me. Gave you a blanket. Gave you the very coat off my back.”

  Drake scowled.

  “Ahh, so your beloved doesn’t know,” Grey said, and smiled fondly at Ella. “You see it’s like this. I have some kind of…” He shrugged, looking modest. “I won’t say unique…but unusual. I have an unusual something that draws gifted women to me. And Josette here, well…she is unusually tactile. Able to sense things through touch. Hence I gave her certain items that had been in my possession for some time. That I had had against my skin. A blanket. My coat. I worried, of course, that she would be able to sense my true intentions, but I kept my thoughts well disciplined when I was in possession of them…” He shrugged. “I thought only of her, of how I would love her, would cherish her.”

  Drake’s gaze was absolutely steady on Grey, never faltering, never turning.

  “But our Josette didn’t seem to return my affection. The items I gave her should have brought her quickly to my side. But…” He turned back toward Ella. “But you returned to him instead of coming to me.” He shook his head, disappointed. “Therefore, he must die. It’s for your own good, really. Surely you don’t want to become just another woman, just another wife, bobbling about a moldering estate with his baby on your hip.”