Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  He nodded. “I thought perhaps they would.”

  “But what did it mean?” she asked. “And why should any spirits use my journal to communicate with you?”

  “I don’t know,” he said once more. “But we haven’t the time to discuss the matter more fully just now. Your aunt has a small garden at the back of the house, does she not?”

  Sarah looked at him curiously. “Very small, my lord. It’s not really suitable for strolling in the evening. And it’s quite chilly outside, as well.”

  He made a “tetching” sound. “Small inconveniences and easily dealt with,” he replied. “I shall invite you for a breath of air after the first few rounds of cards, and would be grateful if you’d be ready to agree.”

  “My parents will be displeased,” she warned. “Despite your being an earl and a gentleman.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll invite your brother and charming cousin to accompany us. I won’t mind the company.”

  “My lord, I really can’t like you putting spells on my relatives.”

  He nearly rolled his eyes heavenward. “You mere mortals are always so delicate about such simple matters. Leave it to me, Miss Tamony, and all will be well. Now, curtsy, if you please.”

  “What?”

  “Curtsy,” he advised, “just as you did before, and pretend not to know me. Or that you find me so irresistibly handsome. I shall pretend that you’re not devastatingly beautiful.”

  Sarah flushed. “What impudence, my lord,” she muttered as she lowered herself into a curtsy.

  He chuckled before becoming the regal Earl of Graymar once again, making a slight bow and saying, in formidable tones that nearly had Sarah smiling again, “Miss Tamony. A pleasure. May I say how greatly I’ve enjoyed receiving your many letters?”

  “Oh, has Sarah written to you, my lord?” Aunt Speakley said with surprise, looking from one to the other. At the other end of the room, Julius gave an uncomfortable cough.

  “Yes, Aunt,” Sarah replied. “I’ve asked His Lordship for an interview for my proposed work regarding supernatural events among England’s older families. The Seymours, you see”—she paused long enough to make him stiffen—“are a very, very old family.” She smiled at him innocently and saw the blue eyes spark, though he relaxed. “I had hoped His Lordship might share any peculiar events that his forebears had documented in journals or records. But thus far,” she added sweetly, “I’ve been unsuccessful in securing his aid.”

  “Regrettably true,” said Lord Graymar, addressing Aunt Speakley, “but I hope that Miss Tamony and I may come to some agreement on the matter soon. I am an admirer of her work, as well as Sir Alberic’s, and shouldn’t wish to be at enmity with any author possessed of so great a talent. Perhaps you might act as mediator for us, Mrs. Speakley. I’m sure your niece will be obliged to listen to the wisdom of her dear relative. I know that I should be gratified to do so.”

  Miss Tamony had spoken the truth, Malachi thought later as he led her into the yard behind the house. It was but a small, unilluminated patch of grass, accompanied by a few rosebushes and a single tree. Sufficient for a widowed lady to sit on sunny afternoons and enjoy tea but utterly unsuitable for private conversations when others were present. It was cold, as well, as she’d warned, and the sky covered in thick, threatening clouds, but that was easily dealt with. Malachi had waited long enough to speak with her in private and didn’t wish to wait further.

  He’d sat through a richly prepared and quite enjoyable dinner, during which he’d undertaken to charm his hostess and her guests to the best of his ability—a talent that, he accepted without too much pride, was considerable—all the while striving to ignore Miss Tamony’s mocking glances. Afterward, the company undertook to enjoy several hands of whist. Malachi had allowed himself to be paired with Mrs. Speakley but made certain they were seated at the same table as Miss Tamony and her cousin, Philistia. He had discovered, not surprisingly, that Sarah Tamony was a serious competitor. She wasn’t going to lose easily at anything she undertook. Her sweet and rather timid cousin had nearly been driven to tears by Miss Tamony’s impatience over a poorly played card, so that Malachi had made certain the younger girl always held the winning hand. After the third such hand Miss Tamony looked at him sharply and commented that her cousin was having an uncommonly lucky evening. Philistia Tamony’s delight, however, repaid him for the small deceit.

  At the end of the fifth set, Malachi had declared himself in need of a bit of fresh air. The objections that would have normally followed were easily silenced, and the cousin and brother agreed to attend without so much as a pause to reflect. Now Malachi had to make certain they were far too fully occupied to pay any attention to Miss Tamony and himself.

  “Come and sit,” he instructed the pair following behind just as soon as they had cleared the house. “Here.” He indicated a place, and an iron bench suddenly appeared.

  Miss Tamony watched, her mouth opening slightly, as her brother and cousin obediently seated themselves.

  “Miss Philistia,” Malachi said, “you’ll wish to discuss the latest fashions. And the upcoming balls you’ve accepted invitations to. Oh, and Almack’s, I should imagine.” He glanced at Miss Tamony, whose hand was upon his arm. “Young ladies do love to talk of Almack’s, though I vow you’ll find it something of a disappointment.” She gave no reply but merely continued to stare. He turned back to the bench. “Mr. Tamony, you’ll enjoy discussing the latest politics as well as the books you’ve recently read on Celtic history. You might also wish to regale your cousin yet again about the artifacts you examined in Professor Seabolt’s home. Please proceed.”

  The pair on the bench each turned to the other and began to speak in low tones, oblivious to the others in the garden.

  “Can they not hear each other?” Miss Tamony asked, her voice touched by worry. “Or do they imagine that they’re actually having a conversation? And I thought it impossible, even for a great wizard, to create something out of nothing.”

  “There’s not truly a bench there,” he told her. “It’s a deception. They’re floating in a seated position, but quite comfortable. If anyone should happen to see them, however, it will appear that they’re seated on a bench. You and I will sit here, opposite them.”

  With a flick of a finger he created another bench, exactly the same, and led her toward it. When she hesitated, he said reassuringly, “It will feel exactly as it should. Touch it.”

  She did, running her hands over the length of ornately curving iron. When she straightened, she said, “My lord, you have my permission to be seated first.”

  He smiled. “Miss Tamony, I would never ask a lady to sit upon an unworthy seat.” To prove the matter, he sat, crossed one leg over the other, and patted the bench. The false iron gave off a satisfyingly solid sound.

  She looked unconvinced but gingerly sat, stiffly, until she had leaned back and discovered that nothing gave way. Nodding to where her brother and cousin appeared to be lost in profound discussion, she asked, “What are they hearing from each other?”

  “What they wish to,” Malachi said easily. “They’ll come away from the garden perfectly satisfied with their conversation, despite not being entirely able to recall what it was about. In a day or so, the memory of having accompanied us out-of-doors on a cold evening will have faded altogether.”

  “But it’s warmer now,” she said, lowering the wrap she’d brought, having assured her mother and aunt that she’d be warm enough. “You did that, as well.”

  He gave a single nod. “I’ve placed a shield of protection about the yard and it will keep us safe from the elements for as long as I wish it to. Even if rain should begin to fall, we’d not feel it. And now for a bit of light, so that I can see your lovely face when you become angered and wish to rail at me.”

  “Dear me,” she said with a laugh. “Am I going to lose my temper? And we were having such a pleasant evening.”

  Malachi lifted one hand, palm up, and a flame appeared. With a
slight push he sent the light into the air where it dispersed until the area was bathed in a gentle glow. The light was natural enough and so fully diffused that any onlooker might suppose it came from a nearby street lamp or lit window.

  “Marvelous,” Miss Tamony murmured, looking all about as if she could now see the protective shield. He wished it weren’t invisible, if only to have her delighted reaction. Her love of magic pleased Malachi almost as much as she, herself, did.

  He had longed to be with her again, perhaps because he had instinctively known what it would mean to him. Contentment. Happiness. A quietness and certainty that he’d never before known. The only thought that distressed him was of the moment when they must part: it would be hours before he would see her again.

  He’d meant what he’d said about her cleaning up nicely, though that wasn’t close to half the truth. He’d seen her beauty in wildness and now when it was tamed. Both states had much to recommend them, the wilder being the more sensual of the two. But the tamed Miss Tamony was equally stunning to the senses. Her glorious hair had been artfully arranged atop her head, with soft red-gold curls framing her face. Her figure was encased in a fashionable gown of rich plum, which enhanced her feminine curves to perfection and revealed the shoulders and neck just exactly as he’d imagined. Those naughty visions that he’d suffered at Glain Tarran had come to life the moment he’d set sight on her in Mrs. Speakley’s parlor, and it had taken a great deal of willpower to push them aside for later contemplation. And when he’d stood before her and held her hand, he’d caught the scent of her perfume, rich and soft, delicately applied in order to gently tease those close enough to smell the fragrance. Just as he was close enough now, and breathed deeply.

  “I know now where you inherited your beauty,” he said, glad when the comment caused her to look at him inquiringly. “Your mother is exceedingly lovely.”

  The compliment pleased her, for she smiled widely. “Yes, she is, isn’t she? She has been much admired in Europe.”

  “I can well imagine,” he murmured. “As you have been, I should think.”

  The blush again. It was good to know that she was as unnerved by him as he was by her.

  “And your father is just as interesting as I imagined he would be,” Malachi went on. “I hope I shall have the honor of speaking with him often during the Season.”

  “He would like nothing better,” she said. “My father is excessively fond of socializing. Far more than the rest of us.”

  “Not more than your cousin, I’d wager,” he said, glancing to where Philistia Tamony sat cheerfully conversing with her oblivious cousin. She was a sweet-natured creature, vivacious and feminine in a dainty way, but she paled when set beside her far more handsome cousins. “Her mind is fixed on the coming Season, is it not?”

  Miss Tamony gazed at her cousin fondly. “Very much so. We’ve always been out in Society during our travels, for my father’s fame has made us desirable guests.”

  “And your fame of late, as well,” Malachi said.

  “Yes,” she confessed. “Mine, too. We’ve been spoilt beyond measure, and the sad truth is that we’ve enjoyed it a great deal. Especially Philistia. She has had the pleasure of dancing with kings and princes and noblemen throughout much of the Continent. She has a great love of dancing, as you might expect in a young woman.” She looked back at Malachi. “But she has longed to dance in England, with her own countrymen. She was only eleven when we last visited home, and not yet old enough to partake in parties and balls.”

  “Her heart has been untouched by love,” Malachi said, sensing the longing that lived inside the younger woman. He glanced at his companion and wondered whether her heart had ever been captured. The answer, which he could have divined from any other mere mortal, was hidden by the same spirits who made her impervious to his magic. It was very frustrating.

  “Your brother would prefer reading to dancing,” Malachi remarked.

  “Entirely,” Miss Tamony said. “And discussing Celtic history with like-minded scholars to reading. Some young men dream of gaining entrance to London’s most elegant clubs, but Julius would be glad to spend every waking moment at the Antiquities Society. Unfortunately for him, Mama insists that he accompany us to social functions. She thinks it’s good for him, but Julius finds being in company tedious. He appeared to enjoy his brief discussion with you, however.”

  “We spoke of his visit to Professor Seabolt’s home. Your brother was deeply impressed by the professor’s collection.”

  “He’s talked of almost nothing else,” she said with a sigh. “It was a blessing, really, for he asked nothing of my supposed interview”—she looked at him pointedly—“nor made mention of its brevity. My interviews generally last two or more hours.”

  “Indeed?” Malachi said, raising his eyebrows. “You are very thorough, then.”

  “Very. When I’m able to conduct an interview, of course.”

  Her gaze had narrowed, and Malachi shifted slightly.

  “You might take some comfort in the fact that Professor Seabolt wasn’t pleased with me, either. Especially after having met you. He wants very much to pursue an acquaintance with the various Tamony authors.”

  “Then perhaps he shall,” she said. “If he is both wise and bold and realizes how foolish it is to obey you in this matter.”

  Malachi rose to his feet, pacing away from her a few steps.

  “Miss Tamony, I’ve come to make peace with you. To offer a temporary truce.”

  She gazed at him warily. “Does it involve me giving up my planned work?”

  “Temporarily,” he said, adding when she scowled, “in return for something that I believe any student of the supernatural would greatly desire.”

  Sarah Tamony’s interest, as Malachi had thought it would be, was clearly aroused. The scowl died away to be replaced by quick attention.

  “Yes?” She sat up a bit straighter and looked at him expectantly. “Would this something be as wonderful as flying?”

  Malachi moved back toward her, his hands folded behind his back. “That is something only you can decide, but I believe it would be. In return for this boon, you must agree to set aside all discussion of your book until the end of the Season. You must also agree, without debate, to completely obey me if your involvement in this supernatural event might prove dangerous.”

  By her expression he could tell that she didn’t like either of his conditions.

  “What, precisely, is this supernatural something?”

  “I should have phrased it more clearly,” Malachi said. “It’s an event which occurs but rarely in the lives of magic mortals. Only once every hundred years, in fact.” He smiled. “This will be your only opportunity to witness it, unless your family is given to extremely long lives.”

  Miss Tamony gazed at him thoughtfully.

  “This event,” she said. “Did the writing that appeared in my journal have anything to do with it?”

  “It did.”

  “I see.” Lifting a hand, she began to finger the chain about her neck. “This event, then, is what you were referring to when you said that the spirits had involved me in something of importance. And if that is so, my lord, it would seem that you need my help far more than I need yours.”

  Malachi had always admired intelligent, quick-thinking females, but he’d never liked being outwitted by them. With a light shrug, he sat once more.

  “I’m certain the spirits will find another way in which to communicate with me if you don’t wish to become involved. I merely thought we might help each other. I should like to focus my attention on the event without having to spend a great deal of time and energy in keeping you from writing your book, and you would be exposed to a magical occurrence that few mere mortals have ever been privy to. If you find that you cannot put your work off for a few months, however, or bear to be in company with me, then perhaps we shouldn’t speak of it further.”

  “No, please,” Miss Tamony replied quickly. “I didn’t say we
couldn’t come to some understanding, Lord Graymar. If you would agree to freely allow me to conduct interviews at the end of our bargain, I’d be ready to agree at once.”

  Malachi shook his head. “I can’t make such a promise,” he said honestly. “But perhaps, by the time the Season has come to a close, you’ll have found the way to convince me that I can trust you in writing about my family’s history.”

  She looked skeptical. “I know from experience that you’re remarkably stubborn, my lord. It’s just as likely that I’ll not change your mind and my efforts will have been in vain. And I’ll have lost valuable time, as well.”

  “But you’ll have gained a remarkable experience,” he countered. “And if you do nothing, my determination will certainly remain unchanged. This is likely the only chance I’ll give you to make the attempt.”

  She bit her bottom lip and was thoughtful. At last she murmured, “I don’t mean to speak rudely, Lord Graymar, but somehow this feels like a trick.”

  There was something in her tone—a touch of sadness, almost—that made him reach for her hand.

  “There’s neither trick nor treachery involved, Miss Tamony. But I must be completely honest with you about what accepting my proposal would mean. If the spirits have chosen to use you as a means of communication, we may find it necessary to meet with some frequency, and if we are to avoid the rumors that might arise from such constant companionship, we must keep the wagging tongues of gossips busy with talk of our own choosing.”

  “Of our own choosing?” she repeated, tilting her head with confusion. “What can you mean, my lord?”

  “There must be some excuse for us to be in company with each other,” he said. “And if we don’t wish to excite opinion that we’re having a torrid affair, then we must pretend to a more acceptable relationship. We must undertake a formal courtship. Or, rather, I must,” he clarified. “You must pretend to be agreeable to my advances.”