Touch of Desire

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “I’m already busy with the professor,” he reminded her. “Send Artus or Callidus if you want him snatched.”

  “How foolish you are, Tego,” she said softly, her gaze held on Julius Tamony’s muscular frame. “Mr. Tamony is a well-bred gentleman, not a common laborer. I shall go after him myself. Where do you think they’re going to?”

  “Hookham’s,” Tego replied, wishing that she’d not made him come out in the daytime, where the light hurt his eyes and mere mortals gazed at him with contempt. “They’re all bookish in that family, even the cousin, though she favors romantic novels. The brother spends more time in libraries and bookstores than in Society. The Dewin Mawr has attempted to introduce him to some of the gentlemen’s clubs, with little success.”

  Serafina made a purring sound. “A man who can resist the Dewin Mawr’s persuasions is a man worth possessing. I like his manner of walking. He moves with such lordly confidence.”

  Tego preferred to call it swaggering and to believe that it was pride that made the man stride along in so haughty a manner, but didn’t say so to his mistress. She was foolish when it came to handsome men. One day, Tego prayed, she would be foolish over him. It was the only wish he had in life.

  “The Earl of Graymar has spent a great deal of time with the sister,” Serafina continued thoughtfully. “I heard he even deigned to ask permission to lead Miss Tamony out in her first London waltz. And each day since, he’s been in company with her. Is he truly smitten?” she wondered aloud. “Or does he merely want the journal, as we do?”

  “Does it matter?” Tego asked. “If you control the brother you control the sister. She’ll do whatever you wish in order to keep him safe.”

  Serafina shook her head. “She’ll run to Malachi. And if the Dewin Mawr discovers what I’ve done, we’ll all suffer for it. It would be far better, I think, to let him focus his energies on Miss Tamony while we engage to have Mr. Julius Tamony do our work for us in fetching the journal. Apart from being safer,” she said with obvious anticipation, “it will be far more pleasant.”

  “Don’t wander this time, Phil,” Julius said firmly as his cousin peered up at him from beneath her wide-brimmed bonnet. “We can’t spend more than an hour this afternoon. Mother expects us home in time for tea.”

  “I’ll stay in the romances this time, Jules, I promise.” Philistia set a gloved hand over her heart.

  Satisfied, Julius left his cousin perusing the latest arrivals and made his way to the history section. He’d already read most of the books on Celtic history that Hookham’s library possessed but had noted an interesting text on prehistorical tribal migrations across Europe during his last visit, and there had been a slender volume on the stringent techniques of the Masorites in the preservation and documentation of Scripture that had caught his eye. He hoped neither had been taken yet.

  The door to the library opened just as Julius reached the aisle he intended to traverse, and a moment later everything in the place seemed to stir.

  A clerk hurried to greet the new arrival, his voice loud above the chatter of other customers and filled with deference. About him, Julius both saw and heard some of the other customers stiffen with recognition and delight. Their expressions almost made him think that the king had entered, but the sound that next greeted his ears caused that idea to dissolve.

  It was the sweetest voice he’d ever heard. Beautiful, bell-like, and utterly feminine—there was nothing in his experience to compare it to. He knew, even before he turned to look at her, that the one who possessed it would be equally lovely.

  But he was wrong. “Lovely” was a foolish, insignificant word to use. She was … magnificent. Incredible. Fantastic. Like no other woman on earth. It was impossible to stop staring.

  She was small and delicate yet had a woman’s curves and possessed a heart-shaped face that was utter perfection. Her eyes were an unearthly shade of blue, large and shining, and her curls were a bright gold that put all other colors to shame by comparison. When she spoke, the music of her voice filled the air with life and sparkling beauty. She was dressed all in white, like an angel, touched only here and there—about her waist, on her skirt and sleeves—by falls of delicate white lace and bows of blue silk ribbon.

  Her bonnet, a wide-brimmed confection of that same lace and blue silk, framed her face in a manner that, if possible, only made her more enchanting.

  Julius was captivated, as were all the other fortunate beings near enough to see and hear this heavenly vision. The clerk, when she smiled at him, looked as if he might faint. Julius understood how he felt. His heart pounded furiously in his chest and when the angel sent her blue-eyed gaze about the library, coming at last to rest upon him, he thought he might faint, too. She paused, and then her bow-shaped lips curved into a shy smile. Julius’s hands began to tremble so greatly that he had to curl them into fists to make them stop. Then she looked away and his heart fell to his feet filled with despair.

  The angel murmured something to the enrapt clerk, and they both glanced at Julius. With a nod the clerk made a reply, and then, almost beyond Julius’s belief, they began to walk in his direction. All those in the library who were near enough watched as she made her way, their eyes fixed on her just as Julius’s were. As she neared, the glorious creature looked up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet, the shy smile yet upon her lips, and Julius forgot how to breathe. Or think. His mind went completely blank in the presence of such beauty.

  “Mr. Tamony,” the clerk said, his voice shaking badly, “may I introduce you to Miss Daray? She wishes to speak with you.”

  Julius’s mouth was dry, but somehow he managed to make a bow and say, “Miss Daray.”

  “Mr. Tamony,” she replied in the sweet, bell-like voice. “I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m an admirer of your sister’s work. I understand that you are a scholar, as well, and hoped you might recommend a book to me. I enjoy history, you see, but can never seem to find a book that truly interests me.” She moved a step nearer, and the smile widened. “Men are so much better at these things. It’s terribly rude of me to ask upon such short acquaintance, but would you be so charitable as to lend me your most excellent aid in recommending a book suitable for a woman to read?”

  * * *

  Philistia Tamony had never been considered a particularly clever female, certainly not when compared to her aunt Caroline or cousin Sarah. But Philistia was educated and well-read, for all that, and enjoyed settling down to a good novel while her scholarly relatives busied themselves with far duller historical tomes.

  The trouble she always encountered, however, when faced with shelves filled with possibilities, was making a decision. This was, unfortunately, a general failing in her character, not limited to the choosing of reading material. It made itself evident from the start of Philistia’s day to the end, causing even the simplest decision, from which dress to wear to whether she should drink chocolate or tea with her breakfast, to become something of a chore.

  Currently, she was trying to decide whether to select Adventures on the High Seas: My Life Among Pyrates, written by “A Young Man Kidnapped from the Bosom of his Family,” or Dark Castle of Intrigue, by “A Lady.” Philistia tended to enjoy novels written by authors defined as “A Lady,” for they were usually far more romantic than those penned by unfortunate youths or men. She had just closed the volume about the young man and the pyrates with the intention of returning it to the shelf when an odd tremor shook the air around her, causing the book to drop from her fingers. Someone very large bumped her from behind, knocking Philistia off-balance and sending her flying forward, but a strong pair of arms came about her at once, pulling her back just before her head struck the bookcase.

  “Oh!” she cried, looking down to see two masculine hands encased in black gloves planted directly beneath her breasts. “Oh!” She shoved the hands away and whirled about, finding herself looking into a man’s broad, elegantly attired chest.

  A quiver of fright washed over her and she
shuffled back until she came up against the bookcase. Then she looked up—way up—into the face of the man before her.

  Her first impression—apart from the fact that he was very tall and muscular—was that he was the devil. His hair and eyes were as black as coal and his expression was sharp and cunning and … very angry. Philistia’s slight frame began to tremble, for his every aspect was terrifying. He looked as if he hated her, as if she were an inconvenience that he wished to knock aside and be rid of. Pressing more fully against the bookcase, she looked both up and down the aisle, but there was no one else nearby. They were alone. She opened her mouth to cry out for Julius, but the stranger divined her purpose before she could make a sound and, with movements so quick that Philistia didn’t even know he’d made them, he had her tight against his body, one arm about her waist, actually lifting her off the ground, and one hand covering her mouth, stopping all sound.

  What a damnable mistake, the Earl of Llew thought as the girl in his grip squirmed and whimpered. He’d intended to transport into an aisle where none of Hookham’s customers were present, and since he, himself, avoided the romance section like the plague, it had seemed a likely choice. Serafina Daray was occupied with Julius Tamony in the history aisles, far enough away that Morcar knew he could secret himself into the library without her recognizing his presence. The magic he’d used had been performed several blocks away, and she’d not sensed it. But if he used magic now, within the library’s confines, in order to silence the stupid, squirming girl, Serafina would immediately know that a powerful magic mortal was present and would act accordingly. And that was something Lord Llew couldn’t risk. Not if he wanted to find out what Serafina was up to.

  One of his footmen had disappeared—the one whom he’d foolishly related his vision to—and he had a good idea that Serafina had been behind the disappearance. She hadn’t killed the man, of course, for that would have enraged the Guardians. She’d merely gotten whatever information she needed through the use of her exceedingly great charms, then sent the fellow on his way, likely disremembering his entire life. That she’d done it didn’t surprise Morcar; she had warned him, after all, that she would do whatever she must to find the clues to the cythraul’s arrival. It was how she’d done it that bothered him. All of his servants were mere mortals and all of them held in servitude by powerful enchantments that he had placed upon them. He had not thought himself vulnerable in such a way, and the fact of it made him exceedingly irate.

  Now she had fixed her mind on the Tamonys, a family that Morcar had had only a fleeting interest in until he’d achieved London. Indeed, he would have no interest in them at all if he’d not agreed to give Sarah Tamony, the authoress, an interview during the Season—an agreement he’d forgotten about almost the moment he’d had his secretary reply in the affirmative to the request Miss Tamony sent to Castle Llew some months earlier.

  But once he’d arrived in London he’d taken note of two fascinating facts: that Malachi Seymour had openly begun to court Miss Tamony and that Serafina had likewise begun to stalk the remainder of the family, at last honing in on the brother. Morcar had set out to discover why the odd family of scholars was suddenly of such great import to two powerful magic mortals. And fate, in all its strange humor, had seen fit to throw the little dowd of a cousin, Philistia Tamony, literally into his arms. He would have far preferred the famous authoress, whose beauty, when he’d first seen her, had been a pleasant surprise.

  Morcar had assumed that Sarah Tamony would possess the same plain sturdiness as all the bookish females he’d known before, but, excepting the spectacles, she was far and away something altogether different. Unfortunately, Malachi was neither blind nor foolish and had snapped her up for himself. The two were in such constant company that Morcar was obliged to be patient until Miss Tamony came to him for the proposed interview. If he made the first move, Malachi would know at once and probably interfere, just as rumor had it he’d been interfering in the woman’s writing since they’d both come to Town.

  Which in itself was an intriguing mystery. Why would the woman allow the Earl of Graymar to court her when he was the very source of frustration in her research? It was common knowledge among the Families that the Dewin Mawr meant to put a stop to Sarah Tamony’s proposed work. If she understood that, as well, then either she was secretly hoping to land a titled husband, not knowing what the Earl of Graymar truly was, or Malachi was using some kind of enchantment to keep her on a short tether and beneath his watch.

  The question was why?

  Miss Philistia Tamony’s struggles lessened, and Morcar realized that she was about to either faint or suffocate—or do both. A number of ideas rushed through his mind, but each seemed a poor solution to his current troubles. If she fainted, he might leave her lying in the aisle and disappear in the same manner that he’d come, but that would require magic and Serafina would feel it and be alerted to his presence. Or he could simply walk through the library and out the front doors. It was unlikely that Serafina would see him, focused as her attention was on the scholarly Mr. Tamony. But someone else might find the girl before Morcar could depart, and if he was seen walking out of the aisle … no, it wasn’t worth trying. And if she should suffocate and die, the Guardians would punish him, and he didn’t have the time for such nonsense just now.

  There was nothing for it but to charm the girl, and do so without the use of magic. He was somewhat out of practice, for it had been a number of years since he’d bothered to be attractive to a mere mortal woman without using his powers. But Morcar wasn’t blind to the fact of his supernatural beauty, and mere mortals, particularly dull little peahens like this particular chit, were notoriously easy to charm. It might even be amusing to make her fall a little in love with him.

  Moderating his grip, Morcar bent his head near her own and murmured, “I mean you no harm, miss. I only wished to stop you from screaming and disturbing the entire library. I know that my sudden appearance gave you a terrible shock, and I apologize profusely. Please believe me. I’ll let you go now, but please, don’t alarm the other patrons. There’s no need, truly, and it would be most upsetting to everyone present.”

  The gentle tone did its work. Her movements began to still. When he loosened the hand on her mouth she drew in a gasping breath but didn’t make any desperate sounds.

  “I do apologize most sincerely, miss,” he went on, not lowering his hand completely, in case she needed silencing again. They’d been fortunate not to have been seen by anyone else yet and fortunate, too, that the bookcases were so high. Still, someone might come along at any moment. He had to hurry. “It was foolish of me—quite unforgivably stupid, really—to have come upon you without warning. I should have known better. Women do tend to be frightened of me. The black hair and eyes, you see, as well as the height. But I vow that I mean you no harm. I was looking at the titles, I’m afraid, instead of where I was going, though I saw when I came down the aisle that someone was here.”

  She’d relaxed further, and her shaking lessened. Morcar lowered his hand a bit more so that she could lift her face to look up at him. Her lips were parted, drawing in much-needed breath, and her brown eyes were wide as she met his gaze. He smiled in the manner that he knew most women found appealing—partly boyish, partly chagrined. It never failed to charm.

  “Will you forgive me? Can we cry friends and start over?”

  Silent, she nodded, and he released her altogether, setting her back on the floor and holding her lightly about the waist until her unsteady feet had become firmer.

  “Are you all right?” he asked gently. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water, perhaps? I’m sure one of the clerks can bring you one.”

  She shook her head, yet striving to catch her breath. The frightened look was still on her face and she was pale, but it appeared that she was no longer on the verge of screaming.

  Morcar smiled again, more beguilingly than before, and made as formal a bow as the small space would allow. “Please allow me
to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Morcar Cadmaran.”

  “Oh,” she said, and Morcar silently thought with amusement that it appeared to be the only word the foolish chit knew how to say. But her eyes widened, and he realized, with a surge of pride, that she recognized the Earl of Llew’s Christian name without having to be told his title. Sinking into a slight, unsteady curtsy, she said, “My lord.” When she looked up at him, her cheeks had bloomed with pleasant color.

  “And you are … ?”

  “Oh,” she said again, and he nearly laughed aloud. How foolish mere mortals could be. “Forgive me, Lord Llew. You are the Earl of Llew, are you not? I know because my cousin has corresponded with you. My cousin Sarah, that is. Miss Sarah Tamony. Perhaps you recall her name? She is quite famous. Oh dear, what an impudent thing to have said. Aunt Caroline will be so disappointed. And we haven’t even been properly introduced yet, for I’ve not told you my name.” Her tiny hands fluttered nervously and the color in her cheeks deepened. “I’m Philistia Tamony, my lord.” She made another curtsy. “I’m … my cousin Julius is here as well … I mean to say, Mr. Julius Tamony. He’s in the h-history section.” She seemed to realize at last how silly she sounded and fell silent.

  “I’m delighted to meet you, Miss Tamony,” Morcar replied, forcing every bit of sarcasm from his tone. He always found conversing with mere mortals trying. The females, when they were pretty, made pleasant companions for the short while that they warmed his bed, but he had no use for them otherwise. And this one—she had a charming figure but was far too stupid and plain even for that much effort. Still, she was a Tamony and the only one left of use to him now that Malachi had the authoress in thrall and Serafina had claimed the brother. “Though I might wish our meeting had been under different circumstances. I do indeed know of your cousin, the famous Sarah Tamony. I look forward to the interview I’m to undertake with her, and hope it may be in the near future. Have you and your family been in London long? Do you intend to remain for the Season?”