Desdemona’s arrival had increased tenfold the strength of magic that Sarah felt, and the tension as well. One wrong word, one wrong gesture, on either side and surely someone would erupt with anger and start some kind of magical war. Right in the midst of Lord and Lady Herold’s elegant parlor. Dear God, how Sarah wished Malachi would arrive.
“They’re coming this way!” Philistia whispered excitedly behind her fan. “Lord Graymar’s relatives! If only he was here to make a proper introduction. She’s so very beautiful, is she not, Sarah? And her husband looks so handsome and charming. Oh, and she’s an American. Is that not the most shocking thing?” she added with scandalized delight.
Those about them parted at the Seymours’ approach. Dyfed Seymour smiled and, bringing his wife to a halt, bowed. Philistia was perfectly right—he was quite handsome, with the refined features, blond hair, and brilliant blue eyes possessed by those Seymours who’d inherited a touch of elvish blood.
“Miss Tamony?” he said politely. “I’m Dyfed Seymour. I believe you know my wife?”
Ignoring Philistia’s gasp of surprise, Sarah replied, “Yes, sir, I have that honor. How do you do, Mrs. Seymour? It’s good to see you again.”
Desdemona made a sound of impatience. “My back is killing me and my feet are swollen and I feel as if I’m giving birth to an enormous pumpkin. And don’t begin calling me Mrs. Seymour, Sarah, else I shall be terribly put out.” She glanced at the people still standing about them, all listening to her intently, and made a waving movement with one hand. It must have been an enchantment of some kind, for they walked away without a word. To her husband, who’d not spoken a word, she said, “I always take care, Dyfed. You know better than to worry.”
To Sarah, Desdemona said, “Is this your cousin, then? You’d best introduce us before she grows so pale that she faints.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Sarah said, turning to indicate Philistia, who was staring at Desdemona with wide-eyed awe. “Philistia, this is Mr. and Mrs. Dyfed Seymour. Mr. and Mrs. Seymour, this is my cousin, Miss Philistia Tamony.”
Dyfed Seymour bowed over Philistia’s hand, murmuring his delight. Desdemona nodded. Philistia curtsied beautifully and replied that she was honored.
“I’ve heard a great deal about you in the past two days, Miss Tamony,” Desdemona said.
A touch of color painted the younger woman’s cheeks. “H-have you, Mrs. Seymour?”
“Yes indeed,” Desdemona replied, her violet eyes glittering. “You’ve been in company with the Earl of Llew a great deal, have you not?”
Philistia paled again, especially beneath Sarah’s immediate stare. She looked about nervously and said nothing.
“As it happens,” Desdemona went on, a bit more gently, “I know His Lordship quite well. May I give you a friendly word of advice, even on such short acquaintance? You must be very careful when in company with him, Miss Tamony. The Earl of Llew is a powerful man, and very … ambitious.”
Something sparked in Philistia’s eyes, something Sarah had never seen in her shy cousin before. It was obvious the younger girl felt a deep sense of wonder at being in the presence of someone such as Desdemona Seymour, whose place on the ladder of Society was far higher than her own, and stood somewhat in fear of her, as well. Yet Philistia gathered herself up to full height—which wasn’t much, considering how small she was—and said, in a quavering voice, “Lord Llew is a wonderful man. A very f-fine and noble gentleman. And he’s my friend. I’ll not hear a word spoken against him. By anyone.”
“Philistia,” Sarah said disapprovingly.
Tread lightly, Miss Tamony, Sarah heard Dyfed Seymour say. The words weren’t spoken aloud, yet she heard them all the same. In her head. Her gaze shot to his, and he gave a slight nod. There’s a purpose to my wife’s actions. Let her put the moment to good use.
So that was Dyfed Seymour’s gift, Sarah thought with some amazement. The ability to speak without words, making himself known directly to the minds of others. She nearly said aloud how marvelous it was, but Desdemona spoke first.
“I should never give you any reason for displeasure, Miss Tamony,” Desdemona said in a gentle tone that Sarah hadn’t yet heard from her. She reached out a hand; Philistia put her own in it as if compelled to do so. “Forgive me if I’ve said something to overset you. Let us cry friends and find a quiet place to sit for a few moments so that I can rest my feet.” She drew Philistia away as easily as if she’d placed the girl beneath a spell, though Sarah knew she hadn’t. It was scarcely necessary, for magic mortals could be powerfully persuasive without the use of magic. “May I call you Philistia?” Desdemona went on as they moved away. “And you must call me Desdemona, will you? I so dislike the many formalities you English have. We’re not so foolish in the States, you know …”
Sarah would have followed, but Dyfed Seymour’s hand on her elbow stopped her.
“I apologize for speaking to you as I did,” he said in a tone that kept others from overhearing. “I could see at once that Malachi didn’t warn you of my gift.”
“No, he didn’t,” she said, “but it’s wonderful. I’ve heard of it before, of course, in my researches, but never experienced it firsthand. It’s delightful, I assure you.”
“Thank you, Miss Tamony,” he said. “You are kind, just as Malachi said you would be. And very beautiful, which both he and Niclas told me as well. Desdemona will take good care of your relative, so you’ve nothing to fear. She can be astonishingly polished when necessary, though it tires her. I have a message for you from my lordly cousin.”
Sarah looked closely into his handsome face. “If it’s that he’s not returned from Scotland, I don’t wish to hear it. I vow I shall run from the room screaming.”
He laughed, his blue eyes alight with appreciation at these blunt words. “He and Niclas were delayed a few hours longer than myself. Malachi knew Desdemona would come in search of me if I didn’t return this morning, and the last thing he wished to add to our difficulties was a temperamental American sorceress. He brought me home shortly after leaving you, then returned to finish dealing with our wild relatives. No, please don’t look so unhappy, Miss Tamony. He and Niclas have already returned to London, but only an hour past. They’re readying themselves as quickly as possible—although the word ‘quickly’ doesn’t apply when one considers Lord Graymar’s insistence upon perfection—and will be here soon. Malachi asked me to reassure you.”
She let out a tense breath. “Thank God.”
He smiled and held out his arm. “Until he comes, will you do me the honor of allowing me to act as your escort? Desdemona will keep your little cousin occupied. She’s sincerely worried about her, you know. The Earl of Llew is an unfortunate gentleman for any young woman to be in much company with.”
“I’m familiar with the long-standing feud between the Cadmarans and the Seymours, sir,” Sarah said, careful to keep her voice low. “Lord Graymar doesn’t believe he’ll attempt to use magic on her.”
“I agree,” Dyfed said. “There’s no sense in him taking such a risk so long as your cousin willingly puts her trust in him. Malachi says she appears to be infatuated with Lord Llew.”
Sarah sighed. “I fear that’s so.”
“Then I worry the more for her,” he murmured. “Morcar Cadmaran is a dark, cruel wizard. He despises mere mortals and uses them for his own pleasure, just as Serafina Daray is doing with your brother. He’d not hesitate to do what he wishes to your cousin. Desdemona knows that far better than any of us do.”
“But they both hail from dark clans,” Sarah said. “Has he done something to anger her?”
A servant approached with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and Sarah shook her head at it. Dyfed waved the man away.
“Desdemona was brought to England to be Morcar’s bride,” he told her. “Her father sold her to the Earl of Llew for a large sum and made a binding contract that Desdemona wasn’t given the opportunity to naysay. Then he abandoned her at Castle Llew and returned to the Sta
tes, leaving her at Morcar’s mercy.”
Sarah glanced at Desdemona, who appeared to be conversing happily with a rapt Philistia. “I had no idea. I knew she was American, but never knew how she came to be in England.” She looked at Dyfed. “How is it that she came to be your wife, rather than his?”
“We met quite by accident,” he replied, smiling secretively, “and realized almost at once that we were unoliaeth. Unfortunately, Morcar had fallen in love with his betrothed and wasn’t going to let her go easily. In typical dark wizard fashion, he imprisoned her in his family crypt at Castle Llew, where her powers were made useless.”
Sarah nodded her understanding of this. Being surrounded by the dead, especially in a sacred burial ground, rendered magic mortals powerless. “It must have been awful for her,” she murmured sympathetically.
“It was,” he agreed, “but Desdemona is scarcely a wilting flower. My brother and I rescued her, and she recovered very quickly. But although Morcar eventually gave her up, she’s never forgotten, or forgiven, what he did to her. None of us want to see your cousin harmed by him in such a terrible way. Desdemona was able to recover, even if she hasn’t let her hatred for Morcar go. I fear your cousin may not be so strong.”
Sarah didn’t think so, either, but had no time to say so, for the doors were opened again and the Earl of Llew was announced, just as if their conversation had called him forth. He stood for a moment in splendid magnificence, allowing those in the room to admire him before he moved to greet his hosts.
Sarah looked toward Desdemona and Philistia and saw that her cousin had stood and was gazing raptly at the earl. Desdemona was staring at him, too. With hatred.
“This is the first time she’s seen him since he at last set her free,” Dyfed murmured, watching his wife, as well. “We stayed in Wales, waiting for permission from her father to wed, before coming to London for a Season.”
“She’s not going to do anything intemperate, is she?” Sarah asked worriedly. “Not in such a setting?”
Dyfed sighed. “I pray not. I’d feel better if Malachi and Niclas were here. We are decidedly outnumbered at present.” He looked about, watching as Morcar coolly greeted other members of the dark clans who were present, even Serafina Daray, who smiled at him with feigned sweetness. But that was well matched by Morcar Cadmaran’s overacted grandness. Sarah could scarce believe that anyone watching wouldn’t recognize farce when they saw it, but the mere mortals present appeared to be completely unaware of the underplay taking place before their very eyes.
When he’d finished with his own kind, the Earl of Llew turned his attention to those mere mortals who were particular acquaintances. He was clearly a popular gentleman and was greeted heartily by all those who saw him, both men and women. Philistia had sat again but was giving very little attention any longer to Desdemona Seymour. She watched, her gaze filled with expectation, as the Earl of Llew slowly made his way toward her. By the time he arrived, Sarah and Dyfed had moved to stand protectively beside their respective relatives.
Sarah expected the Earl of Llew to maintain his careless, cheerful attitude when he greeted them, but there was something else in his eyes—a fleeting moment of unveiled pain behind the forced lightness when his gaze settled on Desdemona. It passed quickly and he was once again the charming nobleman whose company had been so pleasant at tea two days past.
“Miss Tamony,” he said grandly, bowing to Sarah. “And Miss Philistia. I hope I find you well?”
Philistia had stood again and, smiling widely, said, “Yes, my lord. Very well.”
His dark gaze returned to Desdemona. “Mrs. Seymour. It’s been some years since we’ve crossed paths. You look very fine.” He shifted his regard to Dyfed. “Mr. Seymour, well met. It appears that congratulations are in order. You will have a child soon.”
Dyfed Seymour’s handsome face remained serene, even angelic, quite in contrast to his wife’s angry countenance, but his voice, when he spoke, was icy.
“Thank you, my lord. Yes, we expect our child to be born soon. This will likely be the last outing my wife enjoys until sometime later in the spring.”
“I almost didn’t come tonight,” Desdemona said, staring so fixedly at the Earl of Llew that she might have bored holes into his face. “But when I knew that you would be present, Morcar, I determined that nothing could keep me away. You look much the same as I recall, though the eyes are an improvement. How do you enjoy seeing the world again?”
Lord Llew’s countenance stiffened and his lips thinned. Philistia took a step nearer to him; Sarah put a hand on her arm to draw her back.
“It is as I had remembered it,” he replied at last. “With one exception. And that I do not wish to gaze upon, for it is far too painful. Congratulations to you both again.” He bowed and took his leave.
“Whatever can he mean?” Philistia asked, pulling free of Sarah’s grasp. “Why did he go away so quickly?”
“Sit down, Philistia,” Sarah insisted quietly. “You can ask him later, during the ball. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
The doors to the parlor opened once more and Sarah’s heart gave a leap of hope. But it was Niclas and Julia Seymour who had arrived, with still no sign of Malachi.
He’ll be here soon, never fear, Miss Tamony, Dyfed said in his silent speech. Be of good cheer. Our numbers are improving.
Another ten long minutes passed before the Earl of Graymar at last made his grand arrival. When his presence was announced, Sarah could almost visibly see Lord and Lady Herold wilt with relief, for they’d held the dinner far too long already in the hope of his coming.
Sarah had attended a sufficient number of elegant events where Lord Graymar was also a guest to be used to his manner of making an entrance. She would tease him later about his need to ever create a scene, but for the moment she was so glad to see him that she merely wanted it over and done with. There was no hurrying His Lordship, however.
He stood, as he was given to doing, for a long, imperious moment just inside the open doors, his haughty gaze sweeping the room as he allowed those present to take in his elegant attire. The gaze stopped briefly when it lit upon his relatives, who politely looked back, with the exception of Desdemona, whose back ached far too much for her to look anything but disgruntled, then moved to Philistia and then to Sarah. She smiled at him in the teasing manner that always seemed to unsettle him in such public places. His mouth twitched, and then his gaze continued on.
He was dressed in his customary black and white, a gleaming quizzing glass dangling from his lapel and his cravat an object of perfection. He looked so handsome that Sarah could audibly hear the maidenly sighs that filled the room.
He greeted his hosts, who signaled to their servants that the assembled could now go in to dinner, and offered Lady Herold his arm to escort her. Sarah felt a pang of disappointment, for she’d hoped to have a moment to speak to him. But he was the highest-ranking member of Society present at the gathering and thus had duties to fulfill. She doubted she’d even sit near enough to converse with him.
Malachi smiled politely and nodded to his right as his hostess chatted merrily about the latest social on-dit. On his left, Lady Bellington was talking of fashion and asking whether His Lordship approved of the addition of so many unseemly frills to ladies’ gowns. Across from him a fellow member of Parliament, Lord Bascolm, wanted Malachi’s opinion on upcoming votes. Sitting next to Lord Bascolm was Mrs. John Stansmith, who was doing her utmost to signal to Malachi both her interest and her availability. Fortunately, sitting on her other side was a dark wizard, one of the handsome Thorne clan, who was ready and able to help her get past the disappointment of failure.
There was more than enough to occupy Malachi’s thoughts, but for the life of him, all he could focus on was the numerous men sitting near Sarah, all of them drooling into their cups in admiration of her beautiful person. He was displeased that neither Niclas nor Dyfed, who were sitting nearer to her, was doing something more to put a stop to su
ch nonsense.
What had Sarah been thinking to wear such a gown? The vivid green and gold colors were charming, of course, and caused her hair and eyes, even with the spectacles, to stand out more markedly. But the bodice had been cut so low that her generous bosom was near to popping out. The gentlemen surrounding her were going to break their necks bending so near when they spoke to her. He was tempted to cast an enchantment that would make all of them temporarily blind, but that would only solve part of the problem. She was charming each of them in turn, smiling and laughing and relating all sorts of tales from her travels that had them utterly enrapt. God help him, if Phillip Fosby leaned any nearer to her Malachi would—
“Lord Llew appears to be smitten with the younger Tamony girl, does he not, my lord?” Lady Herold said, nodding to where the Earl of Llew and Philistia sat side by side, conversing quietly. “They’ve scarce looked at anyone else since sitting down. And she’s had but two mouthfuls of food, I vow.”
Yes, Malachi had noticed that, though he gave no comment. It was just as Lady Tamony had feared; the girl had clearly become deeply infatuated with Morcar. What surprised Malachi was Morcar’s behavior. He’d not placed the girl beneath an enchantment; Malachi would have felt it if he had. And so he was obliged to treat her with a measure of interest, which Malachi supposed Morcar would find quite tiring, for he despised mere mortals and never showed any interest in them beyond their usefulness to him. But he looked as if he was actually enjoying Philistia’s company.
It was far more than Malachi could say for Serafina Daray. Julius sat beside her, almost lifeless. He ate and drank perfunctorily but said nothing unless addressed by Serafina and then answered in one or two words.
“And the brother appears to have caught Miss Daray’s notice,” Lady Herold murmured. “If the rumors we’ve heard about you and a certain lady of some renown are true, my lord,” she went on, “you might well find yourself related by marriage to both Miss Daray and the Earl of Llew. That would be quite a boon for the Tamonys, would it not? To bring together three powerful families in one Season. It would cause a remarkable sensation.”
Touch of Desire Page 30
