“My name is Desmonda Green,” the woman replied. “I was contacted a fortnight ago by your brother who requested I meet with you. Since I am not fond of being viewed in the company of witches, I arranged this private assignation.”
“If she doesn’t like witches, then how does she know your brother?” Marianne inquired, the distrust in her voice evident.
Sage repeated her question, thinking it a competent one. The tingle on the back of his neck intensified since approaching this woman, warning him of danger. He suspected Marianne felt the same.
“Your brother has traveled extensively in the past,” Desmonda explained. “We met during one of his travels. I could go into details if you like, but it is a rather long story. I don’t believe we have time for a lengthy discourse. At any moment someone might turn the corner and discover us.”
“And you don’t wish to be seen with me. I understand.”
“I have no particular reason to avoid you, Mr. Merriweather, but you are not the only being capable of acknowledging the dead. I have enemies. I don’t wish for anyone with that ability to happen upon me while in the company of your little witch friend who stands at your side.”
“I’m not dead,” Marianne muttered.
Sage ignored Marianne’s disgruntled indignation. Instead, he glanced at her, confused by Miss Green’s misidentification of his particular inborn talent.
“Miss Green,” he said. “Perhaps you misunderstand. I am a witch, too.”
“Oh no, Mr. Merriweather, that you are not. Not any longer. You’ve bonded with a demon. You carry demon blood.”
Chapter Two
Demon…
Sage’s blood turned to ice as Desmonda Green’s words sank into his brain. Marianne gasped. The skin on his arm grew cold. He recognized the sensation. Marianne touched him.
“Sage?” Marianne whispered, as if she feared Desmonda might overhear her question. “What does she mean?”
He wished to say he didn’t know what she spoke of, that the woman must be deranged or made some horrible, horrible mistake, that she mistook him for someone else.
The reality was much more grim.
The ringing in his ears prevented him from speaking straightaway. He witnessed Marianne’s movements from the corner of his eye as she approached from his side, stepping to face him. Concern and fright glowed from her like a beacon in the dark night.
It made his stomach twist to let Marianne know. Until this moment he’d hidden the truth. He hadn’t even told Basil. Basil, his eldest brother, who confided everything to him, who shared his deepest, darkest secrets with Sage, yet Sage could not bring himself to utter a word of his own horrifying experience. It was too terrible to put into words.
His vision narrowed so only Miss Green filled his view. Marianne was not forgotten. Although as a ghost, he sensed her presence as if she held his hand and squeezed. He inhaled deeply, smelling her favorite lavender-scented perfume.
Now was not the time to deal with Marianne’s endless curiosity and questions. He’d be happy to postpone that for later. Much later. Tomorrow. No, next week. Perhaps next month.
“How do you know?” His mouth tasted like dust. The mere query he put to Desmonda felt like a confession. Marianne gasped. A dozen sharp daggers pierced his heart. Would she ever speak to him again? Marianne was a witch and a good person. She never condoned evil of any kind, including black magic despite the work practiced on her. A demon was the blackest of magic. She would have none of his help now.
“Did you not know? Demons can smell their kin.” A small smile curved Desmonda’s lips, like a cat licking spilled cream.
The hairs on the back of his arms stood despite the warm summer air. Instinct screamed to back away, far away from this woman, this…creature.
She’s a demon!
He held himself in check. Fear of demons had been pounded into his skull since his childhood. The elders taught children the ways of magic and the world. Whoto trust and who to fear. Demons, of course, topped that second list.
But he would not give in to fear now and allow an opportunity to escape. He and Marianne came seeking information…help. Their journey toward discovering a spell for Marianne neared an end. He knew it. He felt it. Whether her spirit would be reunited with her body or she was doomed to forever roam the world as a ghost, he did not know. All he knew was Desmonda Green might assist them in some way.
“Let us leave,” Marianne said her voice a breathy fear-filled whisper. “Now.”
“No.” Sage forced calm into his voice in an effort to soothe Marianne, even while his innards shook with the same trepidation. “We have questions.”
“Someone must know the answers. Let us search elsewhere.”
“And if we find no one else?” Sage finally broke eye contact with Desmonda to face Marianne. He expected to detect fear and horror on her lovely features, so it was not surprising to find her eyes open wide, her bottom lip quivering. The desire to wrap his arms around her made him tremble. He wanted to touch her cheek, to wipe away any unseen tears she shed in her distress. To wrap her in the cloak of his embrace and tell her he would protect her from all harm.
It was a promise he could never make.
Marianne was already cursed. Any promise of comfort and safety he might offer came far too late.
And he bore demon blood.
They were both doomed.
“We cannot deal with a demon, Sage. They cannot be trusted.”
“Marianne,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “We must deal with Miss Green. We have little option available to us.”
“Would it ease your mind to know I am not a full-blooded demon?” Desmonda drew their attention back to her. “My mother is human. My powers are not as dark nor as powerful.”
“Then how can you help us?”
“I know many people. You’ll have to trust me. I understand it will be difficult, but I think you’ve both gone through enough to allow a little risk.”
Sage was about to say something more when Desmonda straightened and placed one finger to her lips to indicate silence.
He listened and soon heard a pair of voices deep in conversation. They were growing closer. In any moment, they would be upon them. There was no place to hide. The alcove Desmonda had chosen was a dead end in the labyrinth, a place to confuse and turn around. Understanding neither wished to be discovered, Sage took several steps closer to Desmonda, only stopping when he stood directly in front of her.
“You’ll have to trust us, too,” he whispered. “Since I have a feeling there’s something you want from us.”
He didn’t give Miss Green any chance to answer. The owners of the voices were about to turn the corner.
Sage leaned forward, covering the last distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Desmonda and kissed her.
Startled, she tried to pull back, but he held her fast, hoping she understood this was a mere pretense. It took a second or two before she relaxed, lifting her arms to embrace him and tilting her head to better receive his sudden and unexpected kiss.
He listened to the footsteps of the men as they came to a halt behind them. They hesitated a moment, and he knew they were being watched so his hand traveled from Desmonda’s neck to the curve of her back. He hesitated only a moment before sliding it lower.
She inhaled and tightened arms around his neck.
The move worked, as the men chuckled at the sight of the lover’s embrace. Footsteps continued by without further hesitation.
“They’re gone,” Marianne whispered. Her voice sounded strained and slightly winded.
He released Miss Green and took a step back, allowing her room for breath while he took a moment to catch his own. Perhaps it was the demon bond he possessed, but his lips felt strange after contact with hers. The urge to wipe his mouth assaulted him, but the rude gesture hardly guaranteed sympathy. He dare not anger this woman before they discovered what she could do for them. But Sage had kissed many women, and although it had been quite
some time since his last lover, he found no spark of desire.
Odd. Being a rake, he was well known for seduction. In the past he’d enjoyed it thoroughly. Perhaps Marianne’s presence distracted him. He sincerely wished she were not present to witness the kiss. He sensed her standing behind him and wondered at the expression on her face. On second thought, he’d rather not know.
Desmonda darted a look at him before taking a deep shuddering breath. He wondered if she experienced the same bothersome sensation darting into the pit of her stomach.
“We’d better conclude our meeting for tonight. We risk too much to be seen. We’ll arrange to meet again under better circumstances to discuss our mutual needs.”
The way she spoke the words made Sage cringe. She had no idea about his needs.
“Do you know my London address?” At her nod, he continued, “Send a note explaining where and when you wish to meet. I will be there.”
“Agreed.”
He nodded in her direction. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Green.”
She said nothing as he turned and left. Marianne, who continued to remain strangely silent, followed him. Together they walked, turning left, then right, then left, retracing their footsteps until they found the entrance of the maze.
At the sight of the steps leading to the patio, Sage released a deep breath.
“We have much to discuss, you and I,” he said without glancing at Marianne. “I ask to wait until we return home. Then I will answer your questions.”
She did not speak which boded ill. Marianne was rarely without words. Reluctant to look at her, he feared the condemnation he might find in her eyes. The kiss he shared with Desmonda still burned on his lips.
Once he reached the top of the steps, he turned pretending to gaze out upon the gardens for those who might notice him. Instead, he faced her. She remained at the bottom of the steps. Her head tilted upward as she watched him, a solemn expression masking the emotions usually so easy to read upon her face.
What was she thinking?
Was she horrified? Did she wish to leave him and return home to her sister, Julia? Did she think him a monster? He carried a demon’s bond. He was a monster.
Would she never speak to him again?
Dismay at many of the possible scenarios flashing through his mind kept him from leaping to her side to beg forgiveness. He feared if he moved a muscle in her direction she might flee. So instead, he remained fixed in his position, awaiting her response.
The sounds of the musicians’ instruments playing in the ballroom mixed with the general murmur of the couples dancing and those other guests conversing along the edges of the dance floor filled his ears with a low roar. He found it difficult to concentrate.
Knowing the results of potential loss of concentration, he fought to regain it. The back of his hand began to itch and burn. He focused on Marianne, trying to silence his erratic emotions and think only of her.
Her angel-like countenance masked the spirited hellion he knew her to be.
Although their age difference kept them at a distance, Sage recalled little Marianne trailing her older sister at every opportunity. Since their mother’s death, Julia had cared for Marianne as if she were her own daughter, creating a bond stronger than most siblings shared.
Suffice it to say, he thought he knew Marianne quite well, but as he studied her, he wondered if he were not mistaken. How well did he truly know her heart and mind?
Marianne tilted her head as she regarded him in turn. He sensed another question stirring her thoughts when her lips parted and her eyes widened. He waited, pretending patience while his heart beat loudly in his ears.
Her reddish-blonde hair formed ringlets around her face. Her blue eyes searched his soul. A dress of white muslin with tiny pink rosebuds covered her thin body. And though she was several inches shorter than his own tall frame, as he regarded her, he thought she stood rather tall compared to most other women of his acquaintance.
She moved, taking slow, measured steps up the stairs. Her thoughtful expression might have given him reason to hope, except for the slight furrow on her delicate brow. She was deep in thought, but she must have come to some sort of decision as she marched toward him.
When she stood before him, he braced himself for her anger, scorn and ire. No doubt the scathing words about to exit her mouth would cut him to the quick. He’d been the target of Marianne’s wrath numerous times in the past, but never when he deserved it as mightily as he did in this moment.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. The blood drained from her face, no easy feat for an incorporeal being. Fearing she suffered from some manner of ghostly apoplexy, he tried to reach out to her, only just remembering he could not touch her moments before his hand sliced through her arm. His skin shivered where he made contact with her phantom-being.
His actions managed to snap her out of whatever condition had struck her, for she quickly looked up. Only then did he realize she did not see him, but some object beyond his shoulder in the ballroom.
“Marianne?” He wanted to say more, but it was not necessary. She needed no further prompting.
“He’s here.” She started into the ballroom. “He’s dancing with Charlotte Smythe.”
“Who’s here?” He moved to look, but she reached to grab him. Her hand struck his shoulder. He felt nothing save a cold blast of air.
“Do not,” she scolded and he remained in her direction as she gazed with horror past his shoulder.
“Marianne, who is it?”
“David Fernsby,” she said. “My fiancé.”
Chapter Three
“You’re engaged?”
Marianne didn’t respond. For once, words failed her. Instead of answering, she continued staring through the sea of faces focusing on the one that had somehow caught her attention.
David’s blond hair shimmered like an angel’s halo. He reminded her of an angel. His blue eyes held compassion, tenderness and warmth. His smile was infectious, and his features were perfectly symmetrical. He resembled a masterpiece crafted by an unknown talented artist. She recalled the fluttering that occurred in her belly whenever he spoke to her or danced with her, even looked at her. Her knees would turn to pudding, and her quick-witted tongue would suddenly become tied in knots.
She’d known when she’d first met him, he was the one for her. And only weeks later he claimed her as his forever by offering marriage.
Everyone agreed they were the perfect pair. His wealth and handsomeness matched with her beauty and spirit. Undoubtedly they would produce amazingly talented and beautiful offspring.
“Does he know?” Sage’s query dragged her mind back to the present.
“Of course not.”
“How have you explained your extended absence? He must wish to speak with you if you are affianced.”
“Julia writes letters for me. Her writing is similar to my own hand, so I dictate, and she posts them.”
“He thinks you’re in the country? At Merriweather Manor? Why does he not insist on visitations? Does he think you’re sick with some contagious disease? After all this time?” Sage’s voice was filled with incredulous wonder. Marianne did not doubt his surprise. She told only a select few of her engagement. Her intentions had been to announce their intentions to marry at a ball thrown by his parents, but Drake’s machinations cut into those plans. Marianne had to beg off, hoping to postpone until her current dilemma was resolved. How was she to know it would take months, not weeks?
“No, that wouldn’t do. The manor is much too close, and he’d offer to visit if I were ill, contagious or not. I did play the part of invalid at first, thinking we had time to convince Drake to reverse the spell. When it became obvious he would not, I told David I was to travel to Bath to take the waters. Days turned weeks, and I could only claim illness for so long before I’d needed to confess my sickness was terminal. I could not have that. So, traveling seemed the best excuse available to me. He thinks I’m abroad, touring
the Continent with extended family before I return home to marry him.”
“He must be a very patient man to wait so long,” Sage remarked.
“He loves me,” Marianne said sharply.
“Does he not wonder that all your letters come from England?”
“He believes Julia receives a package containing the letters and then she sends them to him. I had no other way to explain.”
Sage’s stunned silence drew her attention.
“What else could be done? Telling him the truth was out of the question. He’s not a witch.”
“What?” Sage’s voice rose to such a pitch nearby guests turned to see what he was about. Their eyebrows raised in wonder and curiosity when they realized he stood alone.
“Remember where you are!” Marianne hissed after more people turned to inspect him.
He blinked, and then glanced around. Finding himself the center of attention he strode into the ballroom. Marianne scurried forth before she lost him in the crowded mass of bodies.
“Where are you going?” Marianne shouted above the din created by the music and gossiping crowd.
“Home.” He did not verify if she heard, fearing to draw more unwanted attention.
“I’m not leaving,” Marianne stated. “Not yet.”
He turned, rubbing his hand over his mouth to cover the sight of him talking to air. “We have nothing left here,” he mumbled. “All is finished for now.”
“No.” Marianne shook her head. “I want to see David.”
Sage took a deep breath as he regarded her. “It’s better we return home. Now.”
She shook her head again to add emphasis. “Not for me. I wish to see him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him.”
“I don’t think that’s wise, Marianne.” Sage’s voice grew soft as people nearby sent surreptitious glances his way.
“You go,” she said, coming to the obvious conclusion for this argument. “I’ll stay a bit. Then I’ll return home. It’s not like I’m in any danger without an escort. No one can see me, after all. What harm can befall a ghost?”
The Witch's Kiss Page 2
