Whisper of Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Her lush rose lips parted in a smile of delight. “I did. I cannot imagine how you found flamenco flowers in chilly England. They almost made me homesick.”

  “I have access to any number of conservatories. I just asked around a bit. I would not have done so if it makes you long for home,” he said with concern. “I’d hoped to show you that your new home could have the same amenities.”

  “That is why Lady Aster was concerned that my new house must have a glass room,” she exclaimed. “I can grow my own flamencos! Will you not take a seat? I can send for tea,” she said with a trace of awkwardness.

  “I know we are not accustomed to being so formal,” he said to relieve her unease, “but I wanted to show you that I can be a gentleman and court you as you deserve. Would you care to go for a drive? I have borrowed Ashford’s open carriage. It will be cool, but respectable. I don’t wish to worsen your cold though.”

  Her entire face lit with pleasure—and mischief. “Court me! How enterprising. Let us go, please. I shall wrap warmly.”

  Within minutes he had her beside him on the carriage seat. She was wrapped in a wool mantle and bonnet as if it were winter. She let the bonnet dangle by its strings once the sun broke from behind the clouds. Erran had difficulty keeping his gaze on the horses and not her shining hair and laughing eyes.

  “Let us see how the repairs to my cottage proceed,” she demanded happily. “I cannot drive myself yet through these crowded streets, and I’m most eager to see the progress. Your Cousin Zach has most thoughtfully helped find the workmen, but I’m so impatient to have my own home!”

  Erran had already made this trip several times to make certain the workmen were on the job. He knew the best routes through the city now. They were on Westminster Bridge in reasonable time, admiring the crumbling stone and not minding the heavy traffic.

  As anxious as he was to determine his place in her new life, Erran kept his own hopes bottled and simply enjoyed Celeste’s delight in her new home. She enthused over the beauty of Battersea’s gardens and the room she would set up for her sewing. He thought perhaps she might be as nervous as he.

  It had been weeks since they’d spent their nights together. Despite everything that had happened, he’d been able to think of little else since then. His all-male, mostly unmarried, family were of no help in telling him how to go about proposing marriage. He’d rather not do it the way Theo had—with angry families pounding on a locked door.

  Although he could certainly see the advantage of locking up his intended until he had the answer he wanted, he would prefer to respect Celeste’s newly-acquired independence.

  The cottage they approached was one of the newer homes built after the bridge was finished—Georgian in architecture but well maintained over the decades. Graceful old trees and hedges lined the drive and gave an appearance of privacy, but she had neighbors to all sides of her. Property was less expensive on this side of the Thames, but he couldn’t help noticing the distance to Parliament wasn’t difficult.

  “Have the workmen finished for the day?” he asked, tying up the horses and glancing around to see no activity.

  “They are done entirely,” she said in satisfaction as he helped her down. “We are to commence moving as soon as Lady Aster sends us her latest collection of almost-trained servants.”

  “Almost-trained,” he said with laughter, escorting her to the front door. “You do realize you could be receiving reformed prostitutes and homeless soldiers, don’t you?”

  Even as he laughed, he realized what she was saying: no servants were on the premises. No workmen. They were all alone. His brainpan might just explode with possibilities.

  She sent him an almost impish sidelong glance as she retrieved a key from her pocket. “I think irregular forces might suit, don’t you?”

  He hoped and prayed she included him in that suggestion. “You do not approve of propriety?” he asked, taking the key.

  “I am thinking it is time we start a new propriety, one that includes all sorts of people. I cannot think I’d be happy sitting about my parlor, doing nothing for the rest of my life. Why should gentlemen have all the fun?” She stepped inside after he opened the door and whirled around in happiness in the sunbeam from the half-circle transom window over the double set of doors.

  “If this is a test, is it dangerous for me to disagree? Gentlemen can’t bear children, you’ll remember. The thought of a woman heavy with child climbing ladders puts me in a state of utter horror.” Accepting her dare to be different, Erran caught her slender waist and led her into the airy front room.

  Airy because there were no draperies as yet. This room wouldn’t suit.

  She laughed and danced away from him. “The thought of men in high-heeled slippers attempting to wear skirts and petticoats on a ladder induces images of rolling on the floor in laughter. Women do many impossible things that men would not dream of doing.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed with equanimity, dragging her back to the stairs. “Women should have the freedom to explore their abilities. But you will admit that society creates limitations that must be overcome first?”

  “Such as men fainting in horror at female ladder-climbing? No doubt.” She broke away from his arm, lifted her skirts, and ran up the stairs.

  He easily caught up with her in a corner bedchamber. An unadorned tester bed and linen-covered mattress were the only furniture as yet.

  Erran didn’t think she’d led him up here to show him the beauty of the bed’s wood. Without asking permission, he lifted his Jamaican beauty and kissed her.

  To his joy, Celeste flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, with great enthusiasm. And much warmth. And all the passion his empty heart could desire.

  “I do not ever want to let you go,” he murmured, spreading his kisses to her jaw and the tender place between ear and throat. “You have no idea of the torment I’ve suffered these past weeks, not being able to hold you like this.”

  “It is as if we’re bound by magic,” she said breathily. “I thought I might pine away. Is that normal? I cannot think anything we’ve done is normal or proper, but I have missed you so!”

  “We’re the new propriety,” he said with a smile. “May I have your permission to unfasten this very pretty bodice?”

  “I sewed this one myself.” She released the gauze wrap of her neckline to expose pretty buttons that appeared to be made of shells. To Erran’s delight, they pushed easily through delicate holes to reveal the silk camisole beneath. “My father is not the only inventor in the family,” she said proudly. “I see no reason why I must have a maid to unfasten all the silly hooks in back. And buttons are so much easier to undo than hooks!”

  “I will attest to the immense intelligence and usefulness of this bodice,” Erran declared in rapture as he gazed upon the plump curves of her breasts while unhooking the corset beneath. “Now, if only you could see fit to rid yourself of this benighted contraption . . .”

  “As you would leave off this very pretty vest?” she asked, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric covering his chest.

  “I will, if you like. What need have I of clothes?” He kissed her breast above her chemise and felt her shiver. “Say this means you’ll marry me. I don’t believe I can live knowing I can’t have you beside me every day.”

  “You won’t be beside me,” she scoffed, abandoning his chest to run her hands into his hair. She gasped as he pressed his kisses deeper, but apparently she had a need to talk rather than give him promises. “I have heard Ashford say you are to be his minion in the Commons. You will be arguing with men all day just as he does.”

  “I will be gainfully employed,” Erran protested without heat since she did not object to his pushing the gown off her arms. “And the Commons isn’t in session all the time. I’m still in Dunc’s employ, but I can stay here and improve your sewing machine and sell the patent and add to your already considerable income.”

  “Which will diminish if there is an uprising
on the island,” she said sadly. “So if you are marrying me for my money, you will be most disappointed.”

  He kissed her enthusiastically anywhere he could reach, until she laughed again.

  “With you as inspiration, I will provide,” he said fervently. “And with Ives to teach him, Trevor will find a way to sort out the plantation when his time comes. Let us talk of more important matters—like telling me yes, you will marry me. I know very little of love, but if what I feel for you is that emotion, it’s turning me inside-out. Tell me yes and heal my confusion.”

  “What, you will cease to love me if we marry?” she asked archly, having succeeded in dragging his shirt tails from his trousers. “Or perhaps it is just lust you feel and that goes away when I become fat with your child?”

  He groaned as she stroked her slender fingers over his nakedness. “Your size has no more to do with who you are than the color of your hair. You are the woman who understands me, who endures my fits and starts, who loves me with her eyes and makes me feel as if anything is possible. How can that be simple lust? Lust can be slaked anywhere. What I feel for you is . . . magic, as you said. A binding that cannot be torn apart.”

  “A binding that must be constantly woven and strengthened by deeds as well as words, my dearest love,” Celeste whispered, pressing her kisses to his bared throat.

  “That, I can do,” he promised, laying her on the bed.

  ***

  Celeste had feared those glorious nights with Erran had been her imagination or the work of some mystical magic that had been woven in Wystan. She was happy to learn that her fears were groundless.

  Not quite satiated but feeling more complete after their lovemaking, she basked in the glow of Erran’s admiration—while drinking her fill of the man beneath the fashionable façade. Sunlight spilled through her bedroom window, giving her new appreciation of this man she had chosen.

  He had wide, square shoulders and a broad chest that rippled with muscle. A trim waist and hips and powerful thighs gave evidence that he was not a man who sat behind desks for long. She gathered from his sun-tinted chest that he spent time outdoors in the heathen environs of his brother’s estate where shirts were evidently not necessary. He propped himself over her on powerful arms that could hold her imprisoned—or offer the security she craved.

  She caressed all that lovely man and wiggled her hips where they’d just been joined. To her satisfaction, he was already rising to the occasion.

  “You have yet to say the words I wish to hear,” he objected, rolling over and pulling her on top of him. “Are you having second thoughts about being courted by a mere commoner instead of a duke or earl? Am I depriving you of the debut you secretly long to make?”

  She nibbled his shoulder and when that produced a reaction she enjoyed, began kissing any skin within reach. “You dare call yourself a mere commoner?” she scoffed. “A man who has better understanding of my eccentricities than anyone on earth? A man who exhibits such intelligence that he supports my beliefs and need for independence, allows me to do as I see fit, and otherwise suits me in every way, and is more handsome than he deserves to be? You think I should hold out for a portly duke who thinks women exist for making heirs? Do you insult my intelligence?”

  He laughed and nibbled her ear while arousing her nipples with sensations that truly should not be allowed if this was a sin.

  “I would not ask a stupid woman to be my wife. Any woman who marries me will require more indulgence and understanding than any ordinary woman. As you may have noticed, our family is noted for our unconventionalities, not our easiness to get along with.” He lifted his head to suckle at the nipple he’d aroused.

  Moaning, Celeste arched into him. “I find you very easy to accommodate,” she muttered ambiguously.

  He laughed and proceeded to tease her more with his ministrations. “Then say you’ll be my wife, till death do us part.”

  “I think I already have,” she murmured in wonder. “In Wystan. Do you remember the vow I made? It is an old Malcolm marriage vow. We have been bound ever since, by magic if not by law.”

  “I’ll not explain that to my brothers if we have a six-month babe,” he argued, stroking delicate tissues until she nearly cried out in impatience. “I need the legalities. Say yes, and I’ll obtain the license tomorrow. We are not doing this again until I hear the words, my lady.”

  “Unfair,” she laughingly protested, sliding her hand between them to stroke him as he was her. “That would be a true test of wills. I concede! Yes, I will marry you with whatever passes for legality in your mind.”

  He kissed her swiftly, thoroughly, then said in a voice hoarse with lust, “We’ll talk to the vicar in the village, say the vows quickly, and avoid Malcolm insanity. You really do not want to wear a cloak and rowan twigs.”

  While she fuzzily tried to figure out twigs in a wedding service, he entered her, and there was nothing left to worry about. This man was her world now, and she would have him forever, in whatever way it could be done.

  Thirty-three

  “Weddings are not about you, silly,” Lady Aster proclaimed, pinning a circlet of rowan to Erran’s thick curls. “You really did not think your bride would want to be married without her family around her?”

  Erran really thought his bride considered them already married after uttering vows in a haunted castle, but he knew better than to try to explain that. He didn’t intend to add to family legend.

  Although Celeste had probably scribbled it in her journal for future reference.

  His beautiful bride slipped her hand through the bend in his elbow and bobbed down so Aster could place a ringlet on her carefully constructed coiffure. A maid had wrapped all that glorious mahogany hair in a construction of curls and ringlets that Erran fully intended to take apart as soon as they were alone.

  “I am glad this could be done quickly so Jamar could be with us before he sailed,” Celeste murmured with all evidence of pleasure.

  She slanted a look in Erran’s direction that said what he’d already heard— for the sake of others, she was allowing this insane ceremony instead of the private one they’d prefer. He was the biggest sap in the universe because he swelled with pride that he had a woman who believed she belonged to him without need of formalities—and that she was a woman large-hearted enough to share her joy with others.

  Erran glanced over the small churchyard. The vicar had accepted Erran’s bribe to oversee this heathen ceremony, but he’d insisted it be held outdoors. That seemed to suit the party exceptionally well. Beneath the brilliant autumn colors of the trees, a vibrant swirl of guests milled. Nana Delphinia had donned her bright red African robes, and a colorfully printed bandana enswathed her graying hair. Jamar, too, had doffed his gentleman’s coat for a long robe he referred to as a dansiki. His celebratory attire was a more sedate brown and gold pattern that Nana had sewn up for him. He wore it with a tight cloth hat that suited his distinguished mien better than the top hats the other gentlemen wore.

  Rather than risk tripping on unfamiliar ground he couldn’t see, Dunc sat in his open carriage, wearing his formal morning coat and top hat and looking like the wealthy aristocrat he was. The vicar had quit complaining the moment the marquess had arrived. Erran was grateful Dunc had made the effort. Celeste would now be accepted in the village as the person of importance that she should be.

  Erran ignored the rest of the Malcolm women swirling about in billowing silks and lace, performing their family idiosyncrasies. As long as Celeste was at his side, he could endure whatever life flung at him.

  “Tell them to come to order,” his bride wickedly proposed. “See how many respond.”

  “If it will get us to the bedroom faster . . . ?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. He had conquered his fear of his voice enough to try scientific experimentation, but he still preferred judge and jury to decide on its use.

  She tugged him toward the vicar in answer. Trevor stood to one side to give her away. Sylvia giddily
twirled her new gown, holding the bride’s bouquet. Theo stood in for Dunc at Erran’s side. His older brother leaned over and whispered, “Last chance to enjoy the misery of bachelorhood, old boy. Any second thoughts?”

  Erran glanced down at the woman smiling up at him as if he were the moon and stars. “Not a one,” he told his brother. Then straightening, he turned to address the chattering audience in his Courtroom Voice. “The service is about to commence, if you will please . . .” He almost said “take your places” but realized that could mean trees or London or anywhere but here. Instead, he added, “stand still and let the vicar begin.”

  Their audience immediately halted their milling. Ignoring his order, as usual, Celeste stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love your authoritative way with words.”

  He grinned. “And now, you may charm them all into believing you are modest and unassuming and would never think of starting a riot.”

  She beamed, and he could swear he heard a chorus of birds sing as if it were dawn.

  Copyright & Credits

  Whisper of Magic

  Patricia Rice

  Copyright © 2016 Patricia Rice

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-586-1 ebook

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-587-8 trade

  First Publication: Book View Café, May 31, 2016

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Rice Enterprises, Dana Point, CA, an affiliate of Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

  Production Team:

  Formatter: Vonda N. McIntyre