And still, she could not back down. She nodded at the driver to knock again. He pounded with vigor.
One panel creaked open. The light from the foyer illumined a shirt-sleeved, well-built, almost ascetic-looking man with a thick head of unruly brown hair. He loomed over Aster’s below-average height, which made him large enough to be a footman. But no footman—or gentleman—opened a door in such dishabille while wielding a billiard cue, with a giant basset hound on his heels.
His hollowed, unshaven cheeks were softened by a curl of brownish hair across his wide brow. She had been led to believe that all Ives were black-haired, tall, and broad like oxen, so this must be a servant. She dipped her umbrella to cover her face.
“I must speak with the Marquess of Ashford immediately,” she said in her coldest, most formal tones. “It is a matter of life and death.”
***
Life and death? Theo shoved Hog aside and peered around the door.
An enormous blue umbrella painted with—Egyptian hieroglyphs?—met his gaze. Umbrellas were generally waxed canvas, black, and weighed enough to make a grown man think twice about carrying them. Judging by height—or lack thereof—and the pair of small, feminine boots planted on the doorstep, he assumed the visitor to be female.
What the devil would a lady be doing here? In a howling storm?
Pushing back a yipping puppy, Theo lowered his eyes to peer below the canvas edge. A luscious bosom covered in a shimmering iridescent waterfall of silk rewarded his curiosity. He almost salivated like Hog over a sheep shank. He’d definitely been without a mistress too long.
A damp draft wafted a light floral fragrance around him, stunning him into near paralysis. After the noxious odors of his brothers and the moldering manor, their mysterious visitor was literally like a breath of fresh spring air. Anxiously, he awaited the umbrella’s tilt to reveal its owner.
She took her damned time.
“May we come in?” a melodic voice inquired from behind the blasted canvas, revealing nothing. “We’ve come from London and must speak with the marquess on a matter of urgency,” she repeated more insistently over yapping dogs and his brothers’ attempts to hush them.
Damn, another of Ashford’s mistresses? Or another desperate female determined to trick the dolt into marriage? Most generally, decent women did not show up on their doorstep without invitation and escorted by no more than a carriage driver.
Intrigued despite his cynicism, Theo stepped aside and ushered the iridescent peacock into the war zone that he called home. “Ashford isn’t here, but come in and dry off, Miss . . .”
“Lady Azenor Dougall.” Unfazed by the excited puppies rushing at her, she crossed the threshold, leaving the umbrella dripping on the covered porch.
Azenor? Despite a tingling warning at the odd name, Theo was distracted by the petite female marching into the zoo he called home as if she owned it. Lighting the gray gloom more brightly than the foyer’s gas lamps, she glanced around at the billiard table, his precariously perched telescope, the romping spaniels, and his half-dressed and staring brothers as if she visited Bedlam on a regular basis.
An enormous hat adorned in vibrantly-hued peacock feathers concealed her hair and her expression. Theo ached to sweep the eyesore away, but he couldn’t drag his gaze from the shimmering rainbow of fabric encasing a figure so curvaceous, he forgot to breathe.
Damn Duncan for claiming all the good women.
“When can we expect Ashford home?” she demanded, tilting her head just enough for him to see beneath the hideosity that concealed her hair.
Huge, dark-lashed eyes shimmered with the beauty of midnight—he could almost see stars against a dark blue sky. Pert nose, plump rose lips, soft oval face—she was all curves everywhere he looked. He was having a hard time not looking. As were his brothers, their arms now full of wriggling puppies.
If a heavenly body like this inhabited his home, he’d come down from the roof more often.
“Lady Azenor.” He belatedly remembered to bow. “I’m Theophilus Ives, Ashford’s brother.” He jerked his head inelegantly at his gawking siblings. “Erran Ives and Jacques Ives-Bellamy, who were just about to order tea, if you would like some.”
Theo shot the dunces a telling look. Any tea in the kitchen would be stale, since they never drank it, but someone had to perform the niceties—and remove the damned yapping dogs.
Theo hoped he’d phrased the introduction appropriately. His mother had died only a few years after Erran’s birth. His father had never remarried, and the social graces hadn’t been high on Theo’s list of lessons or interests. He preferred stars to people.
A black-gowned scarecrow behind the shimmering angel grunted a warning, startling him into realizing the lady had accompaniment.
In response to the grunt, Lady Azenor sparkled, even as she frowned. Theo couldn’t stop gawking like a looby.
“Lord Theophilus,” the lady purred with satisfaction, apparently placing him on the family tree despite his incomplete introduction. “This affects you, also. I repeat, when do you expect the marquess?”
“Not at all this evening, given the weather. And if his fiancée has anything to say about it, probably not the rest of the week.”
Her plump lips pursed in what might have been displeasure on any other woman. On this one—she seemed posed for kissing. Theo couldn’t unscramble his addled brain from wanting to hustle her somewhere private, back to appropriate behavior.
If she was Dunc’s mistress, could she be persuaded to desert his brother’s riches in favor of a man without wealth or title, a gentleman who wouldn’t let her travel the roads in a storm?
“Is there a fire where my lady might warm her hands?” the black-garbed servant inquired with a hint of acidity.
So much for impressing her with his nonexistent charm and thoughtfulness.
“Of course, this way . . .” Theo finally tore his gaze from the angel to note that Jacques and Erran still stood there as frozen as he. “Tea!” he ordered, before offering his arm and wondering where in hell he might find a fire.
A woman who didn’t run screaming from her first sight of the Hall was a treasure worth pursuing, even if it was his damned titled brother she wanted.
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Copyright & Credits
Magic in the Stars
The Unexpected Magic Series, Book 1
Sample Chapter
Patricia Rice
Copyright © 2016 Patricia Rice
ISBN: 978-1-61138-577-9
First Publication: Book View Café, March 29, 2016
Published by Rice Enterprises
Dana Point, CA
Cover design by Killion Group
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.
Digital edition: 20160110vnm
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Whisper of Magic Page 30
