A Certain Magic

by Mary Balogh

  Chapter 10

  PIERS climbed the stairs behind Alice.

  “You don’t have to say it,” he said. “I know I have no business being here, Allie. It must be fiendishly late, is it? You ought not to have looked out through the window, you know. I had no intention of knocking at the door.”

  She set the candle down, and turned to look at him. “You walked all this way,” she said, “in order to look at the house? At least, I assume you walked.”

  “I was not thinking at all of where I was going,” he said. “When I came to myself, here I was. But I would have moved on again in another moment. Don’t scold, Allie, please.” He slumped down into a chair.

  “I am not scolding you,” she said. “Oh, Piers, I suppose you have been wandering around in that damp coat. You will catch a chill.”

  “Is it damp?” He brushed his shoulder in some surprise. “So it is. I suppose I should take it off before it dampens your furniture. Do you mind, Allie?”

  She smiled fleetingly. “Your being here at all is so horrifyingly improper,” she said, “that I suppose one more small impropriety will be scarcely noticed, Piers. Take it off, do.”

  He stood up to shrug out of the garment. He hung it over the back of another chair. “I’m glad you are not one of those females who have a fit of the vapors at the very thought of a man in his shirtsleeves,” he said with a grin. “I haven’t seen you with your hair down since you were a girl, Allie, and then you usually had it in two braids.” His eyes moved down to her night robe, and he pursed his lips briefly before sitting down again.

  “Well,” he said, “how did you enjoy the evening? Vastly entertaining, was it not?”

  “No,” she said quietly, seating herself on the love seat.

  “What?” he said. “You did not appreciate Bosley’s conversation, Allie? He did not tell you all about the fishy fortune? He did not hint that perhaps he might lavish some of it on you? I could have sworn that he was flirting with you. Or perhaps paying serious court.”

  “I do not particularly like him,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Too vulgar for you, Allie?” he said. “I am surprised. I thought you would have been amused.”

  “No,” she said.

  “I had a wonderful time,” he said. “The storm could not have come at a more opportune moment. I had the great felicity of spending upward of an hour in a sylvan grotto with the delectable Miss Borden.”

  “And I suppose,” she said quietly, “that she was terrified of storms.”

  “Ah,” he said, “how did you know? She clung beautifully. I had to take her right onto my lap. And the best comfort I could offer seemed to be kisses. What more could any gentleman ask of an evening, Allie?”

  She looked steadily at his smiling face. “Piers,” she said.

  “You disapprove?” he said. “You think it immoral to kiss a female before marriage? You are being overly prim, Allie. Old-fashioned.”

  “Piers,” she said. “Don’t.”

  He grinned at her. “But what is a gentleman to do,” he asked, “when a young female offers her lips so sweetly? And lips trembling with fright at that? He would have to be made of marble to resist the invitation. Besides, it would be ungentlemanly, would it not?”

  She looked down at her hands in her lap.

  “The marriage will follow, of course,” he said. “You did not think I would spend an hour kissing an innocent young girl and then refuse to do the honorable thing, did you, Allie? I am not quite such an unprincipled fellow, you know. Come, wish me joy.”

  “Oh, Piers,” she said. “An innocent young girl?”

  “Well, of course,” he said, “A few kisses from a lecherous, careless fellow have not destroyed her innocence, Allie. She needed comforting. She had no idea of the peril she was in, coming onto my lap as she did and offering her lips. No idea at all. She is all trust and innocence.”

  Alice said nothing.

  “Westhaven Park will doubtless be filled with children within the next few years,” he said. “Baron Berringer will be able to decline into old age, confident of the fact that the succession is assured for a long time to come. Bosley will have a home for his fishy fortune. And Mama will have her grandchildren. Come now, you must admit that it has been a vastly profitable evening. You cannot be so poor-spirited as not to wish me joy, Allie.”

  “No,” she said, “I can’t. I want you to be happy, Piers. I want it so very much. I hope you will be happy with Miss Borden. I do hope so.”

  “I do hope you will not mind being executed,” he said in imitation of the tone she had used. “I do hope you will not mind having a noose around your neck. I do hope not.” He grinned at her.

  “No,” she said, smiling back. “I meant what I said, Piers. I know you will make the best of it. I know you will be a good husband. And father.”

  He sat back in his chair suddenly, put back his head, and closed his eyes. His hands lightly gripped the arms of the chair.

  “I should not have come here,” he said, “and I should be going now. Shouldn’t I? Tell me to leave, Allie.”

  “Why did you come?” she asked. “What do you need?”

  He turned his head on the cushion and smiled at her. “Ointment and bandages” he said, “and painkillers. And a cool hand and soothing words.”

  She merely looked at him.

  “Peace,” he said, “and comfort and safety. Everything I have always found with you, Allie. And with Web, of course. Do you think I might stay here for the rest of my life?” He grinned.

  “But I have no comfort to offer,” she said. “I wish I did, Piers.”

  He laughed softly. “Ah, but you don’t have to say any words,” he said. “You only have to be, Allie. I have never known anyone else whose very presence can exude an aura of peace and home. At Chandlos. In this house. Particularly in this room. I think I could be placed blindfold in this room and know it was yours. How do you do it?”

  She smiled uncertainly at him, and he closed his eyes again. But he sighed after a couple of moments and opened them once more.

  “What a selfish wretch I am!” he said. “Keeping you from your bed at well after midnight and almost falling asleep in your sitting room, all because I need comfort and reassurance. You should have kicked me out long ago, Allie. But I am going. And it is goodbye for a while, is it not? You are returning to Bath tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He got up from his chair, took her by the hands, and drew her to her feet.

  “I am going to miss you,” he said, raising first one hand and then the other to his lips. “God, how I will miss you, Allie.”

  “And I you,” she said.

  “Doubtless it will be a relief to be free of me and my troubles,” he said with a flashing grin. “What, Allie? Tears? Oh, come now. I have done nothing to be worthy of your tears, have I?”

  She shrugged and swallowed.

  His hands tightened on hers. “It is always hard to say good-bye, is it not?” he said, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Yes,” she said, “always hard. Good-bye, then, Piers.” She smiled at him through her tears. And she stretched up to kiss him softly on the cheek.

  But it was almost impossible for him to make the move to drop his hold of her hands, pick up his coat, and turn to the door. Hard to know that tomorrow she would not be here. Or the next. Or the next.

  And she did not have the willpower to remove her hands from his, smile more firmly, and say something commonplace that would send him on his way. She did not have the willpower to send him through that door, knowing that he might never come through it again, or through any of the doors into her life.

  “Allie,” he said, and bent his head and kissed her briefly, softly on the lips. He looked questioningly, anxiously into her eyes.

  But she could not see him. And she fought for control, biting her upper lip, gripping his hands more tightly until finally—gratefully—his hands released hers to come about h
er and draw her against him, and she could put her own up about his neck and hide her face in the folds of his neckcloth.

  “Allie,” he said again against her ear, his voice low. And one hand was twining in her hair and one thumb was stroking over her cheek and ear, and she gave up the struggle. She gave up everything. Nothing mattered any longer except this moment. She raised her head and sought his mouth.

  He was home. At last. After thirty-six years. Everything in his life, everything in his soul, was in his arms and he would think of nothing except the world and the universe that he held to himself. There was the soft silkiness of her dark hair and its enticing fragrance. And the cool silk of her robe and the warm, slim woman’s body beneath it. And then there was her mouth open to his, eager, clinging, tasting of the salt of her tears.

  Allie. Allie.

  She kept her eyes firmly closed when his mouth moved to her throat and one shoulder. She felt the rippling muscles of his shoulders with searching palms and felt his firm male body with her breasts and her stomach and her thighs. She arched herself to him, wanting him with an ache that throbbed in her.

  Piers!

  And then his mouth was back on hers, his tongue probing, teasing, stroking.

  “Allie.”

  The one word, whispered. The one question. He looked down into a face that was beautiful for him, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy with passion. And he gazed into her face, his own asking the question, searching for the answer in her eyes, in her mouth. Allie?

  And she gazed upward into the face of all her dreams. Not just Piers’ face, though that too. Oh, yes, that too. But the face of her dream. Piers wanting her and loving her. Focused entirely on her. Asking her the question with the one whispered word and with eyes that pleaded and were not quite sure of her answer.

  She reached up to touch his cheek with trembling fingertips and swallowed awkwardly. And answered his question. He stopped to take her up in his arms, and she closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.

  He opened the door that he supposed must lead to her dressing room. The door opposite it, the one leading to her bedchamber, was open. The bedclothes had been turned down for the night. A single candle burned on a side table.

  His hands were on the ribbon at her throat and untying it. And untying the ribbon at her waist. And pushing the silk from her shoulders and down her arms. She lay quietly, looking up at him. And she was lost no longer. She was lying on her bed in Cavendish Square and Piers was sitting on the edge of it in his shirtsleeves, undressing her. Her nightgown was following the robe, being drawn down over her body. She had never been naked with a man.

  He was worshiping her with his eyes. He was going to make love to her. She reached up to loosen the folds of his neckcloth, to undo the buttons of his shirt. And his mouth came down lightly on hers and his hands twined in her hair as her own worked.

  He did not extinguish the candle when he joined her on the bed. He wanted to see her. He wanted to watch her eyes as he loved her. And he loved her slowly—with his hands and with his mouth, wanting her and wanting her, not wanting this loving ever to end. And she loved him in return, her hands on him an agony of sweetness and heat. He watched her eyes wanting him, knowing him, loving him.

  She wanted it to last forever. She wanted him in her. She wanted release. She could not endure much longer without release. But not yet. Not yet. She wanted the wanting him to go on forever. She did not want thought or sanity or the cold and cruel world to come back. She wanted this to go on forever.

  “Allie,” he said against her mouth. “My beautiful Allie.”

  “Love me,” she whispered. “Go on loving me, Piers. Don’t stop.”

  Never, he promised her with his eyes.

  He would never stop loving her. Never. But this loving. Oh, this loving. He needed her. He needed her now.

  She looked back into his eyes as he positioned her for the final loving, and spread her hands palm up on either side of her head for his own to cover. And she looked into his eyes as he came into her, biting only momentarily on her lower lip as he began to move in her.

  And he watched her, a woman in the act of love. His woman. His world. But she was too beautiful. Too desirable. Too warm and inviting around his pain. He could no longer prolong the sweet agony. He buried his face in her hair and pressed his palms against her own as he drove his desire and his love into her until everything, the whole universe, shattered against his closed eyelids. And yet it was not a lone experience, even though he had not been able to continue to look into her eyes. She shuddered beneath him at the identical moment, and their fingers twined together.

  She continued to tremble beneath the full force of his relaxed weight as her whole body sought to adjust to the release that had begun there, where he had loved her. But body and mind knew alike that he was Piers, that she had given all of herself to him, with nothing held back. She knew it, and she reveled in the knowledge. For all her life she would know that they had been lovers for one brief and glorious night.

  When he moved to her side and pulled the bedclothes up around them, she lifted her head obediently so that his arm could come about her and relaxed down against it. She looked fully into his eyes. She smiled and tilted her face for his warm and lingering kiss. And then she smiled at him again.

  He smiled back and marveled at how the events of less than an hour could remove from his eyes the scales that he had placed there quite deliberately and forgotten about years before. He marveled at how he could finally see again, and at how bright and colorful the world was to eyes that were not blind.

  He gazed silently into her eyes and into her smiling face until she finally closed her eyes and fell asleep. And he continued to watch her, sleep being the furthest need from his mind.

  ***

  For now that passion was sated, reality was returning. Had returned. He held in his arms, her warm and naked body against his own, the woman he had fallen in love with fourteen years before when she was a graceful girl newly become a woman. He had thought of nothing but his infatuation for several weeks, wondering how both she and her father, the rector, would welcome the suit of a fellow who had run wild through his youth and early manhood and had nothing to recommend him except his name and his wealth and his property—none of which would have weighed more than a feather with either of the two people he would wish to impress.

  He had paid dearly for his secrecy, for his lack of courage in coming to the point. For if he had had little enough chance of winning her anyway, he had had none at all after Web had confided his love for her and his determination to marry her. He had been quite unable to compete against Web. Not just because Web had everything to offer while he had nothing, but because Web was dearer to him than a brother. And he would not allow a woman to come between them. Especially a woman who deserved Web a thousand times more than she deserved him.

  And so he had lost her before he had ever had a chance of having her. And had determinedly, over the next several years, pushed the pain and the longing into the background of his mind, forced friendship to the fore, and won his battle. He had made her into his dearest friend—along with Web. Always, safely, with Web, their names linked inextricably in his mind. Never Allie. Never once Allie until after Web’s death. Always Web-and-Allie.

  And now Allie again. For the last two years. Keeping himself away from Westhaven Park while she was still at Chandlos, making every excuse for doing so except the real one. And not wanting to return to Westhaven ever again once she moved away to Bath, but wanting and wanting to go there to see her. For friendship’s sake. Merely because she was his dearest friend. His only dearest friend now that she was alone.

  And now, since her arrival in London, the need to see her daily, the excuses to see her, the brightness of his days, knowing that in so many hours he would see her again, be with her again. Because she was his friend. Only because she was his friend. What other reason could there be?

  He smiled rather bitterly up into the
near darkness.

  The candle, he realized suddenly, had gone out. God, the light had gone out. He was in darkness.

  Allie. The woman he had loved in different ways for fourteen years. But always deeply. Always more deeply than he had loved anyone or anything else, including himself. Especially himself. Indeed, he was very close to hating himself at that moment.

  What had he done?

  He had come to her in his need, forced himself into her private apartments at midnight or later, forced her to listen to his woes while he calmed himself with her presence. He had forced her to wish him well in his coming marriage, and then he had been incapable of taking his leave of her.

  Tomorrow she would have been free of him. She would have been on her way back to the life she had chosen for herself. And he had been unable to let her go.

  He had played on her sympathy for him, her friendship, her willingness always to listen to him and comfort him. And he had violated her. He had forced her into something for which she would hate herself the next day, when she had finally realized what she had done.

  God, he had slept with Web’s wife. He closed his eyes, appalled at the realization. And she had given herself to him, not just from sympathy but with more passion than he had ever known in a woman. Allie. Who had been without Web for two years. He had come to her after midnight in her own rooms. At a time when she had been at her most vulnerable.