The Marriage Spell

by Mary Jo Putney

  Lightning quick, Jack swung his cane up and rammed the tip into the man’s throat before the sentence could be completed. His target made a horrid gurgling sound and staggered backward. Blood spurted from his throat as he collapsed into the snow.

  In one swift movement, Jack swung the cane around and knocked the knife from the grip of the other man. It spun to the ground, catching the light as it fell. Before the knife hit the cobblestones, Jack slammed the cane into the assailant behind him. A howl of agony proved that he’d hit his target.

  “Bastard!” The other man scrabbled in the snow to retrieve the knife, then moved forward, watching the cane warily. Since the thief’s gaze was on the cane, a roundhouse punch from Jack’s left hand was enough to smash his nose with an audible crunch. As blood splattered, the thief tried to retreat, but he slipped on the snow and fell clumsily. His head hit the ground with an audible thump and he lay unmoving.

  The man struck in the throat also lay still, his blood a black stain in the snow. The one who’d tackled Jack from behind was wrapped around himself, moaning horribly as his crossed hands protected his injured crotch.

  Jack drew a deep breath, shaky now that the need for action was over. “Are you all right, Abby?”

  “I…I’m fine.” She stood rigid, her hands clenched. “They never touched me.”

  “Fortunate that you suggested I bring my cane. It made a good weapon.” He watched his wife narrowly. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Sh-shaken.” She collected herself with visible effort. “I hadn’t really thought about your military life. You are very good at fighting.”

  He shrugged. “The military life doesn’t involve much actual combat. There are a lot more long days slapping flies and trying to keep the men out of trouble. But when one needs to fight, there are no second chances, so it needs to be done well.”

  “Did you know where that man was behind you, or was it a lucky blow?”

  He thought about it. “I believe I did know. I struck at him without thinking, but even so, I knew I would hit where he was most vulnerable.”

  “Do you always know the location of your enemies when you fight? If so, it might be a magical ability. A valuable one.”

  Startled, he thought back. It was disquieting to think he might have been using magic for years. “You may be right,” he said reluctantly. “Usually the action is so fast I don’t have time to think, but if I do know who is around me, that had to have helped me survive. But that’s really not magic. More like soldierly instinct.”

  “Call it what you will, but seeing what’s behind you is definitely a gift.”

  He shrugged uneasily. “Everyone has a little magic. This kind is common among soldiers who survive for any length of time.” Wanting to change the subject, he studied the fallen men, their bodies dark against the snow. “Now to decide what to do with these villains. I think there’s a watch station nearby.”

  “A watchman from there is patrolling about a block away and heading in this direction. I imagine Mayfair gets better protection than most neighborhoods.” Her voice caught as she gestured at the man he’d struck in the throat. “No need to hurry for this one. He’s dead.” Her voice was flat.

  Jack was silent a moment. “I didn’t mean to kill him, but I can’t say I have any regrets, either.” He thought about the rage and violence he’d felt from the assailants. “They would have robbed us, maybe even killed us on a whim.”

  “And possibly raped me first. I know.” Abby rubbed at her temples. “They are not good men. But when someone dies, especially so abruptly, I…feel it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Jack wondered how death felt to someone like Abby. A painful emptiness? He had noticed nothing, but he was no healer. “I wonder if this attack was pure bad luck, or if the danger spells in my mind helped draw these men to us.”

  “You could be right,” she said with a frown. “Those spells might have drawn these villains into your vicinity. If we hadn’t walked out tonight, they might have moved on to attack others now that the spells have been removed. I certainly hope this doesn’t happen again!”

  The man whose nose had been broken made a bubbling sound and pushed his hands against the ground in a feeble attempt to sit up. As Jack stepped closer, Abby said sharply, “Don’t hit him again. I think I can keep them asleep until the watch arrives.”

  “That would be good.” Though Jack would do what was necessary, he wasn’t keen on striking men who were down.

  She knelt in the snow and placed one hand on the moaning man’s temple. After a moment, he slumped to the ground again. She turned to the other survivor and did the same while Jack thought about what had happened. He’d killed before, but never had he found it so sobering. Just as well that he was leaving the army, since a man couldn’t think too much about the results of what he was doing when fighting for his life.

  He was not the man he had been. This was another disturbing thought. But it didn’t mean he was a wizard.

  The watchman appeared, as Abby had predicted. Jack waved the fellow over. “I’m Lord Frayne and this is Lady Frayne. These men attacked us.”

  The watchman was broad and elderly, and he had the air of competence that suggested he was a retired sergeant. He made a quick examination of the thieves. “There been other attacks ’round here lately. Looks like you put a stop to that.” He rose creakily and gave Jack a curious glance. “You took all three down?”

  “Ten years as an army officer,” Jack said tersely. “May I take my wife home? We’re staying at Alderton House. I’m brother to the duchess, and you can find me there if you need a statement about this incident.”

  “Go along and take care of your lady, my lord. Someone will call at Alderton House tomorrow for that statement. You’ve done the city a service tonight.” The watchman tipped his hat, then pulled manacles from his pocket.

  Jack took Abby’s hand and they returned to his sister’s house. Their earlier playfulness was gone. As they climbed the steps of Alderton House, Abby asked, “What will happen to the two men who survived?”

  “Probably transportation to New South Wales.”

  “It’s said the colony is warm and sunny, so they may end up grateful.” Her attempt at lightness was undermined by a shiver.

  He put his arm around her shoulders, not caring what the footman who let them in might think. “It’s been a full day, lass.”

  And a day that had ended on a sobering note. They returned to their rooms, changed into nightclothes, and climbed into bed with few words. He drew Abby into his arms and felt better when she settled down with a contented sigh. There was comfort in closeness. He suspected that there might be even more comfort in making love, but he didn’t need to be a wizard to know that his bride was not in the mood for passion.

  Despite having Abby in his arms, his sleep was troubled. He soared over the blighted hills and valley of Langdale, his heart anguished by the sorrow below. His mate flew with him, above and a little behind, guarding his journey.

  Abby had said, “You always know the location of your enemies.”

  His enemy was below, in Langdale Hall. Sir Alfred Scranton wasn’t just an unpleasant family connection, but truly Jack’s enemy. The battle for Langdale’s soul would not end till one of them was dead.

  Sweating, Jack jarred into wakefulness. He stared into the darkness, his arm tightening around Abby. Was his dream a prophecy, or an expression of his worst fears? Would it be possible to separate Scranton from his mother without breaking her heart? She adored the man, her letters were mostly about him. Yet Scranton must go.

  The simplest resolution of the problem would be to evict Scranton from Langdale Hall, forbidding him to ever return. Jack’s mother would presumably accompany her husband and be bitter about her son’s treatment of Scranton.

  Jack knew in his bones that the solution wouldn’t be so simple. Too many dark influences were involved. Yet when the crisis came, he would have no choice. He was an army officer and a lord, and both of
those roles required him to protect those who were his responsibility—even at the cost of his mother’s happiness.

  He had a swift mental image of his mother laughing as she took his hand and they ran into the house to escape a rain shower. He had been perhaps five or six years old. She had wrapped him in a shawl, then had a rainy day tea party with him and Celeste, who had been very proud to be trusted with a delicate porcelain teacup. That day had been his mother at her best.

  If he destroyed her husband, she would hate him forever.

  His mouth twisted. Given how estranged they had become, that would not be very different from the present situation, but at least now she didn’t hate him.

  With a sigh, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, one hand stroking Abby’s shoulder. He would do what must be done—and may God help them all.

  Abby awoke slowly, so comfortable in her husband’s embrace that she was reluctant to move. Too much had happened the previous day. Her cleansing Jack’s mind of old spells, his loss of temper with her. The consummation of their marriage.

  The first time she’d seen her husband kill a man.

  Yet when she opened her eyes, he was sleeping peacefully, his face looking the same as always. Strong, good-humored, tolerant. It was her perception that had changed. She was grateful to have a husband so capable of defending her, but she felt as if one of her tabbies had turned into a tiger.

  No matter. He was a soldier as well as her husband, and soldiers killed when they had to. She trusted him to do what was appropriate.

  She realized that he was now watching her through lazily slit eyes. “Good morning,” he murmured. “I wonder what today will bring.”

  She stretched like a cat, managing to move closer to Jack. “Celeste will give me lessons on surviving the ton, complete with diagrams on who hates whom and who the worst gossips are.” She contemplated the prospect without pleasure. “What about you?”

  “Alderton and Ashby are dragging me around the clubs to introduce me to various political chieftains.” He sighed. “I’m not looking forward to it.”

  “Let’s see, White’s is Tory, Brooks’ is Whig. Which do you belong to?”

  “Both.” He grinned. “I prefer to keep everyone guessing. Besides, I don’t agree completely with either of the parties. I think I shall be independent and universally despised by both sides.”

  “Can I go and baffle the politicians with you? It sounds interesting.”

  “Trust me, it won’t be.”

  She chuckled at his vehemence. “Did I mention that Celeste has arranged for us to have dancing lessons three days from now?”

  Jack looked appalled. “I’m recovering from a dire injury! I don’t have to dance.”

  “You’re not an invalid anymore,” she pointed out. “Unless you can convince your sister that you’re in agony or crippled, it’s dance lessons for you.”

  “Celeste is a tyrant,” he said gloomily.

  “But for your own good.” Abby sighed. “I would just as soon avoid dancing myself, but Celeste says that if I do, I’ll call more attention to myself than if I do take the floor. I don’t have to be brilliant, merely unexceptionable. I suppose I can manage that after lessons to teach me what is fashionable so I won’t appear too rustic.”

  “By the time we head north, we’ll both be ready to flee the city,” he predicted. His hand moved down her with gentle thoroughness. “As for now…”

  When he kissed her, she returned it with interest. She was still a little shy, but that was changing fast.

  To her surprise, Jack caught hold of her waist and lifted her so that she was sprawled full length on top of him. “What?”

  He grinned. “Use that fine mind of yours.”

  She relaxed and looked down into his warm hazel eyes, and found that she quite liked having his hard male body underneath her. He gasped when she gave a slow roll of her hips. Encouraged, she began to slowly unfasten the buttons at the throat of her nightgown. His eyes darkened as he watched, until he seized her shoulders and pulled her close enough for him to kiss her breasts.

  Excitement shot through her, bringing every fiber of her body to urgent life. She settled down and started using her fine mind.

  Among other things.

  Chapter XXIV

  Every day in London was crowded with activity, but gradually Abby’s strength and magical reserves recovered from the weeks of strain and depletion. She should be ready for whatever Yorkshire had to offer.

  Even the dancing lessons were less fearsome than expected. Abby found that Jack was actually a capable dancer. She shouldn’t have been surprised, given his athletic skills. Despite commencing the lessons with a pained expression, he was soon enjoying himself.

  The lessons were one of the few occasions when they saw each other during the day, since Jack was as busy as she. Luckily they came together at night, and what nights! Abby started every day with a daft, happy smile.

  So did Jack. That was a source of great satisfaction to her.

  A week after the initial session of measurements and choosing fabrics, the formidable dressmaker twins returned for final fittings and took over Abby’s bedroom. While Celeste perused her correspondence in the sitting room, Abby was marched into the bedroom, attended by the sisters. They started by styling her hair in a sleek, elegant tumble atop her head.

  She withdrew behind a screen for modesty’s sake when they told her to strip to her skin. First a chemise was handed over. Abby pulled it over her head. The soft cotton caressed her skin like silk. “How lovely! The embroidery is exquisite.” Abby wasn’t much for needlework herself, but she recognized quality when she saw it.

  Madame Renault permitted herself a small smile of satisfaction as she moved the screen aside. “My girls make the finest lingerie in England. Now for the stays, milady.” There were several forms of corset and this was a long one, designed to give a smooth line from hips to chest and to raise the breasts.

  Abby steeled herself as madame personally helped her into the corset and began lacing up the back. “These stays are comfortable!” she exclaimed. “Even more comfortable than my old ones.”

  “Of course, milady. A properly designed corset must fit the body perfectly, enhancing but not forcing the feminine attributes into an impossible shape.” She studied the garment’s fit with narrowed eyes. “Many women require false bosoms to look their best, but you have been blessed with a splendid figure, milady. Finally the world will know it.”

  Abby was unsure how she felt about that, but there was no time to ponder since Madame Ravelle was approaching with a ball gown. Not the blue silk one for the duchess’s ball, but a handsome confection of soft rose silk. With matching slippers.

  As madame and her minions fussed with the hemline, Abby glanced down at the low-cut bodice, appalled. “I may die of lung fever!”

  “Dancing will keep you warm, and you will never lack for partners. Not as long as you carry yourself with pride. There are short women who would kill to have your height and presence,” Madame Ravelle said grandly. “Now show yourself to her grace.”

  Abby opened the door separating her bedroom from the private sitting room. At her entrance, the duchess looked up from the desk. “Oh, well done, madames! Abby, my brother shall be the envy of the ton for the wife he has found.”

  “I will settle for his not being a laughingstock.” Abby gestured at the vast expanse of pale skin revealed by the gown. “You’re sure this is fashionable, not vulgar?”

  Celeste laughed and turned her to face the gilt-edged mirror over the fireplace. “It’s the height of fashion. Look at yourself, my dear.”

  Abby blinked at her reflection. Though she would never be as elegant as Celeste, she did look impressive. Very…female. A well-designed corset certainly made a substantial difference. “I think I would prefer rustic to flamboyant,” she said uncertainly.

  “You look grand, not flamboyant, but you’ll no longer be able to pretend you’re a plain country lass. You never were
, but you did your best to give that impression.” Celeste cocked her head to one side. “Did you deliberately downplay your appearance? Or were you merely not that interested in fashion?”

  “Some of both. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Since there’s a lot of me, that meant dressing plainly.” Abby was silent before adding a deeper truth. “I reached womanhood early. The attention from men was…not enjoyable.” She’d once had to use magic to free herself from the unwanted attentions of a drunken tinker. She had run home panting and in tears, never telling anyone because of her sin in using magic to knock a man unconscious.

  “Ah.” Celeste gave an understanding nod. “To be attractive to men at a young age is unsettling, especially if one’s beauty is more sensual than ethereal. So you took on the plain plumage of a wren instead of the rich colors of the kingfisher.”

  Why had Abby never seen the connection between her lavish figure and her desire to go unnoticed? Probably because she never thought much about how she dressed. But as she studied her image in the mirror, she decided she could like more colorful plumage.

  The door to the hall opened and she turned to see that Jack had returned early from his business. He entered, saying, “Hello, my dear.”

  Then he stopped in his tracks, his jaw dropping. “Abby?”

  Celeste laughed. “Come in, Jack. And do try for some composure.”

  While Abby blushed, Jack circled her admiringly. “You look splendid, Abby. Not that you don’t always look nice, but now! If I had my troops here, they’d give you a fifteen-gun salute.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” The light in Jack’s eyes removed all Abby’s doubts about her new clothing. “All credit goes to your sister and Madames Ravelle and Renault. I’m merely obeying orders.”

  “Now that you’ve admired Abby, go away, Jack. There is much fitting to be done still, and it’s no sight for a gentleman.” Celeste’s eyes gleamed. “Especially not a gentleman who looks as if he wishes to carry his bride off to some private place.”