by Lacy Danes
And that was exactly what she intended to do. Wait. No, she would do this because she intended to find out what he knew. Not because her lunacy told her to.
“Make haste or you shall miss him.”
“Grandmum, air sounds perfect.”
“Good. Deal with him now, or he will be back. He will not allow Hudson to claim you.”
But she was already Hudson’s. Wed by the archbishop himself.
“A more easily accepted thought for you, I am sure, but a frivolous one.”
“Fresh air would do me well.” Grandmum wrapped her hand more tightly about her bicep, and she smiled up at Celeste with eyes lit with fiery mischief. Celeste’s lips curled up. Grandmum would never want for anything because of Celeste’s marriage to Hudson. Celeste would ensure that mischief stayed in her eyes until the day she left this earth.
“Very well.” In her younger days, Grandmum had pursued mischief with little regard for social conventions. Having her here in this new life made Celeste feel not quite so odd. They were two mad ladies in a sea of sanity.
She stepped toward the large doors that opened up onto the front porch and the little garden lit with candles. The air swirled as dancers moved in patterns across the floor, and candles dripped, flickering, in the humid curl created by the dancers’ bodies. She paused. The closed parlor door through which the two men disappeared stood not an arm’s reach away.
She inhaled a steadying breath, and a mixture of the open sea and the fear in being nowhere near land slipped into her nostrils. That same scent had hung in the air as he knelt before her. Sweat pricked her neck. She needed to know more about him. It was silly to deny her attraction. His energy wrapped about her skin and blotted rational thought from her mind.
“Do you wish to know his name?” Grandmum pulled her past the tall closed doors and away from the humid air of the ballroom out onto the empty front porch.
“Who?” She was not about to admit her fascination out loud. That would put her in the Hoxton madhouse with haste.
“The man who knelt before you, dear.”
“No.” She grimaced.
“Is that so?” Grandmum’s smile crinkled the wrinkles around her silken eyes.
Celeste frowned, then sighed. “I am newly wed. I simply wish to discover what he knows of me waking on the shore.”
“There is no harm in finding out his name as well, dear. I certainly would. Especially for a man so intriguing. Simply be respectful of Hudson with your affairs.”
“I know, Grandmum.” The Duke of Hudson was one of the most influential men in England.
“’Tis a shame how he lost his first duchess. They were a love match. He took her loss to consumption hard.”
“So everyone says.” Celeste fought to keep the frown from her lips. She had been shocked when her father had told her a marriage had been arranged. She had hoped to marry for love, and she had never even met His Grace. But what family would refuse a duke? And with her father’s heavy hand, she truly had no say. She had wondered about the marriage bed with a man she knew so little of, but enduring even that act had to be better than living as a spinster under her father’s roof.
Grandmum sat down on the marble bench just to the side of the door. “Do you wish to speak of it?”
“There is nothing to speak of.” She turned toward the drive and the flickering of the candle glow that lined the circle.
In the distance, two men stood on the steps, waiting for their carriage. She stepped into the shadow of the large pillar and peeked at them. They stood tall, with refined features. The shorter and stockier of them passionately waved his hands, shouting in a language she could not understand. The taller one, the one who had knelt before her, shifted his stance and slowly turned. His blue eyes branded her soul. He stared unwavering, directly into her.
Her stomach flipped, and tingles raced up her arms. She sucked in a breath and caged her reaction in her lungs. Across the distance, his eyes, the color of the bluest of seas, caught the moonlight and glowed.
Everything about this man called to her. He was handsome, without doubt, though her reaction to him came from the way he gazed at her. He needed her. As he had fallen before her, a strange and powerful desire and longing captured her. He needed just her…and no one else.
Celeste turned away, pressed her back against the cool, smooth pillar and stared up to the painted wood overhang above her. She swallowed. No man had ever regarded her that way. She slowly let her breath out and closed her eyes. Gather your fortitude. You have to know what he knows.
Heat bloomed around her, and her skin dewed. A gasp caught in her throat, and warm air filled with the scent of the sea puffed against her face.
“I will court you, if that is what you desire. But you are mine. You will not bed Hudson.” His deep, calm voice tightened the breath in her chest.
A warm need lapped her nipples and settled deep in her belly. Don’t open your eyes, Celeste. If you see his face again, you will want more. Yes, she needed to be rational.
She fidgeted with her hands and clasped them in front of her skirts, just above a budding ache that spiraled through her.
He stepped closer, pinning her hands between them. Her palms pressed firmly to the mound that made her a woman. Hard male flesh encased in the smooth silk along his upper thigh captured her knuckles. Gracious, that was his…
“Quite so,” his voice jagged out.
Her face prickled with heat. He’d read her thoughts.
She licked her lower lip. She needed to move her hand. Gently pulling her elbow higher, she trailed her hand up along his dress pantaloons.
The ridge beneath her knuckles distended within the fabric.
“We are destined, my beauty. My mark is on your neck.” His fingers grazed the small scabs beneath her lace collar.
The flesh he touched throbbed, and a quiver shot straight down her body, through her belly, to between her legs. Pleasure spiked through to her toes. She couldn’t breathe. The small marks were her only wounds from that unknown event. The voice in her head that she’d heard since made her fear that they represented far worse than a scratch. Something unreal. And now him. It was far worse. “I need to know about that…” Her words came out a squeak. “Them,” she said with fortitude. “I mean, what happened.”
“Jordan!” a man called from the carriage circle. “What the blazes—”
Steady puffs of his breath came closer and closer to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
“My mark,” he whispered, “and you live.” His lips slightly brushed hers but did not press to them at all. “That is what is important.”
She leaned forward, desperate to hear more and needing to feel what he offered her. The air grew cold around her. She bristled, and her eyelids shot up.
He was gone.
She turned toward the carriage as the coachman lifted the reins and pulled away. “My mark…and you live” swayed back and forth in her mind. What did he mean? And how had he gotten from here to there so hastily?
“Oh dear. That was certainly…” Grandmum raised her fan, flicked it open, then waved it vigorously before her flushed face.
Celeste stepped on shaking legs toward her. Reaching the stone bench, she trembled as she sat down next to her. “Daft.” She swallowed the lump that lodged in her throat and grasped Grandmum’s small gloved hand in hers.
“How long have you known him, dear?”
“I—” She tilted her head to the side and stared off into the black garden before them. “I don’t.” But she would. She stared at the intricate curls on top of Grandmum’s head. He had been on the beach. She would find out his name and pay him a visit tomorrow.
“He is Jordan.” The voice echoed through her mind. “Jordan, of the water.”
“Water?” Jordan…
“Indeed, dear. You require water. I, on the other hand, require a glass of brandy. I don’t have a husband to please or a mysterious gentleman to haunt my thoughts and keep me warm this nig
ht.”
Celeste snapped her head toward her. “Grandmum! You are not supposed to say such things aloud.” That kind of thought had put Grandmum in ruin. Back in her day, Grandmum had a secret life, one that involved a man other than Celeste’s grandfather. Or so went the rumors. It was a topic the family refused to talk about.
“Oh pfft.” Grandmum stood, and Celeste took her gloved hand once again. “When you are my age, dear, people think your brain is soft. No one pays you any mind.” They stepped back into the house, and the heat swirled around them, stinking of sweat and breath clouded with liquor. “I suppose it is an advantage I enjoy.” Grandmum smiled.
“Water.” The voice in her mind came again. “Calm, deep, dangerous and soothing. All contained in a man. I never knew what they turned out to be.” The voice rang with pride.
Celeste paused as she and Grandmum stepped past a group of women Celeste’s age. All of them had hoped to be duchess. All of them would tell Hudson in the flick of the fan if Celeste were in any way indiscreet. Only they would embellish what they saw with more wanton, naughty, not-fit-for-society words.
“All well, dear?”
“Yes. I will be, Grandmum.” I never knew what they turned out to be. The voice in her head was obviously not simply a voice in her head!
“I am Carmen. I am delighted you can hear me. I have waited a long time for you…for one of you to hear me.”
Carmen. Now she had a name for her lunacy.
They turned the corner into the dining hall, where Hudson chatted with another tall, unusual man. This gentleman stood a good head above Hudson with ink-black hair. He wore a lacy, ruffled shirt and long blue waistcoat, a style she had seen only in paintings of peers from the past. On his left cheek, a small red crescent moon was drawn.
Who were these people Hudson associated with? They were not typical of the crowd at the balls she had attended through the years.
Hudson turned. A smile curved his lips, and his green eyes sparkled as he met her gaze.
Grandmum patted her arm and then stepped away toward a footman with drinks. Celeste slowly walked to Hudson. Her face prickled with heat, and her earlobes burned. Imaginary narrowed eyes scorned her from every person in the room. Fortitude, Celeste. She fought the urge to glance around and flee, and instead pulled her fear to the pit of her gut.
Reaching Hudson, she raised her hand and forced her lips up into her best greeting smile. Be good to him…show him you care. He has given you and Grandmum an escape from the past year’s reality. His gloved fingers wrapped about hers, and he raised her knuckles to his lips. Her heart jumped. Maybe there would be a pleasurable reaction.
His lips touched her hand in a light press.
Nothing. No tingles, no rush of heat, no fast-beating heart. Nothing like she had just experienced with Jordan.
Slowly lowering her hand, Hudson rubbed his thumb over her knuckles reassuringly, then turned. “Madoc, this is the Duchess of Hudson.”
The tall, lean man turned his plush lips up at her and bowed his head. “Your Grace.”
“Madoc and I have gone on several adventures together, as well as collaborated on small inventions. His brother was the buffoon that fell in front of you tonight.” He shook his head in disapproval. “You will see all the brothers with me on occasion.”
Lord. This became more complicated with each breath. Her brows pinched together.
“I need to apologize for my brother, Your Grace.” Madoc’s deep voice pulled her mind back to the conversation. “It is not like Jordan to drink so at any event. His feathers are ruffled, I am certain.” Madoc’s reddish-brown gaze settled on her and then dropped to the side of her neck, as if he could see the small oblong scabs hidden beneath her lace collar.
Her hand nervously fidgeted and then rose to ensure that her collar really was in place. “Such a pleasure to meet you—”
“Please call me Madoc.”
Celeste forced a polite smile. “Madoc.”
Hudson and Madoc were good friends. The brothers would be around often. Her head spun, and the room swayed. She stared into Madoc’s eyes, and the black circle of his pupils elongated into crescents. The room stilled. Her heartbeat controlled her shaking breath. She snapped her gaze away from his and back to her husband.
Hudson’s mouth stayed open as if to say something, but his lips did not move. He did not even blink. How could that be? She tore her attention away and into the room. Everyone was caught in the midst of conversation. Frozen. All but her. She gasped and turned back to Madoc.
He raised his left eyebrow. “Do not fret, Your Grace. I need to know if Jordan bit you. If so, we brothers shall decide the best way to deal with this…situation.” His lips formed a straight line.
She turned to Hudson. He still didn’t move. She stared back at Madoc. A tremble racked her shoulders. This was all too bizarre. “How did you do that?”
“Answer my question, and I shall answer yours, Your Grace.”
“I am uncertain what happened to me. All I remember is waking on the shore and—”
“Did Jordan say he bit you, Your Grace?”
She pressed her fingers to the scars, through the lace of her collar. “He said it was his mark.” Had he bitten her?
A crease puckered the skin between his ebony brows. “You are meant to be with Jordan. If you resist, things could go bloody bad. I appreciate your truth, as your actions will affect us all.”
“I don’t know what that means.” Her mind went numb. This night had turned tipsy, with no help from the wine. If he wanted her truth, so be it. “I am drawn to him. In a way I can’t deny. That is all I know.” She stared Madoc straight in his eyes.
“That is a beginning for us all. Thank you, Your Grace. And now, my answer to your question. What you see before you is a labor I have honed over decades of practice. You may learn the elements if you so choose.”
I may learn the elements if I choose? She snorted. I think not.
“Madoc is an unusual name.” Hudson turned to her, rolling back the conversation. “But as you will learn, it suits him well.”
Her head lightened, and she swayed slightly. More than he probably knew. Or could he? She snapped her attention to Madoc once more.
Madoc smiled courteously and inclined his head toward her.
A nervous laugh escaped her. No, there was no way the Duke of Hudson would allow a witch in his home, if that was what Madoc was. He would be mad to do so, no matter what his rank. “I-I…should retire. I am feeling…rather…exhausted.” That was true but had no bearing on the swell of feelings churning inside her. Fear, passion, disbelief, panic and, well, curiosity. That was just the beginning. She was fully perplexed. It would be a wonder if she didn’t fall into a fit of vapors this night, though she had never had the pleasure of those when she needed them.
Grandmum walked up beside her with two large glasses of brandy. Celeste’s shaking fingers wrapped about the crystal stem, and she raised the glass to her lips, swallowing the entire portion in one gulp. A drip ran down her chin, and she wiped the amber liquid on her white glove.
Hudson’s brows came together. Concern reflected in his eyes. “Are you well?” Hudson squeezed her free hand and released it, as if tossing her boat line out to sea.
“I am a bit shaky from this enormous day, Your Grace. I think I should rest for a while.” She walked away. Grandmum walked besides her.
The smell of the sea still lingered in her nose. Jordan. “You will not bed Hudson” echoed in his deep tone, and then twisted, unwanted, through her.
She was the new Duchess of Hudson. What choice had she but to bed her own husband?
Chapter Three
Samgor’s Den. Below St. James. London.
Jordan paced within the club’s foyer. Ilmir had dragged him here and instantly disappeared up to their room. Where were Madoc and Ferrous? They all needed to be here. Now. Damn it.
He spun once more on the etched black lava floor. Why did he have to be the first to find h
is mate? He ground his teeth. Of course he wanted this, had dreamt about this moment for centuries. He shook his head. He was simply less prepared for the unexpected physical changes and the social complications of her. The duchess.
Ferrous would know exactly what to do with the new complications. Jordan wrung out his hands and refisted them. He fluttered like a leaf in the wind, more nervous than the first time he bit. What a bumblebroth. The scales on his arms tingled. Things could go very wrong when the power of a Zir was uncertain.
The vision of the wave he caused when he first bit, and Ada died, washed through him. The town took weeks to dry out and repair the damage. He gritted his teeth. Even before he found his mate, the damage he could create was permanently fixed in his thoughts. What he now could be capable of sounded all the warning horns in his head.
The door to Samgor’s Den opened, and Jordan spun about. A man whose short, spiked white hair came to no taller than Jordan’s waist strode in. Samgor. “Your brothers’ carriage arrived, Jordan.”
He heaved out a breath through tense lips. They would know what to do.
“Whatever you are about”—Samgor’s questioning yellow gaze traveled the length of him—“your energy is certainly powerful. Don’t do anything you cannot undo. Remember that well.” A flash of green light burst into the small space, and Samgor was gone.
Madoc entered first, with Ferrous close behind. Jordan fell in behind them. They walked down the narrow hall carved out of rock and up two flights of stairs into the club itself. Even here, in this place of acceptance—where all members had an unnatural ability—the three of them together formed a daunting presence.
They wove through the mass of leather-covered tables. A golden-haired young man with sunken cheeks sat with an elderly gentleman dressed in a gray evening suit. The older man’s eyes changed to milk white as he raised his hand. The young man repeated the action. The glass, which sat before them, filled with a blood-red liquid as if sucked straight from the air. Water turned to blood or wine.
Thousands of variations on “ones with ability” walked the lands. They could be anything. Ferrous was correct to give the brothers a name. Doing so gave them a distinct identity from the others. In all their years, they had never met anyone else like them.
