“I’ll send her many more. I owe her that much.”
“I had planned to return with you last night, but your carriage was gone. Rhea told me she saw you fall. I thought that you had purposely left without me. That you no longer needed me, now that the mission is complete.” A lump formed in her throat at her admission.
“I shall always need you.” He kissed her hand again. “I know that I insisted that it was for your protection, that we could not share a future together. For years I have maintained a distance between myself and others, under the rationalization that their welfare could be placed at risk through their association to me. Marcus reminded me last night that every person I have ever loved had abandoned or betrayed me.”
“But that’s not true. Marcus lied,” she interjected.
“Yes. It was true,” he insisted, “until I met you.”
Her heart ached for him. No wonder he kept her at arm’s length when she initiated a kiss. He was as afraid she would hurt him as she was of losing him.
“Looking back,” he said, “I suspect that was the real reason I maintained those distances. By refusing a relationship, I was protecting myself from being hurt when the other party departed. Last night, when I believed that I had lost you, I realized that by denying myself a future with you, I was denying the one chance I had at true happiness. I never realized how lonely I was until I faced the possibility that you would not come back, that you would move away to protect your own interests. That is to say, little thief that you are, you slipped in and stole my heart and made it your own. I don’t want protection anymore, Lusinda. I want you. I want to marry you.”
Love blossomed full in her chest. Tears gathered in her eyes. Never had she thought she would hear those words, and yet this man, this very special man, who knew about her unnatural talent, still wanted her, still loved her, as if she were normal.
“Yes,” she said, though it emerged as a whisper. His eyebrow quirked as if he didn’t understand. “Yes!” she proclaimed a bit louder. The tears broke through the barrier and streamed down her cheeks.
She leaned down to kiss him, and he pulled her into his arms and rolled onto his back with her firmly in his grasp. He winced and she tried unsuccessfully to struggle free. “Your back!”
“It hurts,” he admitted, “but it hurts more to be without you.” He kissed her hard and deep, silencing all her protests. Her body responded in the tightening of her breasts and a yearning to press intimately close. Concern for his injuries, however, prevented her from doing so.
“Soon, my love,” she said. “First, you must heal.”
He took a deep breath, then smiled. “Having you with me is like Portia’s touch, a healing miracle. I feel much stronger already.” He hugged her tight. She laughed, then pulled back, afraid that his amorous antics would truly cause more injury. She sat up and looked down on him. Life with Locke would be sweet indeed, except for...
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “A cloud just slipped over your face.”
The man could almost read her thoughts. Perhaps he had some unnatural talent of his own. “It’s Pickering,” she said. “I know you’ve said he is a close friend and trustworthy—”
“He’s gone,” Locke said. Lusinda’s expression must have reflected her surprise. “Marcus told me that Pickering was the one who told him of your special talent. He observed you that night in the conservatory. Tavish had his men checking Pickering’s movements. Apparently, he has run to Russia, afraid of my retribution.”
Lusinda placed her finger across his lips. “It is good that he is gone. I believe that he was jealous of your affection toward me.”
“Then he saw that to which I was blind. Forgive me, Lusinda, for ever making you think that I didn’t care. I have cared for you since the night I didn’t see you.”
She leaned down and kissed him again, knowing that this was only the first of many, many shared kisses.
Epilogue
LOCKE SAT AT HIS DESK IN HIS VERY own library, in his very own house, reading his very own book, by the light of his very own oil lamp. As Lusinda said, they had put down roots, much like the moonflowers she introduced to their very own tiny garden.
He studied the pages in front of him with great intent, all the while stroking Twilight, a suspected offspring of Shadow, whose contented purr vibrated through his chest. Locke smiled. He would purr himself if he could. He had never imagined life could be so sweet.
He broke from his studies for just a moment and raised his glance to a photograph of Lusinda propped on his desk, and another one on a bookshelf of the entire Havershaw family with him at the center. Never would he have believed such a thing was possible. Never at least, until he met Lusinda.
Life had changed dramatically in such a brief period of time. He had a family, and a rather marvelous, spectacular, and unique family at that. His reputation in Her Majesty’s service was no longer one of master thief and cracksman, but rather master teacher and strategist. Now that he knew he would never uncover anything as valuable as Lusinda in a dark moonlit study, he left the recovery of secrets to younger, more ambitious men.
He glanced out the window. A full moon hovered over neighboring rooftops. The scent of moonflowers drifted to his nose, drawing a smile to his face. Lusinda. He turned his head toward the tantalizing jingle of jostling metal coins.
A bright pink low-cut bodice fringed with gold coins undulated in the air before him. A slight distance below the bodice, low-slung harem pants encircled by a plum-colored veil rolled side to side in the fashion of a belly dancer. Only this dancer had no belly, nor arms to support the tiny brass discs that chimed a rhythm. At least, no visible belly, or arms, or head.
Twilight jumped off his lap to crouch in anticipated attack on the shaking coins.
“Where did you get that outfit?” James asked, wishing that she had chosen to remain visible for this treat. He’d enjoy seeing the sensual sway of her heavy breasts and the lift and roll of her stomach in the dance movements. His groin tightened at the thought, but he understood why she chose this night to dance for him. The moon was waxing near its full strength, and she was embarrassed by her distended belly.
“The last time we were in India, I asked a dancer to show me how this was done,” she said, completing a perfect hip roll. “Do you like it?”
The veil lifted and swirled while she spun in a tight circle amidst the jingle of the bouncing coins, and the futile attacks by Twilight.
“I like it very much.” He shifted his chair to the side, then slapped his thigh. “Come here,” he ordered in a guttural groan.
The invisible dancer stepped around his desk until she stood within an arm’s distance. He leaned down to kiss and fondle her protruding stomach. Then he reached around to the curve of her back, while he licked the belly button that pushed out at the apex. He felt her shudder through his palm.
“Soon you won’t be able to do that,” she said.
“I shall always do this.” He placed his ear against her skin, listening for the sounds of life within. “I’ll just have to lean further to reach your belly.”
He felt her hand in his hair and sighed in contentment, or perhaps it was a purr.
“Have you been studying?” she asked.
“Indeed I have.” He glanced up at her, resting his chin on the curve of her stomach and feeling the smooth silk of her skin push at his throat. “When the time comes, I can serve as midwife if need be.” He let his hands drop down to fondle her buttocks. “Even if I can’t see you, no one knows the shape of you as intimately as I. Nothing bad will happen to you if little Locke decides to make an appearance at the height of a full moon, I promise.”
As if in response, the baby rolled beneath his chin. Lusinda tugged on his arms, a signal to stand. He did so and pulled her into his arms for an embrace. Her cheeks were damp. Tears of joy, he suspected. She seemed to move to tears quite quickly these days. He kissed the tear tracks, tasting the salt on his lips.
“I’m sorry,
” she said. “I shouldn’t be crying. You make me so happy. I don’t know why I’m always—”
He placed his finger on her lips. “I thought you might want to steal a kiss.”
Her back straightened, though he could feel her smile vibrate in the air between them. “James, I’ve told you time and again, I’m not a—”
His kiss swallowed her words
THE END
Watch for the next installment of the BOUND BY series:
Bound By Touch
Coming Soon
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PROLOGUE
Madrid, Spain 1853
“WHAT VALUE ARE potions and enchantments if you can’t rid me of one meddlesome charm teacher?” Queen Isabella’s glare burned hotter than the thick sulfurous mixtures bubbling on the alchemist’s hearth deep in the secret confines of the palace.
Padre Rodriquez hid his frown, knowing Isabella’s subjects had their throats slit for less. He had obligations, secret obligations, that necessitated his throat remain intact.
“My queen,” he said. “You have the authority to remove Señorita Charlebois from your court. You have no need of my paltry abilities.”
Even in the dim light of his secret chamber, Rodriquez could see the advancing affliction on the young queen’s peeling, scaly arms. Seven years of a disappointing marriage had given her an unwelcome air and a permanent frown. Try as she might, he knew Queen Isabella II would never be an attractive woman. Perhaps that was the reason she so often sought solace in his underground chamber where no one else dared venture.
“It’s difficult,” the queen said, opening a heavily jeweled fan. “Given her father’s position in the French Empire, releasing Señorita Charlebois from court responsibilities might be construed as an insult to Napoleon III. I suspect they rid themselves of a problem by sending her to me. Still, I can’t afford to strain relations with such a powerful neighbor.”
Rodriquez doubted that statement. The ever-pleasant Señorita Charlebois appeared highly competent. She’d be a welcome addition to any court, yet every breath the charming señorita took seemed as a thorn in the queen’s side.
“Why do you dislike the girl so much?” He carefully moved his latest concoction away from the fire to make the thick air more palatable. “Do you object that she is French, or do you find she is lacking in some knowledge of foreign etiquette?”
“She lacks compassion.” Isabella spat the words as if they fouled her mouth. The caged animals set up a loud ruckus at the implied threat in her tone. She glanced at the birds hopping frantically in their confinement, then closed her eyes, seeming to compose herself.
“I am the Queen of Spain,” she stated. “The señorita knows I must produce heirs to secure the throne but my husband has, shall we say, other preferences. He has forced me to seek alternatives to secure the royal line.”
Even Padre Rodriquez, a representative of the one true church, had heard whispers of her husband’s fondness for young men. Thus Rodriquez turned a blind eye to Isabella’s flirtations and passions for dance with young men at court. Rumors suggested the captain of the palace guard and not the king-consort, had truly sired the baby princess Maria Isabel.
Señorita Charlebois was not the only one who disapproved of the young queen’s promiscuity and debauchery, yet she seemed to be the only one receiving the queen’s displeasure.
“You have a new cleric,” Isabella said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Tomas Barreda,” he replied, grateful for the change in topic. “He comes to us from Barcelona. A very devout young man.”
“He did not seem so devout to me,” the queen said, snapping her fan shut. “He spent all of last evening speaking with that French tart.”
Ahh…the girl’s beauty and popularity had generated the queen’s jealousy, not any dereliction of responsibilities. The señorita was everything the queen wished to be and therefore was despised. He feared no logic or counseling on his part would sway her opinion.
“Señorita Charlebois has the ability to make a stranger feel comfortable,” he said, walking a fine line. Sweat streamed down his face. The queen might attribute it to the heat of his sanctuary, but he knew better. “I believe they had some commonality, a mutual acquaintance perhaps.”
Isabella’s black eyes glared at him with barely suppressed rage. “She stole his attention from me. This is not the first time her simpering smiles have thwarted my opportunities. There was Gustavo and that jaunty soldier, Lucas. I should have danced last night, not Charlebois.”
As a man who valued his existence, Rodriquez kept silent.
“I have tried to discourage her close association,” Isabella complained. “Yet the silly girl refuses to abandon her duties. I fear stronger measures are required.”
“Surely you can use your influence to persuade a man to marry Señorita Charlebois and remove her from the royal retinue,” Rodriquez counseled. “There must be many men willing to court her. She’s so...so…”
“What?” The queen halted her pacing at his hesitation and glared at the captive alchemist. “She’s so what?”
“Charming,” he said, quickly substituting for “beautiful,” the word on his tongue. “I was about to say she is so ... charming.”
He held his breath, waiting for the tense moment to pass.
The queen frowned, then stepped so close he could smell the Madeira tainting her breath. “I have heard whispers, Padre. It is said that you can make living things vanish.”
His whole body tensed. “I am a scientist, my queen, not a magician. My mission is to transmute baser metals to release those properties that might—”
“I know about your mission, Padre, and I know that you have stumbled upon a use for your philosopher’s stone that was not intended.” A wicked smile tilted her lips.
He struggled to calm his breathing. How could she know? His order demanded secrecy. “Who has told you such things?” he asked cautiously.
“My sources are not important.” Light danced in the ruby at her throat, giving the illusion of tiny flames licking her neck. “Fulfilling my need, however, is essential to the continuation of your research and existence. It is not the church that has kept you well fed, comfortably housed, and able to pursue your avocation.”
He hesitated, knowing these were not idle threats. The queen’s malicious spirit had already separated many of his peers from their earthly confines. His next words could easily seal his fate. “I may have had some limited success with mice and rabbits,” he admitted cautiously.
Her eyes widened with an evil spark. Instantly, he realized he had confirmed her unsupported suspicions. Now he was trapped, much like the rodents he kept for his experiments.
“Where do you send them, Padre?”
“I don’t know. They simply disappear,” he confessed. “My experiments are in the early stages. I’ve yet to discover how to reverse the process.” Perhaps if she understood how little he knew, she’d grant him time to perfect his art.
“Excellent.” Her voice hissed. She turned her back and set her fan in rapid motion. The scent of over-ripe rose
s assaulted him. He captured his cough in his fist.
“Have you ever tried your process on a person?” She tapped her finger on the thin metal housing of caged pigeons.
Dread danced down his spine in an icy shiver. His stomach roiled in protest. “Your Majesty, surely you aren’t suggesting –”
She charged his worktable, her eyes narrowed to daggers. “I wish for you to permanently remove Señorita Charlebois from my life. I want no more interference on her part.”
“You wish me to arrange for her murder?” He prayed that was her intent. Although repulsive, especially when the victim was to be a sweet innocent as was Señorita Charlebois, a murder in Madrid could be easily arranged. Thus, his recently discovered power of transmutation would remain secret.
“No. I have enough difficulties with insurgents, I don’t want them to seek aid from France if there’s a suspicion of foul play.” Her lips tightened. “I want her to disappear. Vanish. Make it seem as if she’s run away from her duties on her own accord.” She stepped closer, making it impossible to avert her cold, black eyes. “But make certain that she never returns. Can you do this?”
For a moment, Rodriquez’s mouth gaped like that of a fish. What was she asking? Even in this bastion of heat, his blood chilled. “What you suggest would be a blemish on one’s soul for eternity. Your majesty, I beg that you reconsider. Perhaps if I spoke to her –“
“Can your speech cause her skin to peel like this?” She held her lace mantilla away from her neck. “Can your words dull her eyes and hunch her straight body? No. I want her out of my sight.”
“Please your majesty,” he pleaded. “We are dealing with a human life.”
“If you deny me, we will most certainly deal with a human life,” she threatened. Evil portent surrounded him, suffocating in its closeness.
She stepped back, a thin smile played upon her lips. “I understand you visit a young woman on the outskirts of the city. A woman who cares for an infant.” She paused a moment. “Your son.”
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