Jo Beverley

by Forbidden Magic

  “I did add that we would have to find each other congenial, my lord.”

  “I find you congenial.”

  “How can you? You do not know me.”

  “I like the fact that you have these nervous doubts.”

  “What?”

  “If you’d marched in here and said your vows without a flutter, Miss Gillingham, I would have been concerned. After all, I am somewhat nervous. But it won’t be hard for two reasonable people to rub along together, especially when cushioned by wealth. And, of course, I will take care of your siblings.”

  It was a trump card and he played it without flourish, but she knew he had played it deliberately.

  “Won’t you introduce them to me?”

  There was no way to refuse, and so Meg gestured them over.

  The twins were wary, but in a few moments of casual conversation became adoring.

  Laura was awkward, but he soon had her blushing.

  Meg watched these easy conquests with misgiving, and was pleased that Jeremy remained stiff. “My lord,” he said, “Meg doesn’t have to marry you if she doesn’t wish to. We can make do.”

  “I’m sure you can. You all look like capable, hardworking people. But all our lives will be made more comfortable by this arrangement, and I will be eternally grateful.”

  He then began to converse with them, asking about their schooling and interests. Under this skillful handling, soon even Jeremy had relaxed, seduced by casual references to the earl’s own time at King’s College, Cambridge.

  Meg should have been glad that her family was shedding their anxieties, and in most ways she was, but she also felt threatened. The Earl of Saxonhurst had the confidence of a man who’d never been crossed since the day he was born. He was wickedly charming, and he knew it. Knew how to use it. She’d felt the effects when he’d talked with her so briefly—almost a warmth melting her fears and doubts.

  It was unreasonable to object and yet she did. She felt as if she were being spellbound.

  So! She almost gasped aloud.

  That certainly served her right. He was spellbound by the sheelagh, and she was in danger of being spellbound by him.

  Watching him, she could almost see his charm like ahalo . . .

  Then she shook her head at the fancy. It was just a shaft of sun through one of the church’s colored windows. But no. That was not all it was. She couldn’t deny his effect, or the panic it stirred in her.

  He was too much, too much man for mousy Meg Gillingham.

  But she had no choice.

  Chapter 5

  He turned to her at last, assessing her. Clearly he decided she’d had time to settle her nerves, for he raised her to her feet. He believed that she wouldn’t resist anymore, and he was right. It was simply a matter of need, however, not inclination. Her family desperately needed his help.

  She truly did wish he’d turned out to be an ugly eccentric. She’d be much happier with her fate.

  In moments, they were standing in front of the vicar.

  Thin, white-haired Reverend Bilston looked at her with concern. He had known her most of her life and buried her parents only three months before. “Are you quite recovered, Meg? There is no need to rush, you know. The license will be valid tomorrow or next week. If you are at all uncertain . . .”

  She glanced at the earl again and saw that he would not pressure her anymore. He had rolled the dice and now merely watched to see how they would lie.

  Laura, Laura, Laura.

  Having fortified herself with that incantation, Meg smiled at the vicar. “It was just an attack of nerves, Reverend. I am quite ready now.”

  After a slight, concerned pause, Reverend Bilston began to recite the service. For Meg, the time for questions was over, and she made all the appropriate responses, letting herself be carried along the course she had decided on. Nothing had changed, after all, except that the earl was not an object of pity, and it would be strange indeed to regret that. . . .

  Then he was turning her toward him.

  They were man and wife!

  “Now, now,” he said calmly, clearly seeing her flare of panic. “The worst is over. Thank you, Lady Saxonhurst.” And he kissed her hand close by the ring he’d placed there.

  She was suddenly, blindingly grateful that he had not kissed her lips. But, heaven help her, if she wasn’t ready to be kissed, how could she face the coming night?

  He studied her a moment, then smiled. “I’m sure these doubts and fears are quite normal, but do try not to let your imagination run away with you, my dear. Now, let us sign the register and have this done.”

  As soon as the formalities were complete, the earl turned to her family. “Welcome! I have no brothers and sisters, you know, so I am delighted by an instant family.”

  “Wait until you get to know them, my lord,” Meg said.

  At her mild joke, he flashed her a look of surprised approval. It felt strangely like the lick of a flame.

  Warming, but dangerous.

  She hastily turned to accept the good wishes of all around.

  Jeremy was still watchful, but a glowing Laura ran over to hug Meg. “I think this is all wonderful!”

  The earl claimed a kiss on the cheek, then gave her into the care of his secretary. “Owain, take especial care of my new sister.”

  Owain Chancellor, with his brown hair and square face, was such a pleasant-looking, ordinary-looking gentleman. Meg wished she was in his care, not that of her handsome husband.

  Then she noticed that the twins were looking up at the earl with their curious look. Oh dear.

  “Do you have robes?” Rachel asked.

  “My earl’s robes? Yes. And a coronet. Your sister will have them, too.”

  Richard demanded, “Will I?”

  “Not unless you earn them for yourself. Which is more than I did.”

  “Have you met the king?” Rachel asked.

  “Not recently. He’s too unwell for visitors.”

  “But you must have met the prince,” Richard said. “Is he really, really fat?”

  “Very. Now, let’s be on our way. A luncheon awaits.”

  “What’s to eat?” The twins said it in unison, with the true fervor of ten-year-olds who’d been on short rations.

  “Wait and see.” The earl tucked Meg’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her toward the door. The twins instantly bracketed them—Richard at the earl’s side, Rachel at Meg’s, like sheep dogs making sure that their charges wouldn’t stray.

  Meg fought tears. How frightened they must have been since losing their parents! Surely this must all turn out to be an improvement.

  The twins were never easily silenced. “Will there be ham, sir?”

  “Goose?”

  “Cake?”

  “Mince pies?”

  “Nuts?”

  “Oranges?”

  “Missed your Christmas dinner, did you?” the earl asked indulgently. “There’ll be whatever you want that we can find. We can’t do magic, however, so the goose will have to wait.”

  “Ices?” both twins said at once.

  The earl halted to turn back to the servants. “I assume we can produce ices?”

  “Gunter’s may have some, milord, though it’s not the time of year for them.”

  “Find out.” And he continued out into the sunshine.

  “There’s no need,” Meg protested. “It’s winter!”

  “But no need not to, winter or no. This is our wedding celebration, and my birthday, and I like ices, too.”

  “You’ll spoil them.”

  He smiled down at her. “I’m sure you’ll prevent me.”

  That was all very well, but Meg feared that preventing the Earl of Saxonhurst from doing anything would be like preventing the Thames from flowing to the sea.

  Three elegant carriages had appeared, drawn by fine, steaming horses. Each horse was protected by a heavy, emblazoned cloth in the same blue and gold worn by the liveried servants letting down the step
s. Each carriage bore a gilded crest on the door.

  He really was an earl! Meg hadn’t exactly doubted it, but she’d not quite believed it either.

  In moments, he was handing her into one and settling beside her on the deeply padded, blue brocade seat. When Richard and Rachel didn’t follow, however, she snapped out of the enchantment and looked out of the window.

  The earl tugged her back. “Owain will take care of them all. What do you think we’re up to? The slave trade?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So, relax and enjoy your wedding day. I hope neither of us have another.”

  That startled her. Thus far, she’d only thought of the immediate, of getting this done so that Laura would be safe, so they would all have the means of decent survival. But marriage was for all eternity.

  Oh dear.

  She made herself meet his eyes. “I’ll try, my lord.”

  “Good.” But then, as the carriage moved off, he drew her close, his intention clear.

  Meg instinctively braced her arms to hold him off.

  His brows rose. “You object to kisses?”

  “Anyone could be watching!”

  “We’re in a closed carriage on an empty street, but I’ll draw the blinds if you wish.”

  He had every right to kiss her, but . . . She tried for an honest explanation. “It’s all so sudden, my lord. We may be man and wife, but you are still a stranger.”

  “We certainly are man and wife, but I understand.” He moved back, leaning in his corner, legs stretched out. “Am I to assume that you won’t feel ready for more intimate attentions by tonight?”

  Meg looked away, her cheeks burning. “I will do my duty, my lord.”

  “To the devil with duty. We’re wed till death us do part, so I’m sure consummation can wait a night or two.”

  Hearing neither disgust nor annoyance, Meg glanced back. She understood men to be somewhat greedy in their appetites. But then, of course, he didn’t feel that way about her.

  Why should he?

  Any more than she felt that way about him.

  Though she did feel something, she had to admit. Whatever it was, it was not at all comfortable.

  “You look so very agitated,” he said with that devastating twinkle in his eye. “I should warn you that maidenly flusters are often quite stimulating to men. The wide eyes, the heated cheek . . .”

  His indulgent tone put her on her mettle. “Men suffer from a hunting instinct, I see.”

  His brows rose. “Hunting?”

  “Blushes and big eyes being like the smell of the prey to them.”

  He laughed. “A novel notion, but likely true. Men can be very predatory.”

  She suspected his flash of strong, white teeth was deliberate and wanted, so desperately, to dent his confidence. “Predators are not very discriminating, though, are they, my lord? Any prey will do.”

  “Not at all. The hawk in search of rabbits doesn’t snatch a hedgehog.”

  “Am I rabbit, then?”

  “I am very much coming to doubt it.”

  She felt an absurd warmth. “Good. I can be quite prickly.”

  “So I see.” Still at his ease, his lids lowered in a way that started a beat of panic in her chest. “I should warn you, my dear countess, that danger intrigues me, and I enjoy a good hunt.”

  “Pity the poor hedgehog, then, who won’t.”

  After a moment, he said, “I am pondering the image of a hedgehog hunt. . . .”

  And she couldn’t help but laugh with him at the absurdity. At that moment, she felt comfort ease into her, pushing away panic. She could talk to this man. Match wits with him. That was something. That was a great deal.

  Then she realized some of the comfort might be physical. “This coach is very warm.”

  He bent to move the carpet on the floor, showing tiles. “They’re kept heated and put in place before we use it.”

  Meg couldn’t think of what to say about such an extraordinary indulgence, but she had to unclasp her cloak and push it off her shoulders.

  He smiled. “A hedgehog hunt would be a slow hunt, but there is nothing wrong with that.”

  “It would be no hunt at all, and you know it.”

  “But think of the spines. The hunter would want the creature to unroll, to cease being wary. Perhaps it is the hunter’s skill to make that happen.” He reached out, and soft as a feather, stroked her cheek. “To make the quarry welcome its own end. . . .”

  Meg couldn’t help inching away. “This is not truly a hunt.”

  “But you have turned it into one.” His finger touched her ear, tracing the sensitive edge, the faint rasping sound so loud it made her shiver. She was pressed back against the corner squabs now, with nowhere else to go.

  “I desire you, my wife.”

  “You can’t possibly—”

  “But you refuse me. Therefore I must hunt. Which means, I must seduce you.”

  “Seduce!” She found an extra inch to retreat.

  He caught her earlobe between two fingers and tugged. “Seduction is sanctioned within marriage, you know.”

  She couldn’t help it. She twitched sideways, away from his devastating touch. “You agreed to wait!”

  He let his hand drop, relaxed again, but not a mite less dangerous. “Of course. Word of a Torrance. Until you unroll from your spiny ball and present your soft vulnerability. Willingly. Eagerly—”

  “Eagerly?” It came out on a breath, a whisper. With just his eyes, his remarkable eyes and his big body, his long legs dominating the space, his wide shoulders filling her vision, with just these things, without touching her, she knew that he was halfway to the kill.

  There was one way to cut this short, but she had to look away to say the words. “I think it would be better if we consummated the marriage tonight, my lord.”

  Silence stretched. “You think that the safer option?” She didn’t have to look to know that his eyes were dancing with humor. “If I come to your bed tonight,” he said, very softly, but every word clear, “it will be no simple matter. I will seduce you, Lady Saxonhurst. Seduce in every meaning of the word.”

  She shivered again. She’d thought it would be simple. They would go to bed together, both in their nightgowns. He would do the necessary, then turn over and go to sleep, suitably appreciative of her calm acceptance of her unpleasant duty.

  The kisses involved would be light and respectful, and there would not be any touching of ears or necks, or any sense of danger, of something stealing the air all around and making her dizzy.

  His hands touched her shoulders, sending a jolt right through her. He turned her to face him. “If we are to be intimate so soon, we really must begin. A proper consummation takes time. A great deal of time. Prepare yourself, Lady Saxonhurst, to be kissed.”

  She expected to be seized, assaulted even, but he used only a finger to raise her face to his. His lips only brushed gently over hers. The aura, however, the greater reality he seemed able to summon, fell over her like a heavy mist, making her breath falter.

  How could he do this to her with just a light kiss?

  She would have broken away and protested, but pride would not let her. This was her idea—wasn’t it?—to cut short his tormenting pursuit by immediate, coldblooded surrender.

  Her blood was definitely not running cold.

  He used his lips to tease at hers, making them tingle almost unbearably. She parted them without thinking and felt his tongue against hers.

  She flinched, but would not retreat. That would be to admit his conquest. She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and stared at him.

  She saw the smile, felt it in his mouth, heard it in his voice. “You are delightful, Lady Saxonhurst. You are going to give me so much pleasure.”

  “In the hunt?”

  “And the capture. You are no shy hedgehog, are you?”

  “At the least, I insist on being a cunning fox.”

  “Vixen, my dear. Vixen.” His fing
ers teased at the edge of her hair, at her ears, her neck, his mouth still close so their breath mingled.

  She would not back down. “Fox or vixen, they find no pleasure in the chase.”

  “They can, in this hunt. Pleasure such as you have never imagined. Trust me on that.”

  He slid his hand behind her neck and kissed her suddenly, deeply, shocking a half-cry from her, almost bruising her lips. It was a warning kiss. A huntsman’s horn of a kiss. Meg truly felt like a vixen then, huddling in a covert, hoping the hounds wouldn’t sniff her out, but knowing they were already on her trail.

  Well on the trail. Her breathing was unsteady and her whole body felt strange, almost fevered.

  With shock, she recognized sensations similar to those from the sheelagh-ma-gig—that sickening, dizzying wave that went on and on, almost longer than a body could bear.

  No wonder her mother had been reluctant to discuss it!

  Could marital consummation be like that—powerful, overwhelming, terrifyingly close to death?

  With a jolt of relief, she realized she was safe. Clearly many women found a husband’s attentions pleasant. Her mother had said that she did. But Meg had experienced it through the sheelagh and had not liked it at all.

  Despite his many charms, the Earl of Saxonhurst’s hunt would fail. He would not be able to make her want or enjoy his ultimate attentions. It might be a case of cutting off her nose to spite her face, but she was glad of it. Glad he was not going to be able to provide pleasure such as she had never imagined.

  He was just too glossily confident to be borne.

  He drew back, studying her, and she thought he already looked a little puzzled. She willed her eyes to be steady. Yes, it wouldn’t be pleasant to have to be intimate with him tonight, but she was looking forward to seeing him thwarted.

  After a moment, he pulled a cord to attract the attention of the coachman. The trap opened in the roof. “Milord?”

  “Pause at Mrs. Ribbleside’s in Crane Street.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Why?” Meg demanded, sure he had thought of another twist on the hunt.

  “You have to permit me some pleasure,” he said, looking both amused and mischievous.

  It was very hard to imagine someone so lighthearted as wicked, but what amused this man might well be very wicked indeed. Meg had heard stories about houses of sinful purpose, and at the moment, she couldn’t be sure anything was impossible. She shouldn’t have been afraid for her siblings, but for herself!