“No?” Daphne’s eyes widened. A casual observer would have seen nothing but shock. The disappointment was entirely in the set of her sloping shoulders, and the dimming of the light in her expression.
Lady Thayer shook her head slowly and solemnly. “No. He is, in fact, not a gentleman.”
“Oh, Viola, you had me most concerned.” This time the hand pressed to Daphne’s bosom was far less artful. She really was having difficulty catching her breath. “He told us about his background when he called this morning.”
“Did he?” Lady Thayer frowned.
“Yes. And I can certainly understand the considerations for someone like yourself, but for Miranda I think a man of active profession, even a civil servant, will do very well. Indeed at her age, we simply cannot afford to be too particular.”
Very neat, Mr. Rathe. Very nice, Lady Thayer thought toward her absent opponent. But I am not prepared to let you have Miranda Prosper quite so easily.
“So you would look with favor on such a match?” Viola rested her fingers against her lips. “Oh, dear.”
“I’m sorry, Viola; have I said something wrong?”
“I certainly do not want to interfere, Daphne,” Lady Thayer said primly. “Especially not with a mother’s very proper concern for her daughter’s welfare, but ...” Viola paused just long enough to make sure she had Daphne’s full attention. She needn’t have worried. The woman was hanging on her every word. “You might not want to be too hasty in this matter.”
Mrs. Quicke’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Daphne’s mask slipped enough to allow Viola to see the mercenary calculations running through her mind. “Is there something I should know?”
“Yes. And that was the other matter I had hoped to mention. You know I will be having my house party next week, at Hallowgate?”
“Always quite the event of the summer,” said Daphne. It was a polite nothing. They both knew she had never been to one of Lady Thayer’s country parties. Viola suppressed a smile. It would be fun to draw this out, to play with this silly, shallow woman and see how many hoops she would jump through to get what she wanted. But, alas, there was no time for such a game. Later, perhaps. Mrs. Quicke was certainly ripe for all kinds of sport.
“I was hoping this year, if you’re not otherwise engaged, you and Miranda might do me the favor of attending.”
Greed, pure and simple, smoldered in Daphne Quicke’s eyes. “Why, thank you, Viola. We do not have any other engagements for the week, so that would be delightful.”
Time to move in for the kill. “Oh, I am glad. I have a most particular reason for asking.” She favored Daphne with another confidential little smile. “A nephew of mine, the Honorable Robin Summerfields, will be there. Have you met him?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor.”
“He has been at Oxford and has had very little time in London. A most serious scholar. But he was in town briefly last Christmas, and he saw your Miranda at Lady Featherstone’s birthday party.”
“Did he?” For the first time, Daphne Quicke evidenced genuine surprise.
“And he was most favorably impressed. So impressed, in fact, that he has been asking if you are going to be at my little get-together, and he practically begged to be introduced to her.”
“To Miranda?” Mrs. Quicke did not bother to disguise her shock.
Lady Thayer nodded. “To Miranda.”
“Well.” Mrs. Quicke sat back, clearly trying to reshape her established outlook to fit this new intelligence. “That is most excellent news. I’m sure Miranda and I both will enjoy meeting your nephew very much.”
“And Mr. Rathe?”
Daphne glanced out the window, past the garden toward the street, no doubt more concerned than previously about exactly where her daughter had gotten herself off to. “Well, as they have only just met, there has been no time for any real attachment to grow between them. Indeed, just between us, Viola, it may improve your nephew’s impression of Miranda if there is another man paying his addresses. You know how nothing elevates a girl’s charm like a rival in the background.”
Lady Thayer let herself appear to consider this. “I had not looked at it quite that way, Daphne. You really are very clever.” She stood and smiled. “Until next week, then?”
“Until next week, Viola.”
Lady Thayer left, feeling quite satisfied with her afternoon’s work.
Eleven
“Well.” Darius leaned against the oak tree and folded his arms. “Here we all are, then.”
This was the first time Miranda had seen Darius since he’d left her bedchamber. She had imagined his presence would be less intense in the daylight, and more like Corwin’s. But she had been wrong. Nothing had eased at all about him. His blue eyes raked her from top to bottom where she sat next to Corwin, even though her appearance was completely proper. Corwin’s magic had removed the grass stains from their clothing and she even had her bonnet on her head with its ribbons neatly tied. After Corwin and Miranda had ... recovered from their lovemaking, Corwin told her about his appointment to meet Darius in an isolated section of the park near one of the groundskeeper’s sheds. Miranda readily agreed to accompany him. Now they sat on a wooden bench beside the shed, holding hands, but nothing more than that. But Miranda felt certain Darius knew she had been making love with Corwin. A blush rose in her cheeks, but Miranda couldn’t tell what contributed most strongly to it—that Darius knew what she had been doing, or that she very much wanted him to know. If he knew, he might become aroused at the thought, and if he became aroused ...
Really, Miranda, you are becoming a thoroughgoing wanton!
“Hello, Darius.” Corwin seemed completely unruffled by the other man’s burning gaze. He motioned Darius to sit with them. “I was wondering when you’d find us.”
“Were you?” Darius looked from Corwin to Miranda and raised one eyebrow. Miranda felt her cheeks burn.
“Good afternoon ... Darius,” said Miranda.
Darius bowed, but said nothing. Miranda’s brow furrowed. She had trusted Corwin when he’d said Darius would find no insult or betrayal in their being together without him. But now, faced with Darius’s clear disapproval, she was forced to wonder if Corwin had ... not lied, perhaps, but exaggerated the extent of the openness of his relationship with Darius.
“Any news?” Corwin was asking.
“Not a damned thing.” Darius dropped onto the bench. Miranda flinched at the oath. Which was ridiculous, but she could not help it.
Darius and Corwin exchanged one of their long looks and Miranda found she could not endure it anymore.
“What are you two doing?”
“I beg your pardon?” inquired Darius.
“When you do ... that.” She gestured at his eyes. “Something is going on. What is it?”
“Observant,” Darius remarked over her head to Corwin.
“She is, isn’t she?” Corwin squeezed her hand fondly, a condescension Miranda was in no mood to humor. She drew her fingers away his and slapped him across the knuckles, an action that widened Corwin’s dark eyes and startled an expression that might almost have been a smile from Darius.
Miranda chose to ignore this. “As a matter of fact, I am observant,” she replied coldly. “Now, will either of you deign to tell me what it is I am observing?”
“The formal name for it is ‘empathetic communication,’” said Corwin.
“And, pray, what is that?”
Speaking mind-to-mind without words. Thus.
Miranda clapped her hands over her ears.
“Corwin,” growled Darius. “Stop teasing her.”
“How did you do that?” Miranda cried, staring from one of them to the other.
“It is one of the gifts held by Sorcerers,” said Corwin simply.
Miranda lowered her hands. “Could I ... ?”
“Speak to us?” Corwin considered for a moment. “You already have, although you were fevered at the time and probably do not remember. D
o you want to attempt the experiment now?”
“Yes.”
“Very good.” He gestured to Darius. Both men got to their feet and walked about a yard away before turning to face her.
“Close your eyes,” said Corwin. “And think of a phrase, something you know well. Now picture myself or Darius and in your mind, imagine speaking the phrase to us, just as you would naturally.”
Trying not to feel silly, Miranda closed her eyes. She pictured Corwin first—smiling and charming as he had been in the morning room. But she quickly found she could not hold the image of him in her mind without Darius as well. Darius, brighter in complexion and yet so much darker in spirit, held himself distant and tried so hard to remain cold. Why was it Corwin was open with her and Darius was not? What had she done?
A vision touched her, sudden and bright like a lightning flash: a woman, of wealth and taste, pale-skinned and golden-haired, her face twisted in hopeless outrage. Her hand lashed out and Miranda felt the ringing slap as if on her own cheek.
Miranda gasped and opened her eyes.
“Well-done, Miranda,” said Corwin softly. “Not quite the result intended, but very well-done indeed.”
“I’m so sorry.” She said it to Darius. Though she could not have said why, she was certain the vision had come from him. She was equally certain it had been a memory.
“It doesn’t matter.” He was lying. It did matter, and he was ashamed enough that he would not look at her. “I should have guarded my thoughts more carefully.”
“Why don’t you try again, Miranda?” suggested Corwin.
“No,” she said slowly. “Not just now, I think.”
She desperately wanted to know the story behind what she had inadvertently witnessed. But she feared if she attempted the empathetic communication again, she might not be able to resist reaching to try to find an answer that Darius was not ready to give. Such an invasion would make any relationship between them even harder to create.
“As you choose.” Corwin nodded, but the look he cast toward Darius was silent and unfathomable. “It is important, however, we begin your training.”
“My training?”
He smiled. “There is much a Catalyst should know, beyond the act of love, my dear.”
“Oh.”
“Disappointed?” inquired Darius archly.
“Now who’s teasing her?” Corwin frowned at the other man. “Yes,” he continued to Miranda. “You will recall I said that the act was only one way to create a channel for magic?” She nodded and he went on. “Because creating such a channel is for you an inborn ability, it is something you can do by wishing, if you concentrate closely enough. Now, if you would please stand up, and come here. Thank you.” Feeling a bit as if she were in the school-room, Miranda moved to stand between the two men. “Now, I shall stand to your right, and take your hand. So. Darius, if you will take her left?” Darius did as Corwin instructed, but he did not look at Miranda. He kept his eyes straight ahead.
Between the two men, Miranda suddenly felt very small. Her head barely came up to their shoulders. Their gloved hands engulfed hers. With one small motion either of them could turn her, or turn toward her, brush their lips against her face, her throat, pull her close against their hard bodies to allow her to feel their swelling cocks against her ...
“It will be more difficult to concentrate this way,” she said, grateful her voice was still under her control, even though her thoughts did not seem to be.
Corwin smiled. “It is, I assure you, necessary. If you are successful in creating a conduit, the power you raise will need somewhere to go. We do not want a repetition of the other night.”
Miranda shuddered, remembering the pain that had racked her. “No.”
“Now, Miranda, I want you to close your eyes once more ... Very good. And concentrate on the soles of your feet.”
Miranda creased her brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“The greatest source of power is our Mother Earth, and the point that is in closest contact to Her is your feet. So, if you would please concentrate on the soles of your feet.”
Miranda tried. It was not easy—shutting out the touch of their hands, the sun on her face, the wind brushing the back of her neck—to focus on a portion of herself she seldom considered. But slowly, she became very aware of her soles, the feel of her of silk stockings, and of the way her thin slippers curved over the irregularities in the ground.
Then, almost without meaning to, she became aware of the Earth: how it stretched out all around, dark and solid, yet teeming with rich, warm and infinitely complex life.
“Very good, very good, Miranda,” murmured Corwin, and she realized she could now sense him with her mind as well as with her hand. He was a bright presence beside her, like pure light that was somehow as rich as honey. Darius was there too, compelling and complex, like bitter chocolate to her senses. It was strange to feel them thus, but it was wonderful at the same time. “Now, picture, if you can, a network of light that stretches into the soil.”
As he spoke, Miranda found that she could see a glimmering web laced through the living Earth. It was not bright like sunlight, but a shimmering black, the color blood might be while still inside the vein, and like blood, this webwork pulsed with vitality.
“Excellent, Miranda. Imagine that vitality flowing upward into you, up through your legs, through your torso and out your hands, into us.”
It was easy, almost disturbingly so. As she stretched her thoughts toward it, that web’s strands wrapped softly around her. Her skin tingled, first cold, then hot, and she felt a pulsating tide rise within her, very like desire, but more delicate, a sense of hot and sweet together that seemed to nourish yet created a fresh hunger.
Now to us, Miranda.
At Corwin’s gentle command something inside Miranda fell open like a blossom. The vitality she drew from the Earth flowed toward the men on either side of her. She sensed their thirst for it and felt them open to drink it in. A need to slake that thirst came to life in her. Her palms, her fingers, grew so warm she fancied that if she had opened her eyes, she would see them glowing, and yet she reached down deeper, seeking yet more of that darkly shining essence, to draw up and pour forth into the men who reached for it, for her.
Enough, Miranda. Enough, my dear. Come back into yourself.
It was difficult. A large portion of her wanted to stay open to this new awareness. But Corwin continued his gentle urging and Miranda slowly began to pull back. She felt her body, blood and skin close around her and become solid again. She felt the whole of herself once more, the sun and the wind against her skin, the brush of her clothing, and the hands wrapped around hers.
“Open your eyes, Miranda. See what you have made possible.”
Miranda did open her eyes, and she gasped.
When Miranda had closed her eyes, there had been nothing between them and the battered shed but a stretch of grass and stubble. Now there was a waist-high tangle of rambling roses in full bloom making a riot of color; scarlet, snow white, rich pink and vivid yellow.
Corwin smiled and plucked a deep scarlet blossom. “For the lady.” He bowed as he presented it.
Miranda took it carefully.
“Beware the thorns, Miranda,” said Darius harshly. “They too are real.”
Miranda turned toward him. He was flushed, not with health as Corwin now seemed to be, but nearly fevered. His eyes shone with a fierce hunger. Miranda swallowed at the sight of it, for she knew it was directed at her. She could feel his heat radiating against her skin. He wanted her. He was hard, and she did not even have to look down to know this. Her body told her, raising a warmth inside her that was as real and as palpable as the magic had been—her desire answering his.
She took a step toward him, but Darius groaned, and moved away. Miranda froze, suddenly afraid.
“Darius,” whispered Corwin. “Darius, there is no need for this.”
The look Darius shot Corwin was so full of venom Miranda’s
hand flew to her mouth. Then Darius turned on his heel and strode—almost ran—away from them.
Corwin’s jaw hardened. “Go find your maid, Miranda. And don’t worry. We’ll both be with you soon.” With that, he loped after Darius.
Miranda stared until both men vanished into the wood. Her head was swimming. She was standing by a bed of roses she’d created—or one that the power she’d brought into the world had created—a kind of miracle she could have never believed. And yet the moment Darius turned from her, the achievement, the magic, seemed hollow and sour. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to think.
Slowly, reluctantly, Miranda began walking across the meadow toward the greenhouse.
Behind her, one by one, the roses withered and vanished.
Twelve
Darius heard Corwin coming after him, crashing through the bracken and cursing as he did, but the brooding man did not turn around. He did not want to face Corwin and hear his hectoring questions. He did not want to have to endure Corwin demanding to know why he couldn’t just fuck Miranda Prosper behind the groundskeeper’s shed, as if it were normal to burn with desire for a woman while his lover—his male lover—looked on, or even joined in enthusiastically. Corwin didn’t truly know what it was to be rejected. No one ever turned Corwin down, or if they did, it never touched him. Nothing ever truly touched him.
Have I ever truly touched you?
Seeing the way Corwin looked at Miranda, a beautiful woman with whom he could live openly, Darius had to wonder. Duplicity did not come naturally to Corwin. What if he was tired of living all his life in the shadows? What if he yearned for simpler passion that he could be honest about?
Because it simply wasn’t possible to truly want more than one kind of love. It wasn’t natural. It couldn’t be, not in the long run. Corwin would leave him. And the reason he would leave was Miranda Prosper.
Miranda, who was brave and beautiful and who lit a fire in Darius like no one else ever had, except Corwin himself.
Impossible. Unnatural.
Darius barely saw the lake when he came to the edge. He was out of breath and his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had begun to ache. The silver-blue surface rippled in the pale daylight and for one terrible moment Darius wondered if it was deep enough in the center to drown a strong man if he dove in far enough.
Marissa Day Page 10
