Again the Magic (15 page)

“But… but a man doesn’t just come out and say he’s going to… to…”

“Apparently McKenna does.”

Livia shook her head in bemusement. “I’ve never heard of such arrogance!”

A wisp of a smile came to Aline’s lips. “One could call it flattering, I suppose, if one chose to view it in that light.” A stray lock of her hair fell from her topknot, and she reached up to
re-anchor it.

Livia laughed suddenly. “Even sporting, really, to warn you of his intentions.”

“I call it grossly insolent,” Mrs. Faircloth said, approaching the side of the tub with a folded towel, “and I will waste no opportunity in telling him so.”

“No, no, don’t mention it to him,” Aline said hastily. “You mustn’t. It’s only a game. I want to enjoy it, just for a little while…”

The housekeeper stared at her in astonishment. “My lady, have you taken leave of your senses? This is very far from a game, in light of your history with McKenna. The emotions on both sides are too deep, and have been buried too long. Don’t start on this path with him, my lady, if you aren’t prepared to follow it to the end.”

Remaining mutinously silent, Aline stood to be enfolded in the depths of the thick cotton towel that Mrs. Faircloth held up. She stepped from the tub and stood still as Mrs. Faircloth bent to dry her legs. Glancing at Livia, she saw that her younger sister had suddenly averted her gaze, staring into the hearth as if occupied in thought. She did not blame Livia for not wanting to look. Even after all these years, the sight of her own legs never failed to surprise even Aline.

Twelve years had passed since the accident, very little of which she remembered. She was well aware, however, that it was only because of Mrs. Faircloth that she had survived. When the doctors summoned from London had said that nothing could be done for Aline, the housekeeper had sent one of the footmen to fetch a healer from the neighboring county. A white witch, actually, who was regarded with both reverence and fear by the local villagers, who swore to the efficacy of her healing gifts.

Marcus, being a hard-bitten realist, had protested violently at the appearance of the witch, who turned out to be a middle-aged woman of unassuming appearance, carrying a small copper cauldron in one hand and a bulging sack filled with herbs in the other. Since Aline had been near death at the time, she had no memory of the witch, but she had been greatly entertained by Livia’s account of the episode.

“I thought Marcus would drag her away bodily,” Livia had told Aline with relish. “He planted himself in front of your bedroom door, having decided that he would protect you in your last hours. And this woman walked right up to him without any fear — she wasn’t even half his weight — and demanded that she be allowed to see you. Mrs. Faircloth and I had begged Marcus all morning to let her do what she could for you, as we thought it could do no harm at that point. But he was being especially mulish, and he made some dreadfully obscene comment to her about broomsticks.”

“And the witch wasn’t frightened of him?” Aline had asked, knowing how intimidating their older brother could be.

“Not in the least. She told him that if he did not let her enter your room, she would cast a spell on him.”

Aline had grinned at that. “Marcus doesn’t believe in magic or witchcraft — he’s far too practical.”

“Yes, but he’s a man, after all. And it seems the spell she threatened to use would have removed his… his…” Livia had begun to choke with laughter. “His manly potency,” she managed to gasp out. “Well, the very idea was enough to turn Marcus pale, and after some fierce negotiating, he told the witch that she had exactly one hour to spend in your room, and he was going to watch her the entire time.”

Livia had described the scene that had ensued, the blue candles… the circle that had been drawn around her bed with a sage smudge stick… the incense that had saturated the air with a pungent haze while the witch performed her rituals.

To everyone’s amazement, Aline had lived through the night. When the herb-dressed sheets that covered her were removed in the morning, her wounds were no longer putrid, but clean and beginning to heal. Unfortunately, the witch’s remarkable abilities had not been able to prevent the formation of thick, elevated red scars that went from Aline’s ankles to the tops of her thighs. Her legs were hideous… there was no other word for it. Her feet, which had been encased in leather shoes at the time of her accident, had mercifully been spared much of the damage. However, in the areas where large expanses of skin had been destroyed, the scar tissue had pulled tightly at the edges of remaining skin, affecting the movement of muscles and joints beneath. Walking was occasionally difficult and even painful, on the days when she pushed herself too far. She took nightly baths in oily herbal water to soften the scars, and followed them with gentle stretching to keep herself as limber as possible.

“What if you told McKenna about your legs?” Mrs. Faircloth asked, settling a thin white nightgown over Aline’s head. “What do you think his reaction might be?”

The garment settled over her, covering a body that encompassed the incongruous difference of pure white skin and a shapely torso melded to a pair of damaged legs.

“McKenna cannot abide weakness in any form,” Aline said, padding to a chair and sitting heavily. “He would pity me, and that emotion is so close to contempt, it makes me ill to think of it.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Are you saying that McKenna wouldn’t find these scars repellent?” Aline asked, wincing slightly as the housekeeper began to rub her legs with herbal salve that soothed the itching scar tissue. No one else, not even Livia, was ever permitted to touch her that way. “You know he would. Anyone would.”

“Aline,” came her younger sister’s voice from the bed, “If someone loved you, he would be able to look beyond your appearance.”

“That’s all well and good, for a fairy tale,” Aline said. “But I don’t believe in those anymore.”

In the uncomfortable silence that took hold of the room, Livia slipped from the bed and wandered to the vanity, sitting before the square Queen Anne looking glass. She picked up a brush and smoothed the ends of her braid, while making an effort to change the topic of conversation. “You’ll never guess what happened to me tonight, either of you. I went to the garden for a breath of fresh air, and found myself at the mermaid fountain… you know the place, where you can hear the music from the ballroom.”

“You should have been
inside
the ballroom, dancing,” Aline said, but Livia waved her into silence.

“No, no, this was much better than anything that could have happened in there. I was drinking a glass of wine, and tottering about like a demented ballerina, when all of a sudden I saw someone standing nearby, watching me.”

Aline laughed, diverted by the story. “I would have screamed.”

“I nearly did.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” Mrs. Faircloth asked.

“A man.” Livia turned on the vanity stool to grin at them both. “Tall and ridiculously handsome, with the most wonderful head of golden hair. And before we even got around to introducing ourselves, he took me into his arms, and we danced.”

“You didn’t,” Aline exclaimed in surprised delight.

Livia hugged herself in excitement. “Yes! And it turned out that my waltz partner was none other than that Mr. Shaw, who is the most debonair man I’ve ever met in my life. Oh, I’m certain that he is a terrible rake… but what a dance it was!”

“He drinks,” Mrs. Faircloth said darkly, being privy to the servants’ gossip.

“I don’t doubt it.” Livia shook her head in puzzlement. “There is such a look in his eyes, as if he has seen and done everything a thousand times, and takes no real pleasure or interest in anything.”

“He sounds very different from Amberley,” Aline remarked carefully, concerned by the realization that her sister was quite taken with the American.

“Different in every way,” Livia agreed, setting aside the silver-backed brush. Her tone mellowed as she continued thoughtfully. “I do like him, though. Aline, you must find out everything you can about him, and tell me—”

“No.” Aline tempered her refusal with a teasing smile, and winced as Mrs. Faircloth gently manipulated her ankle, flexing the stiff joint. “If you want to know more about Mr. Shaw, you’ll have to come out of hiding and ask him yourself.”

“Bother you,” Livia rejoined without heat, and yawned. “Perhaps I will.” Standing, she wandered to Aline and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “As for you, dearest, have a care in your dealings with McKenna. I suspect that he is a far better game player than you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Aline replied, eliciting a laugh from Livia and a worried frown from Mrs. Faircloth.

A
fter a night of dancing, none of the guests at Stony Cross Park was inclined to awaken before noon, except for a small group of men who wished to go shooting. As Aline sipped from a cup of tea and smiled at the early risers who were gathering at the back terrace, she was disconcerted to see McKenna in their midst.

It was daybreak. The air was cool and heavy as the weak English sun struggled ineffectually to burn through the haze. Sitting at an outside table with a silk shawl knotted over her thin morning dress, Aline tried not to stare at McKenna. However, it was difficult to conceal her fascination. McKenna possessed a dynamic presence, an inherent virility, that she had seen in no other man except perhaps her brother. And the sportsman’s attire suited McKenna perfectly, the black coat defining the breadth of his shoulders, with dark forest-green breeches closely following his muscular legs, and black leather boots conforming to his long calves. Such garments were becoming to any man, but on someone as big as McKenna, the effect was awe-inspiring.

Sensing her discreet regard, McKenna glanced at her quickly. Their gazes held in a flash of raw interest, before he forced himself to turn and reply to a guest who had approached him.

Aline stared into the hot amber depths of her tea, her body filled with exquisite tension. She did not look up until her brother approached to ask about the day’s schedule.

“Breakfast will be served at the pavilion by the lake,” Aline replied. On extended visits such as this, the first meal of the day was never served before noon. It would be a prodigious repast, with a multitude of hearty dishes and just enough champagne to revive the mood of the previous evening. Aline reached out to touch her brother’s broad brown hand. “Have a good morning,” she said cheerfully, “and do try to keep your distance from guests with bad aim.”

Marcus grinned and spoke in a low voice. “That’s not usually a problem with Americans. Although few of them can ride worth a damn, they’re fair shots.” Continuing to lean over Aline, he waited until her gaze lifted to his. His black eyes narrowed. “You disappeared with McKenna for almost a half hour last evening. Where did you go, and what did you do with him?”

“Marcus,” Aline said with a reproving smile, “on the occasions when you have disappeared with a female guest — and there have been many — I’ve never demanded to know where you went and what you did.”

“It’s different for you than it is for me.”

Aline was both touched and amused by his protectiveness. “Why?”

Marcus’s dark brows drew together in a frown, and his voice was infused with surliness. “Because you’re my sister.”

“I have nothing to fear from McKenna,” she said. “I know him quite well, Marcus.”

“You knew him when he was a boy,” her brother countered. “But McKenna is a stranger now, and you have no idea of what he’s capable of.”

“Don’t meddle, Marcus. I will do as I please with McKenna. And I hope that you won’t try to manipulate things as Father did, all those years ago. His interference cost me dearly, and while I had no choice but to accept it then, things are different now.”

Marcus settled a hand on the back of her chair. The tautness of his mouth betrayed his concern. “Aline,” he asked carefully, “What do you think he wants from you?”

The answer was clear to both of them. However, Aline saw that her brother didn’t yet understand what
she
desired. “The same thing that I want from him,” she replied.

“What did you just say?” Marcus stared at her as if he didn’t recognize her.

Sighing, Aline glanced across the terrace at McKenna, who was engaged in a conversation with two other men. “Haven’t you ever wished that you could steal back just a few hours of your past?” she asked softly. “That’s all I want… just a taste of what might have been.”

“No, I never wish for that,” came his brusque reply. “The words ‘might have been’ mean nothing to me. There’s only now, and the future.”

“That’s because there are no limitations to your future,” she said evenly. “But there are to mine.”

Marcus’s hand compressed into a hard fist. “Because of a few scars?”

The question made her eyes flash dangerously. “You’ve never seen my legs, Marcus. You don’t know what you’re talking about. And coming from a man who takes his pick of the most beautiful women in London as if he were sampling from a tin of bonbons—”

“Are you implying that I’m some shallow fool who values a woman only for her appearance?”

Aline was tempted to retract her charge in the interest of maintaining peace between them. But as she considered the last few women that Marcus had carried on with… “I’m sorry to say, Marcus, that each of your recent choice of companions — the last four or five, at least — displayed all the intelligence of a turnip. And yes, they were all quite beautiful, and I doubt that you were able to have a sensible conversation with any of them for longer than five minutes.”

Marcus stood back and glared at her. “How does that pertain to what we were discussing?”

“It illustrates the point that even you, one of the finest and most honorable men I’ve ever known, place great importance on physical attractiveness. And if I ever see you consort with a woman who is less than stunningly perfect, then perhaps I’ll listen to your lectures on how appearance doesn’t matter.”

“Aline—”

“Have a good shoot,” she said. “And heed my warning — don’t cross me in this, Marcus.”