Dangerous Magic (8 page)

Neevie harrumphed her displeasure, but she was not so easily dissuaded. She pulled her chair closer to Rafe. Placing a hand upon his arm, she whispered into his ear. “Take me to your bed. I choose you.”

Gwenyth’s words echoed in the mouth of this port whore caused Rafe’s heart to flounder in his chest. With a lurch, he tore himself from Neevie’s grasp. Behind him he heard her huff of anger and Triggs’s confused apologies, but he didn’t stop. Instead he staggered out the door into the night. Raised his face to the wind, breathing deeply, willing away the cloying scent of Neevie’s perfume.

Could he do it? Could he beget a child on Gwenyth Killigrew and turn away never to know the outcome? Never to see the babe’s face or know its name? He’d told himself over and over since agreeing to it in Goninan’s garden that it was a small price to pay for surety in a bride.

As the fresh air blew away the whiskey fumes, Rafe leaned against a piling and stared out into the inky water of the harbor. Gwenyth’s face swam before him—eyes holding a wisdom beyond her years, lips soft as silk and tasting of cider and strawberries, freckles dotting her sun-browned nose. Forget the frustrating search for a bride he could trust. He had the woman already.

He dismissed the idea almost as soon as it sprang to mind. Gwenyth Killigrew’s presence could be borne while she aided his search. But no one would be shocked when he sent her packing back to Cornwall, their supposed engagement broken. And no one would ever know that at the edge of the sea lived a child carrying his blood in its veins. He rubbed at the back of his neck and blew out a sigh of frustration.

No one but him.

Rafe sat across from Gwenyth. It was hard to believe this fashionable creature was the same woman who’d welcomed him into her cottage in a threadbare shift. She stared out the inn’s window, her eyes wide as a child’s at Exeter’s busy streetscape. The gown she wore fitted her like one of her abandoned gloves resting on the seat beside her, just next to the discarded bonnet. The creamy white muslin highlighted the bronze tone to her skin, and the low neckline teased him with glimpses of silky flesh. Three other such gowns were packed within their baggage, a mixture of style, elegance and daring, compliments of Mrs. Triggs, who with ten guineas in her purse and a firm deadline, whipped together a wardrobe to see Gwenyth Killigrew at least until Bodliam.

“I’ve gone farther away from home than ever before,” she mused, turning back to face him.

“And I come ever closer,” he answered, expecting to feel some sort of excitement or anticipation, but experiencing only a thickening dread.

She cocked her head as if considering him, gray eyes swimming with unspoken questions.

“You haven’t asked me anything about my home or family,” he offered. “What you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She dropped her eyes to her untouched plate. “I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into, Rafe Fleming.” A tremor passed through her body, but when she looked back up, it was with a bright, teasing smile.

Was she as nervous as he? The unflappable Gwenyth Killigrew? He thought nothing touched her. Nothing broke through the stony façade she’d built around herself. He corrected himself. He’d pierced her armor at least once. There was a way. But that path led to treacherous ground. This was a temporary arrangement. He didn’t want more. So, perhaps her reserve was a good thing.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “My eldest brother holds the title now. Edmund is—”

“Title,” she mouthed. Her smile faded, and Rafe suddenly realized how nervous she really was.

“You knew my family’s station. My past.” He wanted to erase the worry in her face. Do whatever it took to coax back that smile. “We don’t have to stay with them if you don’t want to. I can rent a house. We can stay there alone—”

Instead of easing her fears, horror leapt into her eyes, stopping his words. “No,” she snapped. “Not alone.” She squared her shoulders, her napkin clutched in fisted hands. “I’ll do what I’ve said I will. And part of this was to accompany you home. But, Rafe,” she shook her head, “you play with fire by bringing one such as me with you. They’ll be none too happy. And I wouldn’t say I’d blame them. They’ll be wanting you to themselves and to show you to their friends like a prize.”

“No doubt,” he answered dryly. “But if they’d have me, they must have you.”

And he began to think he meant it.

Gwenyth felt Rafe just behind her as they climbed the stairs to their chambers at the inn. Felt him in the warmth that melted through her body. In the tug of her heart that told her to simply lean back into his arms, to let him wrap himself around her as he’d done in Goninan’s gardens. His hand steadied her at the turn, and she almost jumped out of her skin at the slight contact.

Keep calm. He was just a man. He put his breeches on one leg at a time like any other. And took them off the same way. She squeezed her eyes shut to block the tantalizing image. Why did this one man punch through every wall she erected when most never even scratched the surface?

At her door, she paused hand on the knob. Did she invite him in? Every sense yearned for his touch.

He leaned against the jamb, his tall, muscled frame almost blocking her escape. His face only inches away, the invitation in his eyes almost irresistible. He leaned forward, and without her knowing how it had happened, their lips met in a kiss that vibrated through her insides and left her wanting more.

She reached a hand up to bring him closer. But instead of the short, braided queue, she brushed thick, close-cropped hair. Fashionable. Sophisticated. Everything she wasn’t. Even if fate hadn’t warned her of what it meant to give her heart to this man, their future was an impossibility. Wealth and witchcraft didn’t mix.

She backed away, drawing a breath that was almost a sob. She knew she ought to ignore her body’s reactions and bring Rafe to her bed. Get this devil’s bargain over with as fast as possible. But she needed time to prepare. He was far too close already. “I can’t do this. Not tonight. I’m…I’m over-tired, and it’s late.”

His eyes held a glazed and uncertain look. They stood heart to heart, his body thrumming with unspent energy. She felt it running hot beneath her own skin.

“Are you ill?” Rafe struggled.

That was an excuse that would do. She grasped at it. “Aye. I’m not feeling myself.” Her voice shook. He was near. So near. “A night’s rest after such a day will have me back to rights.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, confusion marring his features. “We’ll leave after breakfast. I’ll come for you—”

But she’d already closed the door.

“Come with me.”

Instead of turning toward the inn’s yard where the coach awaited, Rafe took Gwenyth’s hand, steering her in the opposite direction.

“And where do you think you’re taking me?” she asked, laughter in her eyes.

He threw her a rakish smile. “Honestly? No clue. But one full day wedged into that coach and I’m ready to explode.” He shuddered. “I feel closed in. I can’t breathe.”

She gave him a long, assessing look. “The scars of your imprisonment run deep.”

He pulled away, his gaze sharp as a spear point. What did she see? A time he wanted only to forget. A part of him he’d locked away. “Leave it alone,” he said.

She nodded solemnly. “’Twas a guess, nothing more.” She placed a tentative hand on his forearm, her voice low. “I’ll not steal your memories, Rafe.”

And he knew she spoke the truth. He relaxed. He was safe. Gwenyth wouldn’t pry where she wasn’t wanted. Which made her pledge to find him a wife all the more special. Her desire for this child must be extraordinary. What would it be like to have her want him with the same intensity? To know that kind of all-encompassing love?

He shook off his thoughts. Took her arm. “You say you’ve never been this far from home. Let’s explore. My family’s waited twelve years to see me. One more day can’t hurt.”

Exeter’s High Street was crowded. Shoppers and hawkers vied for space upon the narrow sidewalks, and the street itself bustled with drays and wagons, coaches and carts. After the quiet of Kerrow’s narrow lanes and wooded tracks, the city felt loud and stifling.

But Gwenyth’s enthusiasm soon infected him. Her smiles and friendly nods at passersby, her stifled giggles upon seeing the starched and ridiculous macaronis in their over-high shirt points and skin-tight pantaloons. The warmth in her gaze as she watched a mother and child seated together on a park bench.

They passed into North Street and strolled from window to window, pausing now and then to admire or inspect. “It’s curious,” he said, standing in front of a confectioners, the shop’s bowfront full of trays laden with sweets, “but when I had nothing in my pockets but holes, every window held something I wanted.”

“And now?”

“I’ve wealth enough to buy it all. And see nothing to even spark my interest.”

“Isn’t that always the way.” She laughed, dragging him on down the street. “Come. Together we’ll find you something to waste your money on.”

They rounded the corner, and Rafe stopped dead in his tracks. There it was. A gown in the sheerest of white silks, the deep revealing neckline beaded in silver. His gaze traveled from the window to Gwenyth and back. He’d gladly spend any amount to see her in that. “What do you think?”

Gwenyth looked it over with a critical eye. “Leave it to a man to fancy a frippery so delicate, you couldn’t sit without ruining it.”

“Well, it’s not exactly what one would wear herb-gathering, but in the right setting…with the right music…”

She fought a laugh. “I’ve told you before. I’m not seeking riches or the trinkets that go with them. I’m content with my life as it is.”

“Are you?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Truly?”

Her eyes went flint-hard. “Aye. And now it’s your turn to be leaving it alone.”

He put up his hands. “We’ve both tested the boundaries. We both know the limits. Friends?”

Her lips curled in the barest of smiles. “Very well, Captain. Show me this gown of yours.”

Coming in out of the sun, Rafe squinted against the sudden gloom of the shop.

“May I be of assistance?” A girl appeared from the back through a heavy green curtain.

“The gown. The one in the window,” Rafe began.

Her eyes softened. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? Madame’s best work.”

“Is she here? I’d like to speak with her about—”

“Rafe,” Gwenyth interrupted. “Outside. It’s him.” She pointed out the front window.

“Who?” Rafe followed the track of Gwenyth’s finger, but the sidewalk outside held too many for him to pick anyone out from the rest.

“The man from the village. He watches. I can feel his questions. His haste.” She faced him. “His dislike.”

Unease slithered across his shoulders. He’d not actively made enemies, but he hadn’t sought friends, and there were many in the trade who’d resented his skills and his luck and the rewards that came with them. “I’m going to end this right now.”

He tore out of the shop, Gwenyth at his heels. “Where? Which way?”

She wheeled in a circle, eyes scanning the crowds. “I can’t see him. I’m not even sure what he’s looking like. I can only feel him. The way he stalks you. The purpose behind his watching.”

“Then we’ll lose him. Easy enough in this madness.” He grabbed her roughly, pulled her along as they crossed the street, dodging traffic. Down Fore Street, they hurried. Never looking back. Never slowing their steps.

Ahead, the river gleamed blue-black as it slid below the bridge. But beyond, there was little cover. Instead, he turned onto West Gate beneath the city’s walls, ducked back into Preston. Letting the huddle of alleys and lanes shield them from the lurking presence of the watcher.

Gwenyth never faltered, but held steady beside him, only her rushed breathing an indication of the pace. Winded, he slid into a narrow crooked street, dank with smells from the river and quayside refuse. A tall brick wall edged one side, the boundary of a church’s garden or cloisters. “Does he still follow?”

She gripped her side, her breathing loud. “Nothing. He’s gone.”

He couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or not. He’d rather meet his enemy face-on, not worry about the shadow behind him, never knowing who prepared the dagger for his back. And if they tracked him to Bodliam? What then? He’d thought he put his past life behind him. But did it follow him still?

“I want you safe. Head to the cathedral. I’ll go on to the inn alone and summon the coach. I’ll pick you up there.”

“Who hunts you? Why?” Her tone held no fear, only concern.

“I don’t know. But I haven’t lived the life of a saint.” He took her by the arms, knowing he shouldn’t. Not after their conversation. But he needed the feel of her beneath his hands. Her steadying presence to calm the wild exhilaration thundering through him with each beat of his heart. That same kicking thrill he got with every dark crossing of the Channel. “Trust me. I’ll meet you at the cathedral in an hour.”

She nodded. “Go. I’ll be there.”

He began to turn away, but that same reckless streak made him pause. What the hell? He turned back, grabbed her up and against him, her body pressed along his, the gold flecks in her gray eyes burning into his brain. He kissed her. Savagely, ruthlessly. He wouldn’t allow her to pull away, but held her tight, his tongue flicking out to plunder the heat of her mouth, the soft, swollen warmth of her lips. She fought it for a second only before he knew he’d won. Then yielding, she melted pliant against him, her own arms winding around his neck.

He backed her against the brick wall, his hand skimming the curve of her body, finding and pulling free the ribbons at her bodice. Beneath her gown, her flesh scalded. And his own body throbbed with a brutal need.

She came to her senses first. “Rafe,” she gasped. “No. Not here.”

He lifted his head. Eyes, dazed and glassy with lust. “I’d say I’m sorry. But I’m not. I’d have taken you against this wall if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“And I’d have let you.” She pushed him away to secure her gown. Straighten her seams. Every movement putting space between them. “But though some might call me wicked for taking you to my bed, I’ll not act the common slag in a public street.”

She smoothed a hand over her hair with a
tsk
for its disorder. Then pulled out the remaining pins. It hung free until she swept it up into a loose knot and secured it. But for one moment, she looked like the woman he’d claimed beneath a Beltane moon. The woman who’d bewitched him into considering a life beyond payback.

“Go. I’ll wait for you,” she repeated.

It sounded like a promise. Or mayhap he only heard what he wanted to hear.

He wouldn’t ask. It was better that way.