Fascination -and- Charmed (94 page)

He pressed himself against the hidden place that led into her body. He pressed and entered and stretched her. “Aah,” she moaned, could not help moaning. There was a sheer, scalding shock of sensation, and a small pain, as if something within her had torn.

Calum grew still. “Can you bear it, sweet?”

“I cannot bear for it to stop,” she told him.

He moved again, slowly, driving deep within her and pulling all but entirely away again, only to return, harder and harder each time.

Pippa arched her back, arched her breasts to Calum’s hair-rough chest and dug her fingers into the iron muscles of his neck.

A wave of sensation broke. It broke and broke and rolled, rippling over her skin and through her flesh with a force that bore her along to a place where she was formless and one with the man above her.

He knelt beside her on the bed and soaked a soft linen cloth in warm water that had been discreetly left in his sitting room at some time during the night and day they had spent together here.

Many bowls of water had been left and removed. And tempting food and drink. Yet never had Pippa or Calum seen those who waited upon them.

“It’s growing dark again,” Pippa said drowsily.

Calum slowly bathed her face, her neck, and smoothed the cloth between her breasts. “We have not discussed our honeymoon,” he said, smiling when her back arched beneath his ministrations. He did not kiss her breasts. That way led in one inevitable direction, and he would make himself wait just a little longer this time. “Honeymoon?” he said, settling a thumb on her lips.

“They usually last several months, don’t they?” she said, whipping the linen from him before he could resist.

“Certainly,” Calum said, gasping when the cooled cloth met his shoulder. “Yes, certainly several months would not be unreasonable.”

“Oh, good. I’ve always thought a honeymoon should be memorable. Several months spent alone with you in this room should be entirely memorable, thank you.”

“Pippa, I am serious.”

“And so am I. You will need your time here to become accustomed to the very great demands your new life will place upon you.”

He allowed her to sit up, rinse the linen and proceed to gently wash his body. “I shall be very capable of dealing with the matters of this estate, madam wife,” he told her. “True, I have not been solely responsible for anything as extensive as is now my lot, but I’m considerably experienced.”

“It was not the estate I had in mind, Your Grace. Mine are the demands you may find most taxing.”

When Calum laughed, her whole world smiled. “I’m glad I amuse you so thoroughly,” she said. “I am also glad you are to take your rightful place. But I confess I should not have cared at all what manner of life destiny gave us as long as we were allowed to share it.”

He only smiled and smiled, and contrived to plant small, nipping kisses on every spot he could reach without tumbling them both from the bed.

“What is this thing?” She set the cloth aside and lifted the square of worn leather he wore on a thong about his neck.

“Something I was given to wear as a child. Our nurse at Kirkcaldy said it was a scapula that would keep me holy.”

“Hah!” Pippa turned it over and looked closer. “Clearly it has not worked.”

“You are disrespectful to me, wife.”

She reached for the lamp and brought it near to see the faint inscription on the leather. “You must have replaced the thong many times.”

“Boys grow into men. Many times.”

“But the scapula is the one from your childhood?”

“I have already told you so.”

“Calum, I think Justine’s locket bears the same inscription. A bird, perhaps, with spread wings.”

He grew still. “I had not studied Justine’s locket.” Slipping the leather from his neck, he put it into Pippa’s hands. “It was tooled in gold once, I think. That faded long ago.”

She turned it over and examined the fine stitching that, joined back to front. It was Calum who took a small knife from a tray bearing fruit and carefully slit the talisman in two.

Into his palm fell a small, pale thing, dried to papery whiteness. When Pippa touched it, she found the folds soft. “What is it?” she asked, and when she looked at his face, she knew he fought to speak.

“It is a caul,” he said. “I was born inside this. All the time I wore the proof of who I am.”

He glanced into her eyes. “I will explain, but it will take a long time. For now, we will call it a gift from my mother, given to make certain I should one day come home.”

Calum took her hand and pressed it to his breast. “What do you feel?”

“The beating of your heart,” she whispered.

He rested his brow on hers. “Do you hear it? Do you hear what I hear, Pippa?”

With her eyes closed, she listened. “Yes.” Her breathing speeded. “Yes. A soft voice, like the sea?”

“Like the sea. My mother’s voice.”

With their arms entwined, they listened.

“I
will bear you home!”

The End

Keep reading for a special excerpt from the

novels
His Magic Touch
  and
Only By
Your
Touch
by Stella Cameron

Chapter 1

“Sin, my friend, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.” James St. Giles, Earl of Eagleton, looked not at his companion but at the raucous, glittering crowd that jammed Covent Garden’s Theater Royal for the evening’s presentation of
Romeo and Juliet.

As always, the big, swarthy man who was rarely far from James’s shoulder took his time to answer, and when he did, his soft voice held its customary hint of menace. “No doubt you’ll tell me the author of your wisdom?” Won Tel stood in the shadow of the box’s red velvet curtains, the lines of his broad, high-cheekboned face gleaming faintly in the dim light of a nearby lamp.

James tapped his lower lip with a long finger. “I was told this wisdom by the man whose opinion I trust most. Myself.”

Won Tel’s hoarse laugh would have chilled most who heard it. He tugged at his luxuriant black beard. “If that is true, and I’ll not doubt it is, then the world’s as sorry a place as I thought and I am saddened.”

“You, my friend, are a liar.” James spared his servant a thin smile. “You thrive on sin. And this”—he flipped a hand to indicate the restless audience that crammed the five tiers of boxes and galleries—“this should feed your conviction that English society is essentially contemptible. Perhaps more so under the influence of our precious Regent. I, for one, regard myself fortunate to have managed to remain at a distance—a great distance—for so long.”

The audience seemed barely aware of the impassioned performance on stage. Rather, they gawked about and gestured among themselves, each apparently determined to outdo the other in outrageous antics or fabulous dress. James pretended not to notice that his own person was attracting considerable fluttering of fans, female giggling, and distinctly dangerous leaning from flanking boxes.

“We could always abandon this scheme of yours and return to Paipan, my lord,” Won Tel said.

“
Not
until I get what I came to London for!” Swiveling, James turned the full force of his gray-eyed stare on the other man. “This
scheme
of mine, as you call it, is all I will live for until it is
finished—
until
they
are finished! And remember that unless I tell you otherwise, I am simply James Eagleton, shipping magnate. My Uncle Augustus is finally persuaded to accept that I will acknowledge the title, but only when I’m convinced it will be useful. Remember, I have taken great pains to assure no word of my father’s death, or my relationship to him, becomes known in England. It would be a pity if some chance remark of yours warned my enemies of my presence. Forget the name of St. Giles and forget the earldom—until I decide to use it like an axe on the necks of Darius and Mary Godwin.”

Won Tel’s expression didn’t change. He bowed, presenting the top of a dark blue skullcap of the same heavy silk fabric as the unadorned, high-collared tunic he wore over full black pantaloons gathered into tall, glistening boots without heels. The boots were specially designed to allow their wearer to move swiftly and silently…a fact known only to James and his enemies. Unfortunately for the latter, the discovery invariably accompanied punishment that robbed the victim of either the will or the means to comment.

The man straightened and said tonelessly, “My duty is done, then. Before your father died I promised him I would always remind you that there is never only one choice in dealing with dangerous matters.”

James made fists on his thighs. His muscles felt coiled, had felt so in the months since the death of Francis St. Giles from injuries suffered beneath carriage wheels. “Here there is only one choice. The Godwins will be reduced to nothing. And I
will
have what is mine—what was rightfully my father’s before me.” He shifted restlessly on the foolish little blue velvet and gilt chair clearly not intended for so tall a man. “I will have my retribution.” That his dying father’s last wish had been for James to wreak vengeance in both their names would remain a secret pact between the one living and the one dead.

“Very well. The third box from the left is the one you seek, Mr. Eagleton. On this level. It is immediately opposite.”

Narrowing his eyes, James swung back toward the theater and snatched up his opera glass. “You should have told me the instant you knew.”

“I did, Mr. Eagleton,” Won Tel said in his still voice.

James knew better than to ask how the signal had been received. “I don’t…Third from the left? This tier?”

“Correct.”

“There are only two females in the box. Where is Godwin?”

Won Tel raised an opera glass to his own eyes. “The girl must be the daughter. The woman—”

“The woman is of no concern to me. She is obviously some sort of companion.” James trained his sight on the girl. “That cannot be the Godwin daughter. And the other is too young to be her mother. Damnation! Your informant has failed you…and me.”

“Mr. Eagleton—”

James waved Won Tel to silence. “I had counted on this opportunity to make contact. This business
will
be quickly accomplished. The Godwins have cost me more—cost my
family
more than their two miserable lives are worth.”

“Yet you intend to leave them that much.”

“Oh, yes,” James said softly. “I intend to leave them their lives, not that they are likely to be particularly grateful, I think. Leave me and find out what’s amiss. I have no reason to remain at this circus if Darius and Mary Godwin are not here.”

Wordlessly, Won Tell slipped through the drapes at the back of the box.

James spared a moment’s notice for the hapless players on the stage, then busied himself sweeping his opera glass past the opposite boxes again, trying to match faces with the descriptions his father had given him.

Pointless.
Francis St. Giles had been remembering the Godwins as they had been twenty years ago, not as they would look today.

Through the glass, James stared again at the two women who were useless to him. They were both notable in that they concentrated intently on the production. The older, dark-haired female might be thirty or a little more; a slender, serious-faced creature some might find appealing. Her austere black gown, of exceedingly simple cut, marked her as some sort of elevated servant to the other.

And the other…

“We are confounded, Mr. Eagleton.” Won Tel glided back behind James. “The Godwins are not yet in London.”

“What?”

“The Godwins are—”

“I heard you, dammit. What in God’s name are you talking about? Our information stated that they would be in Town by the beginning of April. It is now the tenth.”

“They changed their minds. But take heart. Word has it that they may arrive any day. And the girl
is
Celine Godwin, the daughter.”

Very slowly, James raised the glass once more.

“The Godwins have launched her on a Season,” said Won Tel. “That is the primary reason for their being in London.”

“You just told me they
aren’t
in London.”

“They will be. The girl and her companion were sent on ahead.”

Either his glass lied or the chit was considerably more pleasing to the eye than he had been led to believe.

Won Tel settled a hand on James’s shoulder. This gesture was the only sign of familiarity that ever passed between the two. The first time Won Tel used the calming signal, James had been a boy of not more than twelve and Won Tel barely nineteen. In the almost twenty years since that day there had been many occasions tense enough to warrant a restraining hand upon James.

“Word also has it that the Godwins may be in need of funds.”

James stiffened. He did not waver in his scrutiny of the tall, golden-haired creature whose sea-green silk gown—if his eyes didn’t deceive him—was completely lacking in any ornament and somewhat ill-fitting.

“I’m told they hope to use Miss Celine’s marriage to deepen their shrinking pockets. Oddly, there seems to have already been an offer for her from a very wealthy man. Wouldn’t you say that should make the expense of a Season unnecessary?”

“I would say so, yes.” James smiled grimly. “Doubtless you will soon find out what is behind all this.” Won Tel’s mysterious facility for extracting excellent intelligence was equaled in usefulness by his insight, a fact well known only to James and to beautiful Liam, the one other human he trusted implicitly. Since the death of Francis St. Giles, Won Tel had spoken scarcely more than a few words to anyone but James and the Chinese girl.

The first act of the play was drawing to a close amid a crescendo of animallike hoots and screams of laughter. James sat back in his chair and trailed an arm over its back. “So, the girl is to become the means of keeping the Godwins in a manner to which they never had any right.”