Marissa Day (36 page)

“O
pen your eyes, Jane.”

Jane stirred. She liked this place of peace, warmth and darkness. If she opened her eyes she might have to leave it.

“Remember obedience, Jane.” Thomas’s voice rumbled. “Open your eyes.”

Slowly, Jane’s eyes opened.

She lay on a huge four-poster bed under a mound of white coverlets with pillows tucked under her head. She was vaguely aware of a voluminous silken nightdress clothing her. But what she was most aware of was Thomas. Thomas, strong and whole and well, with his green eyes shining. The only change in him was his golden hair was now streaked with silver.

“What . . . happened?” Her throat was terribly dry. Cloth rustled as someone moved beyond her field of vision, and Thomas slipped his arm around her shoulders, gently helping her to sit. He held a glass to her lips.

“It’s barley water,” he told her. “Abominable stuff, but it will do you good. Drink slowly.”

She did as he said, and he was right. It was abominable. But she was so thirsty she could have gulped down the whole glass if he’d let her.

Thomas set the glass aside and laid his broad hand on her brow. “You gave me a scare, my love.”

“He would scarcely let anyone else near you.” Miranda walked into Jane’s line of sight and laid a cool hand on Jane’s brow. “Thank goodness you are doing better. Corwin and Darius were ready to tie him to a chair to get him to stop his pacing.”

Jane stirred and winced at the pain. Gently but firmly, Thomas pushed her back into the pile of pillows “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two days,” Thomas said. “Two very long days.”

“I will tell the others you are on the mend,” said Miranda briskly. “We will send for the doctor, just to be certain, I think we can safely say you’ve passed the greatest crisis.”

With that, Miranda sailed out of the room, leaving Jane and Thomas alone.

At once Jane seized Thomas’s hand as tightly as she was able. “Tell me everything. Are you . . . ?”

“I’m fine,” he said at once, squeezing her fingers gently. “Our hosts were able to fully heal my body, although I seem to have gained a few years somewhere along the way.” He brushed ruefully at the gray streaks at his temples. “And you, my dearest one, held my spirit long enough for them to do so. I owe you my life, Jane, not once but twice over.” His voice grew soft and his face absolutely serious. “I thought I lost you, Jane.”

She lifted her hand to his face, and laid her palm against his cheek. “And I you.”

They stayed like that for a long moment. Jane gazed deep into Thomas’s eyes. The green had dimmed a trifle now that he was no longer a Fae knight, but all that was important remained—all that was brave, mischievous, strong and true. No words came to Jane’s mind, only warmth, and a sensation of sympathy and empathy that was worth more than any words.

“What of the Sorcerers?” Jane made herself ask, remembering the men’s harsh doubts about Thomas’s trustworthiness, even while they raced to his rescue.

“All is right there too. I am seen as a valuable source of information about Their Glorious Maj . . . the Fae court, and you may believe me, Jane, when I say I have been more than ready to tell their commander all I know. He’s offered me a house and pension if I continue to work with his people. I told him I would and gladly. Jane . . .” He took a deep shuddering breath. “Jane, I’ve nothing. I am a man out of his time. I barely understand the place I am in, let alone how I shall make a living in it. I . . .”

“Hush,” Jane clasped his hand again. “We will work out what is to be done. All of us together.” She laid his hand against her belly.

“All of us together,” he said, wonder filling his eyes as he gently caressed her. “My love.”

He kissed her then, deeply and tenderly. His hand slid up from her belly to just underneath her breast.

“And when you are better,” he whispered in her ear. “When we once again have a private place, we will discuss in detail what a minx you have been. I do not mean to resume mortal life with an unruly and disobedient bride.”

She shimmied happily underneath his hand. “I am certain I do not know what you mean, sir. Perhaps I will need further instruction.”

“And you shall have it, my love. As much as you desire.”

He kissed her again, and Jane opened herself to him, to his touch and to his love. Jane knew that they all at last were safely home.

Keep reading for a preview of
the next novel by Marissa Day,

Coming soon from Heat Books.

“A
ugusta, you
cannot
sneak away from your own engagement party.”

Augusta Hartwell looked closely at her cousin. Valeria’s brow was wrinkled and she held her mouth in a decided frown, without the crinkling around her eyes that indicated she was holding in a laugh. Her disappointment was genuine, then.

“I’m not sneaking away,” Augusta replied levelly. “I need to go to the retiring room. Look.” She displayed the gold ribbon dangling from the end of her bronze satin sleeve.

“You’ve been tugging on the thread for at least an hour to get that to come off. I
saw
you.” Valeria spoke conversationally with a wave of her fan and a slow glance around the ballroom. Augusta frowned again, running through the possibilities of what the difference between tone and gesture meant. Probably Valeria did not want to draw attention to them, which was difficult, as she was talking with one of the grand celebration’s two centers of attention.

The other, Lord Edward Carstairs, Marquis of Warringsdale, was currently deep in conversation with Mr. Corwin Rathe, a man said to be very high up in government circles. Her fiancé’s preoccupation was why Augusta had chosen now to make her escape. Judging by the intensity of the discussion, it would be a while before Lord Carstairs noticed her absence.

“Valeria, please.” Augusta’s fingers strayed to the cinnabar brooch she wore on the silver chain at her throat. It was a nervous gesture she’d never been able to break herself of. “I just need a breath of air. I’m exhausted from everyone staring.”

The bright ballroom overflowed with a glittering crowd that included most of fashionable London. It seemed that every one of them was constantly glancing Augusta’s way, gauging, judging, measuring. Worst of all was her family; her aunts, uncles and the entire flotilla of Hartwell nieces, nephews and cousins, not to mention her older sisters and brothers. All of them were on alert tonight, ready to pounce in with a covering remark or action in case Augusta did something embarrassing, said something untoward or did not remember to smile at reasonable intervals.

“They’ll think you’re going to meet someone,” Valeria remarked.

“Is that what you think?”

“No, of course not.” Valeria’s face crinkled. In fact, they both knew Augusta having any sort of lover—secret or otherwise—was as far out of the realm of possibility as her drinking the Thames dry. “But you know how people are . . .” Valeria let her words trail off, and fanned herself furiously. Few members of Augusta’s family had ever taken action to try to make things easier for her. Part of that was a consequence of being just one among a huge cohort. Part of it came because no one quite knew what to do with a girl who was utterly devoid of comprehension for the feelings of others. Only Valeria had ever tried to understand her.

“Don’t be too long,” said Valeria at last. “If we have to invent a sick headache for you, the aunts will never let either of us hear the end of it.”

“Thank you.” Augusta started toward the retiring room again at what she hoped was a casual pace.

Had she been any other woman, tonight would have been Augusta’s moment of triumph. Uncle Gavin and Uncle Morris—her guardians since she was a child—had spared no expense. Her cadre of aunts had exercised every fiber of their welldeveloped tastes to make sure each detail of the celebration was perfect. The ballroom was a wonderland of light and color. Pink and gold silks hung on the walls, creating a shimmering backdrop for the profusion of scarlet roses and white orchids that filled every porcelain vase. Augusta herself had been dressed to coordinate with the decorations. Her gown of bronze, figured satin and gold ribbons had a train appliqued with white orchids. Her chestnut hair was piled high and dressed with creamy roses among the pearls and citrines. Girls who had tittered at Augusta behind their fans at their coming-out balls and had swept past her on the arms of new husbands now watched her with faces made white and pinched by jealousy.

And they whispered. Even as Augusta walked right past them, their cold words brushed her.

“. . . look surprisingly well together, I thought, but
still . . .
”

“. . . when he could have any woman in London . . .”

“. . . imagine such a man with Augusta Heartless!”

Augusta kept her eyes straight ahead, as if she did not hear a thing. She had planned her retreat with great care during dinner, while she worried at the loose thread on her ribbon. Fortunately, the retiring room was empty of all except the ladies’ maids, allowing her to walk right through into the dim, quiet house without having to stop and make conversation. Once in the main body of the house, she kept to the side corridors and, where possible, moved between adjoining rooms to lessen the possibility of being seen by such guests as inevitably wandered away from any society rout.

At last, Augusta reached the conservatory that was Uncle Gavin’s pride and joy. She slid the pocket doors shut behind her and moved farther into the darkness, inhaling the scent of greenery and citrus. As warm as the conservatory was, it was cooler than the crowded ballroom by several degrees, and blessedly quiet. Alone among the moonlight and carefully tended orange trees, she could breathe, and she could think without anyone watching to make sure her expression was suitable to the occasion. When Augusta was not concentrating, her face had a tendency to go blank. A blank face was most emphatically not appropriate for a young woman at her engagement party, or so she had been informed by every single aunt, all four of her sisters and more than one niece.

She had tried very hard tonight. Lord Carstairs did not seem to have noticed anything amiss during their two dances. He certainly had not said anything. But then, her impression of him was that he was a discreet and polite man; a gentleman rather than a gallant. That suited her. She did not want gallantry. A gallant would expect her to blush and flutter her eyelashes and perhaps swoon. Such a man would at least expect her to feel, and to reciprocate feeling.

No matter how hard she tried, strong feeling for any other person was as far beyond Augusta as the moon. She fingered her brooch, her fingers tracing its familiar, knotted carvings where it hung just above the neckline of her gown. She heard people speak of affection, of familial love and—as she grew older—of passionate love. But Augusta found nothing she could recognize in their words, no answering chord of comprehension within herself. She had read dozens of novels passed to her by other girls, and worked her way through Byron, Keats and Shelley, studying them all carefully for clues as to what love must be. She watched her great cluster of nieces and cousins at the balls and parties she attended. She saw the others gaze into the eyes of their dance partners, saw them leaning together and sighing, and helped them as they schemed for a few minutes alone with their chosen one.

And absolutely none of it touched her. Oh, she could
feel.
She knew frustration, anger, sorrow. But this other emotion, the sympathy that connected one human being to another . . . that was utterly foreign to her. It was as if other people lived in a world of vibrant color and warm light, while she walked through soft gray mists.

It was the same when she looked at Lord Carstairs as when she looked at anyone else. She could see that he was handsome. His hair was a fine shade of chestnut and he wore it in a sailor’s queue that looked quite well on him. He was tall and an active life and active service had left him with a finely shaped body. She found his weathered face to be aesthetically pleasing, especially his bright gray eyes. Added to this, he had a considerable fortune, and unlike some members of the nobility, he took his parliamentary duties seriously, which kept his mind active and engaged.

It was a shame really. Augusta sighed. So much good fortune in a marriage partner should have been given to someone who had the ability to feel it. At the same time, it was those gray eyes that were giving rise to much of the disquiet that had caused her to need to remove herself from their celebration.

When Uncle Gavin and Uncle Morris had called her into the library to inform her of the proposal they had received, they had made it perfectly clear Lord Carstairs was looking for someone to keep his house, to raise any heirs and nothing more. The rush of relief she’d felt in that moment was, for her, intense.
Here,
she thought,
is a man with whom I will not have to pretend I am capable of comprehending love.
She had agreed to the arrangement at once.