Married (11 page)

“So you decided to let the betrothal stand?”

“Once a union is sealed with blood, it cannot be undone.” Again, Madeleine’s features went soft. “I love my Family very much. You know as well as I do that Georgie should have been banished, at least. Killed at worst.”

“Making her your heir protects her.”

“Not quite”—her chin firmed—“though she is the most qualified.”

“She’s a lot like you.”

Madeleine’s lips lifted. “Yes, she is. Except she has a debilitating weakness—you.”

“No.” Silviu stilled, making the decision to become vulnerable to the Davenold Mother instantaneously. He looked her straight in her eye, and lied to protect Georgie. “Her overwhelming loyalty is to your Family. She is
my
weakness, not the other way around.”

Madeleine narrowed her eyes at him. “Georgeanne will still take the Lovasz name.”

“There are loopholes in the betrothal contract concerning our married name.” Tension infused him. “You know Christiana won’t lead your Family as you want her to. For one, I hear her new husband is much too persuasive.”

“So are you, it seems.”

Silviu inclined his head. “I can only hope, but Georgie is much more stubborn than Christiana.”

Madeleine drummed her fingers on her chair arm. “What is your point? Either way, both my granddaughters have been well trained to take over when I step down.”

“Yes, but what about Margaret?”

“What about her?”

Silviu heard the edge of hostility in Madeleine’s tone and consciously fought to keep his lips straight. He felt like a shark scenting blood in the water. Little by little, he was drawing closer, hemming the wily old lady in, narrowing her options until she had no choice but to move in the direction he chose.

“I’m surprised she’s here with you,” he said. “Rumors abound, about how the two of you get along so much better with an ocean between you. And where is her granddaughter?”

“I forbade Suzette from coming and Margaret is still my sister. Family is Family, to the Davenolds.” Madeleine cheeks drew taut. “Just as the Lovasz children are surprisingly loyal to one another, so are Margaret and I.”

“A result of dealing with my grandfather.” Silviu smiled and made no mention of how he’d threatened his brother’s life while his fear for Georgie reigned unchecked. “But, unlike your sister, Ileana and I were happy to let my grandfather’s heir stand.”

“Margaret just likes drama. She never wanted to be Mother.”

Silviu hummed in sympathy. “But does her granddaughter know that? If you fail to choose an heir, Suzette has the right to challenge for the power. Christiana, Georgeanne and Suzette. The bloodline’s magic passes to the strongest witch, but an un-blooded new Mother is vulnerable to a challenge. And challengers don’t need strength, only murderous intent.”

“What is your point?”

“My point is…” Silviu let his voice deepen, smooth out. He called his magic, letting it rise up in his soul like a warm flood. He twisted the silver strands of power into an unbreakable net and sent it to spread out over his words. With a perfect merging, magical influence met confident speech and raced toward the old woman.

She would hear, but Silviu didn’t hold out much hope for obedience. The Davenold power was strong and the old woman was the sole protector of it. She would be stronger than most, more resistant, but the seeds would be planted. As she was already leaning toward naming Georgie her heir, he hoped his words would land on fertile ground.

“I would be willing to consider taking the Davenold name,” Silviu purred, “
if
Georgie were the Mother. I would not willingly be a Davenold under another woman’s rule.”

Silver light slithered over Madeleine’s hands, rising to coat her wrists, her forearms. A halo of magic wrapped her for a brief moment before it splintered, brightened and faded, absorbing into her body. She blinked, her lips eased.

Silviu pressed his advantage. “Write it into the betrothal contract, seal it with blood and publicly announce your decision. Georgie will be your heir, and I will take the Davenold name.”

Madeleine blinked again, and the spell faded completely. But Silviu was confident that an element of his persuasion would remain. He was secure in his talents, until she spoke and planted too many doubts to identify.

“You would defeat the purpose of all we’ve worked for. The Davenold name would make you ineligible to lead the Council while the Lovasz name keeps you in the running.” The old woman cleared her throat. “And if I decree Georgeanne to be my heir, she will be at risk of assassination.”

“I’ll protect her.”

“No, she must prove herself strong enough to silence the naysayers. Let’s hope your father’s suspicions of her strength prove as accurate as everything else he’s claimed.”

Silviu went cold, his brain stuttered. “You have no plans to blood her as your heir, do you? You’ll make her fight for the power over your dead body.”

Madeleine sighed heavily, suddenly looking every minute of her age. “She has to wield power or her life may be forfeit, though she refuses to put much credence in that fact. She is overconfident in her abilities to defend herself.”

Silviu watched the woman closely, trying to intuit her strategy. “Why can’t you perform the blooding ritual in secret then, and let the rest of the world find out when you pass the power on?”

An unyielding moment elapsed while Madeleine’s lips contorted. Finally, she said, “Georgie believes being blooded as my heir will immediately bestow the ability to take in the Family power. But I don’t know. She’s Bane, can the power break through the shield that develops around her when confronted with magic?”

For the third time since he’d sat down with the old woman, Silviu tensed. This time, his emotions were forceful—his skin prickled, his scalp itched. His lungs went still in his chest until he forced them to work. To have Madeleine voice his own secret fears was almost more than he could handle. “My magic gets through.”

“You are her Match,” Madeleine spat. “It’s the only reason I allowed the betrothal contract to be sealed with blood. When you met at my estate in New Hampshire, you reached for her hand and the entire room blazed with gold light.”

“You were married to
your
Match.”

“And we had many children. That is my hope for the two of you—a dynasty. Your father thinks your children will be the strongest witches the world has ever known. Your talents combined in their blood.”

Silviu had heard the theory his whole life. “He says Bane only means that all her magic is trapped, concentrated into enormous strength with no outlet.”

“Let’s hope so.” Madeleine waved her hand. “My research suggests otherwise.”

Silence grew between them as Silviu deliberated her words. He let his options play through his mind, trying to anticipate the wily Mother’s choices and make contingency plans for the future. He wondered how he would gain Georgie’s cooperation with them.

His scheming finally circled around to his present situation, and Graves Ngozi. Silviu refused to leave his betrothed unprotected at night, and yet the intimacy they’d shared in Poland had come too close to shattering his control. He needed Madeleine to bend before he broke. “I think Georgie should stay in my room.”

Madeleine’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m not leaving her where Graves can find her.”

Madeleine lifted a shoulder. “I don’t want her sleeping with you.”

“Then where will she go?” Silviu clenched his jaw. “You have more people in your entourage than rooms provided. I won’t let Georgie sleep in the Ngozi Family wing.”

“She can stay here, on the sofa.”

He tried to control his gnawing frustration. “What does it matter? We are betrothed.”

Madeleine held her silence, but Silviu already knew the truth. The old woman didn’t want Georgie to love Silviu more than she loved her Family.

It was already too late.

He studied the old woman, but she didn’t look as if she were considering his request. He sighed, knowing only the truth would gain progress, even though it would expose another vulnerability.

“Everything I’ve ever done, I’ve done for her.” He caught and held Madeleine’s gaze. “Georgeanne is the only thing that has ever been mine and mine alone, and I intend to take very good care of her.”

“And the Davenolds? Will you take care of them, too?”

He elevated his chin but held his silence.

Madeleine gave him a scathing glare and waved him on his way. “Remember the last time your lust got the best of you.”

Georgie had been taken from him. Madeleine’s threat was crystal clear. Silviu rose to his feet and stalked out of the room.

Chapter Nine

Tulah

The ballroom was in the process of being redone for the wedding, so dinner was a restrained affair hosted in a too-small dining room. Ten round tables were carefully placed around the space with just enough room left over for a laden sideboard. Even with barely half the guests yet arrived, it was much too close for Tulah’s comfort—or Adam’s, it appeared, when a raucous Levy man slid his chair back and bumped into him.

Adam jolted in his seat and the Levy man quickly apologized. Adam made some comment that was impossible for Tulah to hear over the din of the diners, but both men laughed and nodded, the minor conflict resolved.

Tulah was, unfortunately, seated between Charles and Daniel, at the table next to the one occupied by Graves and his bridal party. She was stuck in a place where any of the three men could keep a watchful eye on her, and in Charles’ case, a heavy hand. She wriggled as his fingers tightened on her knee, exerting just enough pressure to be uncomfortable but not painful. Yet.

In the process of turning from the man who’d bumped him, Adam caught her staring. Embarrassment heated Tulah’s cheeks, but she didn’t drop her eyes right away. She gave the Davenold man a few seconds of bold connection first, vaguely surprised at the violence of the feelings his gaze stirred up within her.

Awareness sizzled her nerves from her toes to her eyebrows. She hadn’t doubted the Davenold male would be attractive, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer sense of virility he carried so easily. Before his arrival, she’d pictured someone more like Silviu Lovasz, a man who leaned toward pretty, cold and indifferent until he looked at his betrothed—for only then did life spark in his icy eyes and the set of his hard lips soften. Tulah had prepared herself for the same things in Adam, based solely on the fact that Constance wanted him.

She’d assumed he would be the type of man who would chase the selfish woman, not the type to avoid her, which he’d been unsuccessfully attempting to do all afternoon. Tulah had been caught off guard by the humor lurking in Adam’s blue eyes. She’d been surprised by the barely restrained power he exuded. He was confident and smooth, watchful and bold in equal measure.

He was dangerous—to her curiosity, her resolve and her mother’s plans.

Tulah pushed away from Charles suddenly enough to take him by surprise and his hand fell from her knee as she surged to her feet. Without expression and without meeting his glare she told him, “I’m going to get more salad.”

“Maybe you should get more than that,” he growled. “You’re too damned skinny for my liking. You look like you’ll break when I fuck you the way I intend.”

“Please,” Daniel scolded, overhearing their exchange, “let us pretend the Ngozis have manners. That kind of speech is unacceptable at the dinner table. “

Charles’ jaw worked, but his lips pressed together over any arguments he might have made. He gave a sharp nod and turned his murderous eyes back up to Tulah. “I’ll be watching you. Make it quick.”

She practically ran to the sideboard, but then she dithered, taking the opportunity to simply breathe. With her back to the guests, no one could see the emotion she knew contorted her face, there was no risk of revealing the misery swamping her. Not that Graves would care, but her pride demanded she show nothing more than anger at the imprisonment forced on her.

And fear. She knew she never managed to hide her fear.

A warm presence sidled up to her. Her nose filled with the scent of expensive, subtle cologne and her vision filled with dark hair shining under the overhead lights as Adam leaned forward to snag a roll. He turned his head and his blue eyes pierced her. Her stomach flipped and her nerves pulled tight. Agitated, she launched into motion, reaching for a paper plate with a clammy hand.

“Are you all right?” Adam’s voice whispered over her ear. “Do you need help?”

Inexplicable irritation flooded her. She put it down to her own nervousness and the fact that her imagination immediately provided an illicit scene where Adam used the very same tone of warm concern while hovering over Constance’s naked body.

Pride, and she feared jealousy, pulled her shoulders straight and she inched away. “I can take care of myself. I’m not some weak woman who can’t even carry her own plate. I stand on my own two feet, not waiting for a man to come along and do for me the things I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself.”

“Settle down, wildcat, that’s not what I meant. I take the happiness of women very seriously and you looked upset.”

“I’m sure you really care.”

“I do.” The humor that had thickened his voice fled, leaving a chilly note of determination behind.

Tulah felt her tension evaporate as hopelessness rushed in. “I’m a prisoner. Of course I’m upset.”

“What can I do to get you out of here, Tulah?”

She blinked up at him. For far too long, Tulah had been responsible for the safety and wellbeing of both herself and her mother. She wasn’t used to asking for assistance, and certainly wasn’t used to men choosing her side over Graves’.

Adam’s expression was open, his gaze honest, but only time would tell if he was in earnest. Still, a thrill went through her at the possibility, and she appreciated having an alternative.

She willfully dropped all remnants of enmity from her words, letting them soften so as not to provoke Adam into retracting his offer. “I’m waiting for my Family Father to arrive. I hope to appeal to him.”