Touch of Passion (24 page)

“Of course,” she said, though her interest was only far more piqued. “I shouldn't wish to upset Dyfed. He looks so unhappy already.”

“Aye,” Kian said, and, sitting back in his chair, rubbed both hands over his face. “God, I'm so weary. When this is all over I'm going to sleep for a fortnight.”

“You'll find a way to be rid of the troubles soon, Kian,” she said. “Once Dyfed and I have gone, you'll be able to fix your mind on the matter, just as you wish to do.”

He dropped his hands and gazed at her. “I don't know if I will,” he said. “But I suppose I must, as the duty is mine alone. There is something else I must ask of you. A great favor. Not for my sake, but for Dyfed's.”

Loris looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Yesterday—no, the day before that, when I went to Llew. The day we quarreled over—”

“Yes, I recall it very well,” she snapped, irate that he should remind her of the foolish things she'd said.

“I mentioned to you—before we quarreled—that Desdemona Caslin is betrothed to the Earl of Llew.”

“Yes.”

Kian leaned forward, looking at her very directly. “You mustn't say anything to Dyfed about the betrothal. Or tell anyone of it once you reach London. Not even Niclas or Malachi, should they ask you what you know about Miss Caslin. And don't tell Julia, either, for she'd certainly tell Niclas and then Dyfed might hear of it.”

“Dyfed can't know of the Earl of Llew's betrothal?” Loris asked slowly. “Don't you imagine that all of London knows of it already?”

Kian shook his head. “I don't believe so. Cadmaran has always embraced strictly formal methods in regard to such matters. Desdemona Caslin must be properly introduced into society before Lord Llew will make the betrothal known. The
ton
will first learn of it when they read the announcement in the papers.”

“But I still don't quite understand why Dyfed can't know about it,” Loris said.

Kian's expression grew particularly bleak. “He believes he's in love with her. No, it's worse than that. He believes they are
unoliaeth
—that she's his fated one.”

Loris blinked at him, stunned. “Dyfed and . . .
Desdemona Caslin?
”

Kian nodded. “He didn't go to the village last night. He met Desdemona Caslin, instead. Evidently he didn't tell me everything that occurred between them during their first encounter several nights ago. They arranged to meet secretly upon his return from
Fynnon Elian
, and—well, in part, she told him those things that I've already said I can't tell you now. She also made Dyfed believe that she loves him. But from all that he told me last night, she said nothing of her betrothal to Cadmaran. Which was likely wise on her part, for Dyfed might attempt to challenge Lord Llew for her hand otherwise.”

Loris still couldn't get beyond the idea of Dyfed being in love. Or at least thinking he was. He'd never even been infatuated with a woman before. “Dyfed's far too sensible to do such a foolish thing,” she countered. “And he couldn't have fallen in love with her after only two meetings.”

“It happens among our kind quite often,” Kian told her, looking at her in a meaningful way. “We are easily susceptible to the forces of nature. From what Dyfed told me last night, and by the manner in which he said it, I am absolutely convinced that he has fixed his heart solely and completely upon Desdemona Caslin, and intends to have her as his wife. The only thing that's keeping him from going to Llew at once and demanding her hand is the trouble that's been taking place at Tylluan. She is, for the time being, inextricably bound to Cadmaran and the destruction that's been occurring, and she must remain at Llew until I've found a solution for the problem.”

“But if she knows something of what's been taking place—” Loris began.

“Not only knows of it,” Kian broke in, “but has been part of it. Dyfed assures me, however, that Miss Caslin will do what she can now—for his sake—to lend me her aid. But she must do so in secret, without letting Cadmaran know, else he'll stop her from helping at all, and possibly imprison her at Llew. I pray that Dyfed is right in trusting her. I'm not entirely certain that I do, yet.”

“Oh, heavens,” Loris murmured unhappily. “She's filled with dark magic, is she not? She must be, if she's been helping the Earl of Llew. And an American. Could it possibly be any worse? Are you quite sure Dyfed's in love with her? Perhaps he was only enchanted by her beauty. She is very beautiful, you said. Or perhaps she put some kind of spell on him.”

Sighing, Kian rose from the table. “I argued much the same with him last night, but he was able to convince me that his feelings are quite real. But getting her away from Cadmaran is
going to be a tricky business. Until I know exactly what transpired between Miss Caslin's father and the Earl of Llew, and what vows were made, I won't know whether she can easily be stolen away or not. If she and Dyfed are truly
unoliaeth
, then nothing can keep them apart, not even the most solemn vows given by those outside the union. The Guardians will hold the
unoliaeth
above any other claim. But if they were not fated and Cadmaran has obtained a promise from the father for the daughter's hand . . .” Kian shook his head. “I don't know what can be done, save to offer Lord Llew whatever price he desires in order to free her from obligation to him.”

“But Dyfed won't care about any of that,” Loris murmured. “If he's truly in love with her, he'll not accept defeat.”

“No, he won't,” Kian agreed. “And that's precisely why he mustn't know of the betrothal between Lord Llew and Miss Caslin. He's content to let her remain at Llew for now only because he thinks she'll be free to come away with him once the troubles have been dealt with. But if he discovers that she's bound to Cadmaran by a betrothal . . . I greatly fear what he would try to do.”

Loris shivered at the thought. “If Dyfed challenges the Earl of Llew,” she said, “he will give up all of the protections that keep wizards from killing one another.”

Kian nodded grimly. “To issue a challenge is to leave yourself open to death,” he said, “and to give the one to whom the challenge was issued an advantage. Which is why our kind has always been so careful about such things. Cadmaran could kill Dyfed and never be punished for it. At least not by the Guardians. And I doubt any prison made by mere mortals could hold so powerful a wizard.”

“Dyfed is usually so calm and logical,” Loris murmured, unable to keep the worry from her tone. “But there's no denying that when he's overset, he can be terribly foolish.”

“Dyfed is a man in love,” Kian stated. “And I can tell you from experience that there's no more foolish man on earth.”

Loris looked at him in silence.

“You'll say nothing to Dyfed of the betrothal, then?” Kian asked. “Or to anyone else? I believe that you and I are the only two who know of it outside of the Cadmaran clan.”

“I'll say nothing to anyone, Kian. Certainly not to Dyfed. I give you my promise.”

“Thank you. I won't worry on the matter, then, for I know your word is always certain. I'll leave you to have your chat with the staff. I'm sure they're very well prepared for your absence, though I believe they'll miss your guiding hand almost as dearly as I will.”

Again, she made no reply. They gazed at each other, and then Kian turned and left the room.

Half an hour later, they took their leave of Tylluan. Dyfed helped Elen into the carriage and prepared to hand Loris up, as well, but Kian stopped him.

“I'll help her,” he said. “In a moment.”

Dyfed looked from one to the other, then nodded and walked away to mount the horse being held for him by one of the servants.

Kian took Loris's hand and pulled her a few steps away from the carriage and all those who were watching them—the entire castle staff, who had come out to bid her farewell, and most of Kian's men, whose jobs were to guard Tylluan and keep it secure. When they were just out of earshot he stopped, released her hand, and turned to face her.

“I realize that you haven't yet forgiven me for what happened,” he said in a low voice, gazing very directly into her face, “and that you're still very angry. It will likely take a great deal of time before you feel any charity with me at all—”

“Kian,” she said, her heart constricting painfully at how deeply he was suffering for what had happened between them. “Please, don't.”

He looked stricken. His handsome face was already so drawn and pale, and, gazing at him, Loris wondered whether Cook or any of the maids would be able to convince him to eat as he should or get the rest he needed. It hadn't been easy for Loris to make him take care of himself these past many
months, but, then, she never minded bullying him when it was necessary.

“I don't wish to speak of Liw yet,” she said. “I confess that's too painful. But as to the other”—she swallowed before going on—“you were not the only one who wished to . . . participate.” Her face felt as if it were on fire, and Loris had no doubt it looked that way. “You asked me if I wanted to, ah, proceed, and promised that you would stop, and I never . . . ahem”—she cleared her throat and looked down at her gloved hands—“I didn't wish to. Stop, that is. And so I don't want to leave Tylluan . . . and you . . . without letting you know that I'm not s-sorry about . . . about that. Nor am I angry,” she added quickly. “Nor, if I would be perfectly honest, do I, ah”—here her voice fell to a whisper—“regret what we . . . what I . . . that is to say, the knowledge that I . . . gained.” Then, thoroughly embarrassed, she added, in a rapid tumble, “I only thought it right to let you know.”

She looked up to find that he was staring at her hands, too, his face tautly set and the muscles of his cheeks and mouth working to keep some manner of emotion at bay. She thought for an awful moment that he might laugh at her—typical Kian, making light of her foolish words—but in an instant she realized that he was struggling to hold back tears.

“Thank you,” he bit out at last, his voice husky and low. He appeared to want to say more but didn't.

Loris swallowed again, her own throat suddenly tight. Kian never wept.
Never
. He covered his feelings with mockery and sarcasm and laughter.

She reacted instinctively and took a step forward, lifting her hands to fuss with his wrinkled cravat, which looked as if he'd thrown it on while half-asleep. She hoped that the servant who put Kian's clothes away would make certain they had been properly pressed before he let the baron put them on, as Loris always did.

“I shall be receiving reports from Cook as to how you've been eating,” Loris informed him sternly, looking into his face, though it was still lowered and she was obliged to bend
a little to see his eyes. “And I shall write to find out whether you've been getting enough rest, as well. If I discover that you've been so foolish as to fall into a decline or make yourself sick, I shall return to Tylluan immediately, whether I've had the opportunity to meet Lord Perham or not.”

Kian laughed then, just once, but it was enough. Loris could see that he'd regained his balance.

“That's scarcely an incentive to make me desire food or sleep,” he said, lifting his head to meet her gaze at last. Then his smile died away. “I'm going to miss you, Loris.”

She stepped away, managing a wry smile. “If I come back to Tylluan to find either you or the castle or my gardens in disorder, Kian Seymour, I promise that you'll very much wish that I was on the other end of the earth.”

L
ONDON, TWO WEEKS LATER

“I apologize for disagreeing with you, Loris, but I'm afraid my wife is right. You look stunning.”

Niclas Seymour made a slow circle about Loris, taking in the elegant gown that she wore. His three-month-old daughter, Sian, was in his arms. His twin sons, Macsen and Elias, just past two years of age, had taken up following their father wherever he went and toddled behind, each with a hand on the tail of his coat.

“It's perfect,” he declared, coming to a halt beside his beaming wife. “That color almost exactly matches your eyes. Not quite brown, not quite gold. It's more a cinnamon, with perhaps a bit more red. And with your hair arranged in that becoming manner, I doubt any other female could possibly outshine you. Don't you agree, Dyfed?”

Dyfed smiled from where he stood and replied, “Very much. Fashionable society in London is about to be turned on its head.”

“It is a beautiful dress,” Loris told them, gazing down at the lovely garment with a mixture of pleasure and alarm, “but are you quite sure I'm to wear it out-of-doors? In the daylight? It's so . . .” Feeling herself flush, she waved a hand at her upper body. “Thin.” She certainly wasn't going to admit
in front of men that her bosom felt indecently bare, though of course they could see that for themselves. The gown was cut so low that if she'd been home in Tylluan, she would surely have come down with an inflammation of the lungs. Or frozen to death. “It hardly seems suitable for the purpose of calling upon an elderly gentleman.”

“The purpose,” said Dyfed, coming nearer, “is to make you look enchanting, which you are.” He took one of her hands and kissed it. “And among the
ton
this dress will be considered scandalously prim and proper. Only wait until you see what you're to wear to parties and balls. This is merely a day dress.”

“I never thought to have something so beautiful,” she said, and moved to hug Julia. “You've spent so much time making me presentable this past week. I don't know how to thank you.”

Julia Seymour was one of the few women whom Loris had been able to call a friend. She had been brought to Castle Tylluan years earlier by Niclas, on a quest to stop Ffinian from forcing Julia's aunt, Lady Alice, into marriage.