Touch of Passion (4 page)

“Remarkably so,” Kian replied without so much as a glance toward her. “I congratulate you. But women are readily available at all times and in all places, while money is not.” Reaching inside his expensively tailored dark blue coat, he withdrew a small leather pouch, giving it a shake to show how full it was. “I've often wondered whether I might have the same luck against you as I once did, Foss. It was so simple a thing to take your money that I almost can't believe I didn't dream it.”

Kian won the first game and lost the second. The third, almost finished, was falling his way, but nothing could be taken for granted. By some small grace he'd not been driven to use magic yet, which, despite Dyfed's belief, Kian was loath to do. The magic he'd used earlier to rescue Loris from her rude captor had been so minor as to be laughable, but this was entirely different, and far more serious. Gregor Foss's penchant for violence made it serious. Even if Kian could be discreet in using it, magic, just now, could ruin everything.

Loris stood to one side, watching the game with glazed eyes. She was clearly in shock, and Kian wanted nothing more than to finish this farce and get her out of the Red Fox and back to his father's town house, where she would be perfectly safe. And where Kian might do better in explaining himself than he had in the alley.

She must think him quite mad. He could scarce blame her; Kian had thought himself mad for the past month and more, since he'd first set sight on Loris. He could remember the moment vividly, could recall every thought, every feeling, on
that fateful night when he and Dyfed had so casually entered the Red Fox, thinking only to entertain themselves, first with drink and games of chance, then with some of the women.

It had been the merest chance that they'd come—a thought that later gave Kian pause, considering how momentous the occasion had been—having been sent in the direction of the tavern by acquaintances they'd met earlier at a more respectable gaming hell. The women at the Red Fox, they'd been assured, weren't shy about performing certain tricks for well-paying customers. That had been sufficiently interesting to send Kian on his way, dragging an only partly unwilling Dyfed along.

Their entrance had made a stir, but they were used to such an initial reaction from the types of patrons who frequented dangerous places. The brothers' outward appearance, bespeaking wealth and gentility, roused the interest of the thieves and pickpockets present, but their demeanor, confident and completely unafraid, had given those same would-be assailants pause. Kian and Dyfed were well used to handling themselves among rough crowds. Indeed, Kian favored such company, finding it far more amusing than that of his peers. He liked a good fight, and they were far easier to come across in taverns like the Red Fox.

A good half hour passed before it happened—the single most significant experience he'd yet undergone in his seventeen years. A bolt of lightning coming through the tavern roof and striking him between the eyes couldn't have been more profound.

He had been sitting at a table—he remembered the precise location and exactly which chair—surrounded by a friendly group of fellows, a half-emptied tankard of ale at his elbow and a pair of dice clutched loosely in one hand. The other hand had been employed in keeping the plump, lively young woman he'd decided upon for the evening's amusement safely moored upon one knee—not an easy task, considering how delightfully and enthusiastically she wiggled whenever she became excited. Which was often, and for any and every
reason. She had been writhing with particular energy—anticipating his toss of the dice—at the very moment Loris appeared.

She had only come to clear and wipe down a nearby table, bearing the rag and tray that he ever after saw her with. She looked weary and hot and with an impatient movement swiped a few stray curls back from her face. Normally, Kian never would have paid her more than a moment's notice, despite the fact that she was disarmingly pretty. But she was a mere girl, and he didn't care for females who were closer to his own age. He preferred older women, both within the
ton
and out of it. Even his first lover had been older than he—fifteen years older, in fact—and sufficiently enchanting that he'd thereafter developed an intense appreciation for the charms of grown women.

But something about Loris had captured his attention. There was a clarity, a sharpness, as if his eyes had never truly seen clearly and she alone was in focus. Everything else around him—sound, noise, sensation—dimmed, while she grew clearer and clearer. He almost thought he could divine her emotions, see through her eyes, know her feelings, both physical and mental. A sharp pain suddenly gripped him, deep within—so intense that the dice fell from his fingers, forgotten. He lifted his hand and pressed it against his chest, wondering if he was dying, and then . . . then Loris had turned and looked at him.

His companions were shouting at him to toss the dice; the girl on his lap was wriggling about and asking what was wrong. He knew it was so, but he wasn't truly aware of any of it or of them. There was only the girl—for he didn't know her name yet—and her eyes, beautiful dark eyes, glowing amber and gold, and that feeling of death. And life. Everything that had mattered to him before slid away, meaningless, and at the same moment something wonderful and new was being born.

He'd stood, pushing the girl who'd been on his lap slowly aside, and opened his mouth to say something. Loris must
have felt something, too, for her gaze softened, grew curious, and she took a step nearer. Kian's only desire in life at that moment was to touch her, hear her voice, and she came even nearer, her gaze fixed on his . . . and then Dyfed had set a hand on Kian's shoulder and pulled him back down into his chair and Mr. Goodbody appeared, shouting at Loris and dragging her away.

Sound and sense returned, and Kian gave himself a firm mental shake, telling himself that whatever had happened had merely been an aberration, brought on, most likely, by too much drink. But he couldn't put the girl from his mind and found himself seeking her out with his eyes throughout the remainder of the evening.

Days passed, but still he couldn't forget her or what he'd felt. He certainly tried hard enough, bedding as many females as his body could manage, drinking as much and as frequently as he could, gaming at every opportunity—recklessly, too—and starting numerous fights. All he managed to do was exhaust himself, worry his father, and aggravate Dyfed—especially when he forced him to continue returning to the Red Fox, night after night.

Kian couldn't stay away from her, and he couldn't stop thinking of her. And every time he walked through the tavern's doors and knew he was near her, he couldn't control either his excitement or the pounding of his heart. He questioned the Goodbodys about Loris in as casual a manner as possible, trying to discover who her people were, where her parents were, and how she had come to be at the Red Fox. He had learned very little. The Goodbodys assured him that their serving girl was far beneath the notice of so fine a young gentleman and were frustratingly vague.

A full month passed before Kian had at last begun to accept what had happened. He had never really cared much about the prophecies that had been made regarding him at his birth; he'd certainly never considered what they meant to his future. The fact that a
unoliaeth
, or oneness, with a particular female had been foretold as being part of his destiny hadn't
bothered him in the least. Many among their kind were destined for such unions, and Kian had supposed he'd be happy enough with whoever had been chosen for him. But he'd certainly not expected that she would be a mere mortal or that he'd find her in a place like the Red Fox, laboring as a common servant.

But none of that mattered. Kian knew she was the one. He would lie awake at night, hungry for the sight of her. Always the next day he would wait impatiently until he and Dyfed could at last begin their way toward the docks. Toward her.

Kian had expected that Loris would have the same intensity of feeling for him, even if she didn't understand it. But, clearly, she'd not yet been struck by lightning, as he had. Whatever interest she'd had in him that first night had long since been tempered by his wild and foolish behavior. He had acted terribly, especially with the women at the Red Fox, before at last coming to terms with what she meant to him. His energetic efforts to push Loris from his thoughts must have given her a very poor impression of him. One that would likely take a great deal of time to correct.

And then there had been his behavior toward her tonight. His own exuberance at finally deciding to claim her as his
unoliaeth
had clearly overridden all his senses. He had been clumsy and stupid and had frightened her. The knowledge made him even more determined to save her from Gregor Foss. Once Kian had Loris safely away, she would never again have to be afraid. Of anything or anyone. He would make certain of it.

Kian laid down his last card and saw, with immense relief, that he had won both the game and a great deal of Foss's money. He prayed it was the lion's share of what that man had on him tonight, else magic might become necessary, after all.

“That's it, then,” Kian said with a smile, forcing a lightness into his tone that he was far from feeling. Casually, he began to pick up the various bills and coins on the table.
“Thank you, sir, for the sport. I'm glad to know I wasn't dreaming.”

Foss's large hand fell upon the pile of money. “You'll not be quitting now,” he said angrily. “Not until I've had a chance to win my money back.”

There were moments when being wellborn had a certain value; this was one of them. Kian lifted one brow and gazed at Foss's hand in silence until Foss, breathing harshly, withdrew it. Only then did Kian look up at him.

“As a gentleman I shall, of course, be pleased to oblige any request you make of me, Mr. Foss.”

It was gratifying to see Gregor Foss's face redden beneath the veiled contempt in the comment, but Kian wasn't sure it was enough to set the man off balance and keep him there. A clearheaded Foss was the last thing Kian wanted just now.

“We'll have a toss of the dice, then, if't pleases you,” Foss said, reaching into his filthy shirt to pull out a small pouch.

“Perfectly,” Kian acquiesced with a leisurely nod, though inwardly he filled with unease. Unlike the cards they had just gamed with, the dice Foss tended to use were cheats, a fact well known among those who dwelled in London's slums. Kian could counter that and had often done so before when the outcome hadn't been so important, but he would be required to use magic. “What wager shall we begin with?”

“You have all my money,” Foss told him angrily. “Will you take my note? I'm good for it, as all here will attest to.”

Those surrounding them, intently watching, murmured and nodded.

“I'm certain you are,” Kian replied pleasantly, “and if I thought I should be in London long enough to collect, I would be more than happy to oblige. Unfortunately, I'm to leave for Wales at week's end, and must insist upon something more substantial. It needn't be anything of particular value.” He glanced at Loris with feigned disinterest. “You could even use this girl you've just acquired.”

Foss shook his head. “Not the girl. I want her.”

“And there's no reason why you shouldn't have her,” Kian replied with growing impatience. “I certainly have no need for such a female. I merely assumed Mr. Goodbody would buy her from me,
if
I win, after which he could again sell her to you. And as Mr. Goodbody is not, I believe, leaving for Wales at week's end, there is some likelihood that he'll have no difficulty in accepting your note.”

Mr. Goodbody responded to this with a vigorous nod.

It didn't take long for Foss to agree. The man was unabashedly certain of winning.

“One roll t'decide the final winner,” Foss said. “Highest score takes all.” He handed Kian a worn pair of honest dice, keeping the fixed pair for himself. “We'll roll together, eh?”

“Certainly,” Kian replied. “Who'll give the signal?”

One of Foss's men did, and the dice were rolled. Kian rolled a six and a five; Foss rolled two threes.

“Very well, that's settled.” Kian began to rise.

Foss stopped him. “Wait!” He stared at the dice in disbelief. “That's not right. Someone must've jostled the table.”

Kian sat down once more. “If you feel that is so, then we must try again.”

“Aye, that we must,” Foss said gruffly, picking up his pair.

They rolled six times more, and each, with the help of magic, landed in Kian's favor. Foss demanded that they switch dice and still he lost. After ten minutes, Kian was beginning to grow weary.

“I fear the night grows long, sir, and I must be on my way. I thank you once more for the sport.” He stood with finality and stepped from the table, gazing at the avid crowd surrounding them. Loris, he saw, was now sitting in a nearby chair, her hands clasped tightly upon her lap, her head lowered. He wished she would look at him so that he might reassure her that all would be well.

“Mr. Goodbody, may I speak to you regarding the girl?”

Mr. Goodbody approached at once, all obsequiousness, saying, “I shall be more than happy to pay what Mr. Foss
gave for her, sir. More than happy. I shall go and fetch the money direct.”

“Let me have a better look at her, first, to make certain of her worth,” Kian said. “Her name is Loris, is it not?”

“Aye, sir, it is. Loris! Get up, girl, and let Mr. Seymour have a look at you.”

She rose from her chair and moved slowly, her head yet lowered, and came to a stop before him.

Kian set a finger beneath her chin to lift her gaze to his and was dismayed at what he found. Her eyes were damp with tears and filled with fear. But there was also a spark of hope, and a plea for help. Kian excelled at deception, but it was nearly impossible for him to maintain his composure. He longed to draw her into his arms and make her know that he would always keep her safe.