The Guardian (Chronicles of Dover's Amalgam Book 1) (32 page)

“She didn’t hit me very hard,” she admitted. “I must bruise easily.”

“She is the one who flogged you?” Jareth nearly roared.

She nodded. “Isn’t there another way other than killing her?”

She was persistent, and that irritated Jareth. “She is the one who held you down for a flogging and you want her to go free? You would have her hurt your family next time? Our children? She is in allegiance with Gyula, which means she has access to the alchemy of time jumping.”

Elizabet frowned. “I didn’t think of that. And besides, he held me while she beat me.” Jareth gave way to his rage and screwed his face into a thunderous expression. “Do you think she would really go after the children?”

“She flogged you,” he snarled. He did not care about the mechanics of the situation. “What
lady
would lower to that?”

“You have a point.”

“I do.”

“Can’t you just send her away?”

“Really?” Jareth asked, fury giving way to exasperation. She had ruined his perfectly good feeling. Her declaration of love had made him exuberant, but he could not enjoy it as long as she badgered him about things she could not comprehend. “You would have her alive? Where she could be found by our enemies and used to hurt us again?”

“You’re not listening to me.” Elizabet’s voice held a touch of annoyance.

“I hear what you say, but fail to see the reason. You do not understand this life, but I do. Here, I am lord and master. There are no democracies. It is the law of the land, and I make that law.” Jareth pulled away and rolled to his back. He folded his arms behind his head and peered up at the canopy above them. “If you insist I banish her, however, it is an option.”

He offered this reluctantly. His wife scrambled his thoughts; that was the reason he could not touch her while he spoke of important things. He would gladly give her whatever she wanted, and that bothered him.

Catherine of Torquay needed to die. The safety of his family was at risk as long as she walked the earth. He stole a peek at his wife and was further aggravated by how fetching she looked when she was upset. “I can send her to France. Gabriel can oversee it. He will get a kick out it; they cannot stand the sight of one another.”

“I love you.” Elizabet said, and then leaned into him, her arm across his waist. She hugged him, her nose buried in his chest.

Jareth studied the top of her head and curved his mouth into a smile—even though he wanted to thrash her for being manipulative. She would be the death of him. He would give her whatever she wanted and the consequences be damned. He would have to employ more assassins and henchmen to keep them all safe. “So you have said.”

She peered up at him with her hair framing her face and spilling down onto his chest. She was so beautiful to him that it nearly robbed his breath. For all of his days he would remember this moment as the instant he lost his heart for good. It was gone—into the keeping of his wife. “And I’ll say it again and again.”

“Hhhhmmm,” Jareth hummed and allowed his mouth to kick up in the corner.

Her eyes widened. “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said. “I just do not know how much it will cost me.”

“Let’s play a game,” she said.

“You and your games,” Jareth murmured. He reached out and pushed her hair from her face. “Are you trying to make me forget that I want Catherine’s head on a platter?” He let her hair slide between fingers; the silky strands gleamed in the moonlight cast through the open window. “I want you safe. I want the children safe, yet I find myself agreeing to banish the vile creature who parades as a lady instead of killing her.” He narrowed his eyes as he regarded her face that was flushed with anticipation. “You leave me little choice, wife. I am at your bidding.”

“I like that,” she said with a cheeky grin. She folded her hands under her chin, resting on his sternum. “I’ll go first.”

“Of course you will,” he muttered.

“It’s just that I’m very curious.”

“Curiosity kills more than just cats.” He grasped a strand of her hair and twirled it between his fingertips.

She smiled broadly. “Which leads me to the first question. Cat or dog?”

Jareth’s eyes tapered, but he answered. He had an idea of how far she could take her games and he was leery. “Cat.”

A laugh popped out of Elizabet’s mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“I assure you I am not,” Jareth said flatly and gave her a scowl. He brought his arm back behind his head to use as a pillow and then crossed his ankles. “Canines lick their bits. Nasty creatures.”

Elizabet giggled. “Cats lick themselves, too.”

“But they do it with flair of refined style,” Jareth said. “Next question. Or would you prefer to see the litter of cats I have on site? I can prove to you that I am partial to the feline persuasion.”

“You’re serious,” Elizabet said with a touch of awe. Jareth glowered mockingly. She smiled. “I can’t believe you like cats. It just doesn’t fit with the knight thing you’ve got going on.”

He smirked. “Next question, your grace. You emasculate me with your lack of discernment. I will have you know that my tolerance of cats has never hindered me in battle.”

“Dancing or singing.”

“Neither,” he replied with great conviction.

“But Jareth . . .”

A burly hand sliced through the air, just grazing the top of her head. “No. Never. Next question.”

“Did you ever love someone before me?”

His jaw dropped; he was dumbfounded that she had the gall to ask. “No,” he answered quickly, and seemed to surprise her. “Never.”

Elizabet’s facial features morphed to mimic his humorless one. “Never? You never felt anything for Catherine. I’ve seen her, and she’s beautiful, Jareth.”

Jareth’s searched her face: her mouth, her eyes, and the charming way her cheeks glowed pink when she was nervous or shy. He took his time, gauging the answer he wanted to give so she would understand. “You want to know if I have ever wanted to spend time with another? If I have ever waited in anticipation for the next moment I would see someone whose presence I missed no matter if it were only mere seconds that separated us? Did I ever have the feeling that I would expire if that person did not accept me and return my affection?”

Elizabet nodded when he was finished. She swallowed visibly as he let his eyes circle her face again.

Jareth shook head; so slight was the movement that he wasn’t sure she noticed. “Elizabet, what is it you want from me?” he whispered. “Would you have me write it in the heavens? Are you so insecure that you must goad me with silly questions?” His arms came out and around her, scooping her closer to him; their faces inches apart. “You foolish girl—what am I to do with you?” He ran his nose along the side of her face, closed his eyes and silently prayed for patience. “I came to you untouched. My heart has never belonged to another and it never will. It is exclusively yours.” He smiled against her cheek, and ran his nose up her face again.

“You’re just so . . . massively handsome.”

He drew back. “Massively handsome?”

“I’m trying to talk fancy like you,” she said with a shy smile. “You speak in poetry.”

“I have the largest, ugliest nose ever beheld, and I have scars all over my body. I would say that cancels massively handsome from my list of personal attributes. There is poetic justice. I am the Duke of Dover with the nose of pelican.”

She ran her finger down the imperfect bridge of his nose. It had been broken in the past, more than once. “I like your nose.”

“And I like everything about you.” He shifted so he could kiss the finger she was tracing him with. “You must be sure with me, Elizabet. I love you. Only you. There was never another, nor will there be one after you.”

“I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Dubium”

Her eyes smiled and then her mouth followed. “Next question, husband.”

“That is your grace to you.”

Elizabet levered up and slapped her hands against his chest. He tensed in preparation for her assault, then tipped his head back as he laughed. “Fine! Your grace. Your majesty,” she drawled. “Where will we live?”

Jareth grabbed her hands so she could not strike him again, his face still alight with laughter. “Here, and in modern Kent.” His hands tightened over hers. “The Cayman Islands when I am between sessions and as often as I need to be there.”

“Kent, I expected,” she said. “This island place, not so much. How did this pop up? You’ve never mentioned it.”

“There is a commune of host known as the Brac there on the main island. Most host thrive in the environment. It was privately owned by a Presbyterian minister until I purchased it recently.”

Elizabet clicked her tongue. “So, we’re rich too.”

Jareth laughed again. “No. Not yet, at any rate. I had to sell a few artifacts I collected over the years to purchase the reserve and a home in Kent.” His lips twisted grimly. “My castle is a travesty in modern day. A tourist trap. Admission is charged and fellows stay overnight in hopes of seeing my ghost.” He looked upward. “Ghastly thought. Here I thought I made a difference in vague superstitions and people are chasing my ghost. Reformers worldwide are turning over in their graves—perish the thought.”

Elizabet smoothed her index finger between his eyes where creases lived, and he relaxed. “Sounds like we will have a good life, besides you pining for your home. At least we’ll have time here. Now. With Percival and Mrs. Wheatley.” She smiled. “I still get to be a real duchess.”

“I am not pining for my home,” Jareth insisted, but when Elizabet narrowed her eyes, he relented. “Perhaps a bit.” He looked away. “You do not know what it is like to see your home and know that it is no longer yours.”

“You saw Dover in modern day?”

He faced her and nodded. “Gabriel took me there once. He showed me the future and all of the possibilities. I think he did it to entice me.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I would have done this anyway. It is right. Being the first guardian is an honor I do not take lightly, but it is hard to see the things I love fall out of my grasp. I cannot just walk into modern Dover and claim it—it is not done that way. I have no rights to it. It belongs to the people. My rights to it were lost long ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is not yours to be sorrowful,” he said. He brought his arms around her and let one hand trail lightly along her spine again. “You are the brightest of my future. Wherever you are, I shall find contentment. We will make a grand go of it.”

“Where do we start?”

Jareth grinned. “I have it on strict confidence that the twins are conceived on this night . . .”

Elizabet playfully smacked him, open palmed against his cheek. “I meant, where do we go from here?”

“We fetch Jeremy,” Jareth said. He grabbed her wrist easily and pulled her hand from his face, then pressed a kiss in her palm. “He will be lost after the storm, but we will find him and bring him to the Brac.”

Elizabet’s eyes widened, fright unfeigned in her expression. “You’ll meet my dad.”

Jareth beamed. “There is that—yes. Where should I start? With the fact we are married or that you have been thoroughly ravished?”

She made an attempt to hit him again, but failed. He grasped both of her wrists. “He’ll kill you.”

“Highly unlikely,” Jareth responded. His head left the pillow and he kissed her on the mouth. “I shall give him the best regard and he will gladly welcome me to the family.”

“You plan on paying him off?”

“It will not come to that,” he said. “Gabriel told me this will be an easy transition. I will meet with your grandmother first and then approach your father.” Elizabet’s face ashened. “No, no,” he crooned. “Do not be troubled.” He twisted their bodies until she lay partially beneath him and he was leaning over her. “I cannot bear it when you are distressed.” He smoothed her hair from her face, and nuzzled her with his cheek and then his mouth in small kisses across her lips. “You must trust that I will take care of you. I will not allow harm to come to you. You are safe with me. I will take care of everything. I promise.”

“I didn’t think about the repercussions of what I’ve done.” She turned her face into the pillow. “I’m seventeen. This just isn’t done, Jareth.”

“It is done every day in my world. You are older than most. Marriageable age varies in different time periods, but it does not change the fact you are of age.” She glanced at him, her eyes imploring him for an explanation. He took the opportunity to kiss her. “I have done my research concerning your laws. I am known for my lawful compliance where the deflowering of virgins is concerned. I only deflower those of age and who have been given my last name.”

Elizabet’s smile was quick, as if she could not help it. “You’re smart; I’ll give you that, but he’ll still kill you. I’m his little girl regardless how he treats me.”

Jareth smirked. “He may try, but in the end, I am sure he will see reason.” His face heated with emotion. “And I see no evidence of a little girl lying in my bed.”

“And if he doesn’t see reason?” she asked. She did a poor job of hiding the fact she was thrilled at his possessive tone. His confidence in what he could do was bolstered. He would have her father eating out his hand before it was all over. She may be married young, but she married well.

“I am taking you anyway,” he rumbled. “You belong to me, with me. He cannot stop me, nor can your laws, Mrs. Tremaine. You. Are. Mine.”

Elizabet smiled cheekily at his insolent tone and added her own as well to her words. “That is your grace, to you. Don’t you forget it. My title supersedes simple salutations.”

Chapter 17

BEAU WATCHED HER
twin brother Rixby shovel ice into plastic bags from the machine behind their parents’ store. Their mother was a twin also—to Elizabet’s mother. Twins ran in their family, and the women had shared a bond that was broken only when her aunt died. It had devastated her mom.

The wonderful kinship of being twins was lost, however, on Beau and Rixby. She was quite sure that he hated her, even though they were only nine, and it did not seem things would change. Beau felt more of a bond with her cousin, Elizabet. They should have been twins, or at least sisters. She was glad Elizabet was back from wherever she had disappeared to. One person being lost was enough to worry over. Her best friend, Jeremy, had been missing since the hurricane ripped through. And Elizabet had gone missing too, but turned up married and fine as ever.