Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 (9 page)

“I appreciate you calling,” she said.

“I think that visit at the theatre last night may have turned the tide. We immortals have been busy too.”

“I know and I appreciate your help.” More than she had before. Perhaps some of the madness had receded. She changed the position of her hands in her lap, stroking the sticks of her fan.

“Virginie, d’Argento and I think it might be best if you retreat now and let society make up its mind. By August you might think of attending a house party. Or holding one of your own.”

She found it difficult to repress her shudder. The thought of holding a gathering to which nobody came haunted her. But she could rely on the immortals. They would not abandon her. Even Kentmere, if she told him of the trouble caused by his mischief making, would come. After all, he owed her a great debt. She had enabled him to meet the love of his life. And his wife was a member of a large family. They would come.

So she was able to smile. “Yes, that is possible.”

“There is something else, Virginie.” His harsh voice softened. Grasping his cane, he got to his feet. “I cannot take the traditional position of a man about to—well, I would ask you a question. I have no words. I don’t know how to say this with any grace. Virginie, would you marry me?”

Shocked, she caught her breath, and could not find it again until her body took over its automatic in-out, in-out once more. When her heart started beating again, it came stronger, faster.

Desire thickened the air. This was the substance her goddess craved, that she lived on. It strengthened her. For that reason alone she was tempted. But the man before her—his strength, so different from Marcus’s. Where Marcus was action and fury, Harry was firm and steadfast. He stood unbending, his dark eyes revealing licks of fire when he was emotional, as now. He didn’t hide it from her, and that in itself she found a strength. He had the courage to show her some of what he felt.

When she stood, so did he, using his stick lightly for support. When she stepped forward, he opened his arms and enfolded her in them. Nothing could touch her now, not with that power around her. She lifted her head, inviting his kiss, and he didn’t disappoint her.

She let her eyes close as his lips covered hers. Bliss, and so welcome.

He took her slowly, giving her time to savour him and his unique taste. With a small sigh of surrender, she leaned against his shoulder. He was as strong as an oak tree. She had never felt as safe in her whole life as she did in his arms. He held her firmly, but not tightly, supporting her with a gentleness she wouldn’t have believed possible in one so powerful. His muscles flexed against her when he shifted her so that she rested against his shoulder.

He slid his tongue into her mouth, caressing her, learning it with a thoroughness that ravished her senses. He contacted every part of her mouth, licked her and tasted her. She gave him everything. In his arms she forgot everything but him.

When he drew away, he did it gently, carefully, but he didn’t let go of her. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Only when the word had escaped her lips did reason return, rushing in on her like the high tide. “That is—you can’t want this. I don’t bring you anything you don’t have already except scandal.”

His laugh reverberated through her. “You are joking, surely? I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms, and you can say that?”

She smiled. “I can’t be.”

“You’re Venus. I can.” He kissed her again, this time softly and sweetly.

“That’s just what I am, not who I am.” Frustration made her impatient. “That is, I can’t explain properly.”

“You’re talking to Vulcan.”

She’d almost forgotten. He was a man, Harry, vital, warm, offering her comfort, solace and something more. To her astonishment, his desire tickled her senses. She’d thought herself incapable of it, considering the trouble it had dragged her into recently. But here it was again, proving her wrong.

What was he like naked? The speculation made her mouth water. She had never seen him less than properly dressed, and she would not find out unless she agreed to become his wife.

Which she’d just done, she recalled, shock cutting through the desire. He was luring her into his kingdom. But she was her own woman, her own goddess, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be so overcome again.

“I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said. He touched his lips to her forehead, so softly she hardly felt it.

“You would have fought for me?”

“Yes.” As always he answered her simply, without prevarication. She liked that about him. Could she do it? Could she truly?

It would mean for life, or for a mortal lifespan. Of course that didn’t have to be long. She could fabricate a “death” and move on, but she’d have to start again somewhere else as someone else. She’d enjoyed her life for the past five or more years, learning to be herself and to live with the person she was, as well as the goddess.

Even the thought chilled her. So she’d be married to this man for a long time. At the moment he represented safety, and an escape from the scandal she’d caused.

She wanted one thing clear. “Can we marry soon? Before Marcus?”

He reacted in the one way she wouldn’t have predicted. He threw back his head and laughed. “Tomorrow, if you like,” he said. His laugh had shocked her, but it acted as a cleansing torrent. Not that simple laughter would wipe out her mood or her actions, but it set her in a slightly different place.

“Not tomorrow. Too hasty. The day after?”

He grinned down at her. “Surely, yes. I’ll see about a special license tomorrow. Do you wish for a quiet ceremony? With a special license we can marry anywhere.”

“Yes. But I want enough guests to ensure the right kind of gossip.”

Another laugh. “Anybody would think you were marrying me because you wanted to escape a difficult situation, not because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

She joined in his laughter. “Heaven forbid!”

Chapter Nine

She was not really marrying him for himself, Harry knew that, but he was desperate. He’d take her any way he could and worry about the details later. Virginie enchanted him, completely overcame him. The first time he’d seen her in the theatre her beauty had captivated him, but he wanted her so much more than that now.

She would probably run a mile if she knew how he felt. But here she was, in his arms, and she felt like heaven. They had a long road to travel. Either that or the road would fork into two in short order. But at least he could offer her sanctuary from the scandal threatening to overwhelm her. It would not drag him down. During his time in London Harry had quietly gone about his business. He’d signed some agreements, made some useful connections and let people know that while he did not visit the city often, he was a man of considerable wealth and influence.

When he’d first come it had been at d’Argento’s behest. But he was glad of it now, and not only because he’d met the woman he longed to make his wife. He’d solidified his position in society. He should come to town more often.

Not least because his mother disliked cities. Recently she had grown more irritable. When she’d asked his Aunt Cecelia to stay with her for a few weeks, he’d recollected d’Argento’s request and hurried to town.

A hasty marriage would serve his ends too. His mother would be delighted that he’d found a bride, though he was not sure she’d be as pleased with his choice.

To seal the bargain, and because he badly wanted to, he kissed Virginie again. She tasted sweet, perfect for him. He took his time, for who knew when he’d get the opportunity again? He would not force himself on her. He wanted this union to last, and he wished her happy with it.

When she chuckled, a mischievous expression entered her eyes. “What is it?” he asked her.

“The rose. We will let people assume that was no more than a lover’s tiff.”

“But you were—”
Still gracing Lyndhurst’s bed
,
he was about to say, but thought better of it.

“I was considering leaving him. You told me to. So did d’Argento and my other fellow immortals. Society had begun to regard the affair as more scandalous than amusing. It was time, but I could not.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Putting her hand against his chest, she pushed back to meet his gaze directly. “I was ready to defy the world for him. You understand that, don’t you?”

“You mean you’ll never love again?”

“Probably not.”

He appreciated her frankness, but the words lanced his heart, cut him deeply. “There is no chance for me?”

Her pause made him soar. Only a tiny hesitation, but there, nonetheless. “No.”

He preferred to work on the pause than with the negative. “Then I will try for friendship and fondness. That will be better than the first Venus and Vulcan had, will it not?”

She nodded. “They hated each other cordially.”

“They did.”

“They also had no children.”

He had pondered on that. “We might. We are not fated to re-enact their every move. From what I understand, the legends are reappearing but in strange ways. We can try, at any rate. Perhaps we should be more human than god.”

She agreed with alacrity. He wondered at that. Venus was an arrogant, confident goddess, but Harry wasn’t sure if Virginie reflected her. The Duchesse de Clermont-Ferand, soon to become the Countess of Valsgarth, he recalled with warmth. He would take Venus because she came with Virginie. Did she make that distinction? In some, notably d’Argento, the god and the man had melded, so they were one being. That was as far as he knew, but he’d never seen a crack in that façade, or had reason to doubt his judgement. As a younger Ancient, Harry still had that to learn. So did Virginie. Perhaps they could do it together.

When she pulled away he was forced to drop his hold on her, although he could have held her all day. She felt perfect in his arms, as if made just for that purpose.

“So you mean to say that the rose was my token to you and you were playing with me?”

“Part of the courtship,” she said briskly, bending to pick up her fan which had dropped to the floor when she’d risen to her feet. She spread the delicate leaves and wafted it before her face. “We should leave soon after. Let society see us happy, and then leave.”

“I shall take you somewhere tomorrow,” he said. “To the park, perhaps, or to the theatre.”

“I find the theatre bores me.”

It didn’t surprise him. “Then the park. In a place we can be seen together. Lovers reconciled. Do you think society will accept it?”

“With a little gentle persuasion. Let them think my affair with Marcus had run its course, and I was turning deeper affections to you.”

That was kind of her. It would cover his humiliation the night of the ball. He doubted she still had the rose, because of the way she’d treated it that night. Maybe he could make her another, once they arrived home. His main seat lay in Cheshire. They could take upwards of three days to reach it at mortal speed, and he dared not attempt anything else. He had no special gifts in that direction. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” With a swirl of silk, she turned back to face him, the tiny brilliants sewn on to her gown catching the sunlight, temporarily dazzling him. “You did this to save me. I can never thank you enough. I had considered returning to France in the week, but now I don’t have to. And Susanna will speak to me again.”

“Your ward?”

“She’s a minor goddess, Suadela.”

He’d heard of Suadela, the goddess of persuasion. “That depends who you ask. She is not speaking to you?”

“She disapproved strongly of my liaison with M—Lyndhurst.” He appreciated the correction. It added distance. “I agreed that she should not find herself tainted with society’s opprobrium, so she is staying with friends. I will ask her to the wedding.”

“Do you wish her to come with us to the country?”

She opened her fan once more. He was still so close, a gentle breeze stirred around his cheeks. “Is that where we’re going?”

“I think that’s wise, don’t you? We can go to my house first and I’ll introduce you to my mother.”

Her eyes widened. “Your mother?”

“Yes, I have one of those, too, but she dislikes London. She sent me here to find a bride, so the news should please her.”

“Won’t she want to attend the wedding?”

He liked the way she said that, with what appeared maidenly hesitation, even though she was a widow of thirty—and a goddess. It appealed to the side of him that longed to protect her from the slightest wind. “No,” he answered. “She will not. I will write to her, to apprise her of the news. Should we take your mother?”

“Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “I welcome it. My mother and yours can exchange stories about bringing up deities.”

That made her laugh, but at the mention of her mother, she sobered. “If my mother had not brought Rhea Simpson to my box at the theatre, matters could be a lot worse for me. She has every reason to hate me, because I never sent for her in all my time in France. My husband insisted on it as part of the marriage agreement.”

He reached out and took her free hand. She fanned herself more vigorously. He smiled. “I insist on making her part of the family. Perhaps she will choose to remain in the country. If she and my mother do not get on, I have other houses, other estates. Your mother worked in the country, did she not?”

“To keep us hidden, and in later years to keep herself busy, she said. But I sent her money. She had no need. She used different names, then.”

That news came as a relief to Harry. He didn’t give a damn who or what Virginie’s mother was, but society did, and society meant a lot to his future bride. Therefore it would matter to him. “She can be mistress of her own establishment, if she so chooses.”

He could do no other. Except that the thought of tucking the redoubtable Mrs. Davenport away and out of sight came as a distinct relief to him. He felt uncomfortable in her presence. She had shown nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness, together with the courage of a mortal eluding vengeful gods. He should be profoundly grateful to her, that she preserved Virginie and found her a protector. But Harry resented the late Duc de Clermont-Ferand. He’d had the sweetness of the young Virginie.

“Will your forced attraction to Lyndhurst fade away now?” He preferred to think of it as a spell, not reality. He could deal with it better that way.

“It should,” she said.

“She says the spell with Lyndhurst will die a natural death,” Harry said later at the club to a mildly bemused d’Argento. After giving him the news, d’Argento had sunk into the nearest chair and gestured with his hand for him to go on. Harry had recounted the meeting. Leaving out the kisses, naturally.

“She is wrong,” Amidei said briefly.

“You are so sure?”

D’Argento nodded. “Regretfully yes.” Shaking back the lace ruffles at his cuff, he poured tea from a porcelain pot into two dishes. Tea might be labelled a lady’s drink, but men indulged from time to time.

Harry took the cup and saucer and helped himself to milk, settling into one of the ridiculously fragile-looking chairs in d’Argento’s private sitting room. All gilded and French style, the surroundings suited his host. They didn’t suit Harry, but thankfully they accepted his weight.

“I fear the end of the affair could prove violent.”

“You mean Lyndhurst will not give her up? She doesn’t want to have an affair with a married man with children.”

D’Argento sighed. “Yes, there is that too. I’m not certain Lyndhurst isn’t behaving too precipitately. He claims the children are not his, although he does know the lady. In the Biblical sense. I’m sorry you were dragged into the business.”

“After the wedding, I’m taking Virginie to my house in Cheshire. It’s not far to the part of Cumbria where the Simpsons live. I plan to visit.”

D’Argento brightened, a slight crease appearing at the corners of his mouth. “That would be a good idea. Find out what they know about the affair. They are not coming for the wedding. I have no idea why they did not chase their daughter the minute she disappeared with the babies.”

“The last two words might give you a clue.” Harry sipped his tea. “They live in a village. There is nothing like a village for spreading gossip. Apart from society, of course.”

“Which is its own village.” D’Argento flashed a smile, then applied himself to his tea before he spoke again. “I see what you mean. But she is their daughter. Surely they cared a little.”

“I’ll find out and let you know,” Harry said.

“You might be too busy.” D’Argento winked.

Harry put down his empty dish. “I have no wish to rush Virginie into this marriage. We will take it at her pace. If she wishes to accompany me to Cumbria, then of course she must do so.”

“She will like be of no mind to do anything,” d’Argento said. He crossed his legs, the elegant gesture far beyond Harry, who kept both feet firmly planted on the floor. He touched his new cane, Malacca with a tiger’s head snarling at the top, carved in ivory. He might take to making handles when he got home. When he wasn’t busy fashioning roses for his wife.

Tension caught his throat, and he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re forgetting what I told you before. This is an enchantment that conveys addiction, just as much as laudanum can. She is in the first stages, but it will get worse. She is still in Lyndhurst’s vicinity, which eases the pain somewhat. When you remove her, she could go into a dangerous spiral.”

The tension increased. “Worse? Will it kill her?”

D’Argento took a deep breath, his chest expanding visibly. “It could. It’s unlikely, but it’s possible.”

“And what can cure this?”

“The best thing for her would be to fight through it on her own. However, that is also the hardest way. You could have Lyndhurst to stay with you. Naturally he could have his own problems when she is removed from his vicinity.”

“All this from a lust spell?”

“They allowed it to grow. I do not know why.”

Knowing Virginie a little better now, Harry could make an educated guess. She was lost. Her breath-taking air of elegance and assurance covered a very different character, one he was just beginning to know. He wanted to understand her more than anything else. Except to take her to bed and make love to her until neither of them could stay awake any longer.

“Am I affected by the spell?”

D’Argento shook his head. “You never came in contact with it. Anything you feel is yours to cope with. Unless someone else cast a spell upon you.”

That hadn’t happened. He didn’t feel the terrible, consuming lust that had affected the couple at the theatre that first night. Only desire and a wash of pleasure when he recalled the kisses they had shared and the feel of her body pressed against his.

He wanted her badly, but he could live without her. He wouldn’t go mad without her.

Virginie might go insane without Lyndhurst, or even die.

He would do everything in his power to prevent that happening. “What do you know about this? What can I do?”

D’Argento’s mouth flattened. “I’m not sure. They perpetrated the addiction, so it’s possible they could break it themselves. But separate, it will worsen, I know that much. Maybe you should keep her close to him until she eases away. A gentle easement would be kinder.”

He couldn’t bear to see her close to Lyndhurst, but if it helped her, he’d do it without question. He would rather take the pain for her.

That gave him an idea. “Can I link with her? Help her get through it?”

“Possibly. If you marry her, if you’re intimate, then perhaps. But I don’t know.” D’Argento stirred in his chair, shifting as if uncomfortable. “I’ve rarely come across this situation before. The incidents I’ve seen are all different, which is why I can’t be specific. I’m sorry. It depends a great deal on the situation and the individuals concerned. Mortals cannot resist, once they have reached this stage, but immortals have a chance.”

“How do you know this?”

“Experience.” D’Argento grimaced. “I have seen the different kinds of enchantments. This one grew into and alongside the other, like a cuckoo in a nest. When Kentmere’s arrows started to lose their potency, the other began to take over, and then they fed it.”