The Christmas Spirit (18 page)

And, suddenly, her substance, which he'd found lacking, hit him in the chest like a blow from a club. It heated his blood and made his knees begin to wobble. Matthew closed his eyes and gave himself up to their kiss.

Their kiss was far more than just a peck, it was much, much more than was improper, it was enough to send them both charging immediately into societal exile. But, even though dim and vague recollections of propriety's mores hovered somewhere in the nether regions of his mind, he could not help himself or be discouraged from this bliss.

Not until his fingers slipped inadvertently from her glove, and the bubble burst.

Matthew fought for breath. Faye's dreamy eyes flew open. They stood and stared at each other until a tipsy gentleman, dragging his giggling partner by the hand, tapped Matthew on the shoulder and begged him to make room under the bough.

Taking Faye by the hand--which he found to be trembling, else he might not have believed what had passed--Matthew pulled her to the edge of the dance floor, trying to collect himself. With heat seeping up from his neck, he struggled to find his voice, feeling as if he had just scaled the Mountains of the Moon.

One glance at his partner told him that she had fared no better, for she appeared to be dazed. The eyes of the other guests followed them. Ladies had raised their fans to hide their whispers, which for once seemed to discompose Faye.

Matthew's head was still ringing from their deep encounter. He couldn't think of anything that would give him more pleasure than to propose to her right here and now; but that might rather wait until they were alone, and the night was still young. It was not even midnight. For all their talk of dancing every waltz together, they had only had the one, although . . . what a whirl it had been.

The exhilaration from their kiss had still not left him, so he bent to whisper temptingly in her ear, "Shall we go?"

Faye fumbled shyly with her fan, but her eyes revealed a hint of secrets. "Very well," she said in a thrilling voice. "But you must let me get my cloak."

Chapter Eleven

Matthew fetched Trudy's cloak and would have led her instantly from the party, but she asked if he might not wait a few minutes instead. The truth was that she had suddenly been beset by a cluster of worries too tangled to reason out, and she needed a moment of peace.

A small withdrawing room had been set aside for the ladies to use to freshen their toilettes or to pin a sagging hem. Trudy started to enter it. Then, when no one was looking, she swept her cloak about her to make herself invisible. She did not want the stares or the attentions of other ladies to intrude on her painful thoughts.

She settled herself in a corner away from three
ingénues,
who were giggling and gossiping while they combed one another's hair. Satisfied that none of them had seen her, Trudy folded her arms, sank her chin onto her chest, and struggled to hold back tears.

Tonight her wager with Francis would expire. Tonight was the night she had promised to lure Matthew into the mists. And tonight would, therefore, be the last time she would play at being human. An undertaking which had become much more than a game.

Trudy knew that she should be gratified by the way Matthew had fallen into her spell on the ballroom floor, by the way he had abandoned himself so willingly to their kiss. And she was. The trouble was she wanted to repeat that kiss again and again for as long as she found it thrilling, but she was worried that would be impossible now.

There had been ingredients to that kiss she was not sure she could duplicate in elfland. Love and trust. Dedication and hope. Respect and free will. Each and every one of these had been part of it, but they would all disappear when Matthew learned she was an elf.

Oh, she might be able to hold him in thrall for long periods at a time. For a short while, she might even be able to make him forget how unmercifully she'd deceived him. But Trudy did not think for one moment that she would win Matthew's genuine love and respect once she had lured him into her world.

The sound of the three girls' voices raised in laughter reminded her that Matthew was waiting for her in the corridor. By now, he would have conveyed her thanks to their hosts and would be growing impatient. He was a man who never liked to wait. But what could she do? She couldn't stay huddled in a withdrawing room until midnight and then fly away without him. She could never do anything so cruel to Matthew. Had he not warned her she had the power to wound his heart? If she decided not to take him into elfland, but to prolong her game, the outcome would not go much better for him.

At midnight, she knew without a doubt that Francis would come to see just why she had not joined the family on the heath, and he would blow up a storm. If he saw her wearing Matthew's gloves, he would break into a fit. And if--as she was tempted so strongly to do--she decided to wear human clothes to trap herself in Matthew's world, all her magic would be gone, and she would lose her family forever.

The very thought of losing her magic until Matthew chose to release her made her shake until her teeth clacked together. Much worse would be the fear she would constantly suffer from wondering when Matthew would discover she was a creature without a soul. That thought, that shame, made her cringe inside her cloak.

Her worries unresolved, Trudy knew it was time to go, time to straighten her shoulders and face Matthew. There was nothing for it but to go through with her original plan, unless some brilliant inspiration could come to her at the last moment. Such things had happened to her before. Why did she doubt one would happen now?

She gathered her cloak about her just as the girls stopped their chatter and started from the room. She followed behind them so closely they ought to have felt her breath upon their necks, especially when they stopped, blocking her passage through the door.

"There he is. Do you see?" the blondest of the three ladies raised a hand to hide her lips while she whispered to her friend.

Mildly curious, Trudy glanced across the room and saw that the girl was pointing to Matthew. He was waiting for her, his tall, strong body draped in a drab greatcoat as he leaned against the wall. Trudy's heart filled with pride on remarking his air of casual grace and unwavering confidence.

"Oh, is that Sir Matthew?" the tallest girl was saying into the first girl's ear. "Now, I see what you mean. He is sadly scarred, is he not?"

The first girl gave a shiver. "They say his face was pierced by a native's spear. Isn't he frightful?"

The brunette with bad teeth, the only one who'd been silent until now, spoke, "I don't think so at all. I think he looks very distinguished."

Trudy's heart, which had started to beat in defense of Matthew, began to slow before it was nearly whipped into a frenzy by the first girl's next remark.

"Distinguished?" The blond staged another great shudder. "Well, I certainly do not think so. I think he is rude. Did you notice how he refused to stand up with anyone except for that bold creature who came alone with him? Though I'm certain there were other girls waiting to dance. Not that I would want to dance with a man like that, mind. I should rather die first. Although I suppose I might be persuaded to dance with him once out of charity. Do you know, they say he is a mere shadow of his former self, that he was at one time handsome? Well, I am certain that I cannot see it if he was."

This last statement was too much for Trudy, who thought Matthew much the handsomest of all men, and the finest. She reached her hands out and gave the blond girl a wicked pinch.

Matthew, who had been growing impatient, was searching for Faye when he thought he spied Trudy instead, standing just outside the ladies' withdrawing room, close behind a group of girls. Her green eyes were sparkling with anger. Her pointed ears quivered. He blinked, but the vision stayed before him, unlike the previous occasions when he'd been able to shake off his delusions.

He must have come down with a fever for certain. He reached up to touch his forehead, but, just then, he thought he saw Trudy give one of the girls a pinch on the derriere.

As he started, she vanished as completely as if she'd never existed. He would have been sure he'd imagined the whole episode if the blond girl had not let out a sudden shriek.

"Eek!" She whipped around, but no one was there.

Matthew closed his eyes again and pressed them tight. When he opened them, Faye was emerging from the withdrawing room with a smirk upon her lips. The blond girl stared at her intently. A shade of resentment passed across her face, mixed with doubt, but Faye ignored her.

She crossed the corridor to join him. "Shall we go?" she asked with a smile.

"Y--e--es . . ." Matthew straightened from the wall, giving it a push with one shoulder.

She paused to gaze up at him with a question in her eyes. "You don't sound certain," she said. "Are you quite all right?"

"I'm perfectly ready to go," Matthew declared. "But I must be coming down with a fever again. I've been seeing things."

"What sort of things?"

"I hardly know--green felt--walls closing in--but, there is one thing I must ask."

He turned her to face him, keeping hold of her upper arms, and thought he caught a guilty look. "Answer me truly, please. Did you or did you not just pinch that girl?"

Faye's green eyes grew round with fright. "Did you see me?"

"Yes. Should I assume this means you did it?"

She ignored his question and quickly posed one of her own. "What day were you born?" she asked, tapping her finger on his chest in an agitated fashion.

"April 8--though what that is to the purpose, I cannot imagine."

"No! What day of the week?"

He drew back, more puzzled than ever by her earnest desire to know. Then he mused. "I believe it was a Sunday," he finally said.

Faye closed her eyes, and her head fell back. He clasped her shoulders more tightly, afraid she was going to faint, but she only waved her head slowly from side to side.

"I had no earthly idea," she said despairingly. "If I had--" She broke off.

A vague misgiving seized Matthew. Memories of myths and folklore from his Scottish childhood reached out to worry him. But he pushed them away, instead giving Faye a little shake.

"Did you indeed pinch that girl?"

She sighed as if to lie would be worthless. "Yes, but she deserved it," Faye said firmly. "I should have pinched her much harder than I did, for I'm afraid she hardly felt it through her skirt."

Matthew gave a dumbfounded laugh. "You little imp! What on earth were you doing?"

"Defending you, of course. She said one of those things you hate--about how you're just a shadow of your former self--so I had to punish her. I think she was simply jealous because you didn't stand up with her for a reel."

Matthew stopped laughing. He did not recall ever mentioning those feelings to Faye. He could not imagine that he would have done so. He was always so careful to guard his feelings to himself.

Except with Trudy . . . .

He looked at Faye now, and confusion clouded his head. He felt a frown crimp his forehead so hard it nearly hurt.

"What it is, Matthew?"

She was so tiny and so precious. Precocious, even. Almost like a child.

Or an elf.

He shook his head strongly, thinking this would never do. He must have experienced delirium again even to be entertaining such a wild idea. He
must
have told her how he felt in some moment when he had not been quite himself, like this evening.

"Matthew?" Her hand went to his forehead. She whispered, "Love?"

Her use of that word--so openly, so tenderly and fearlessly--caused a surge in his loins.

He would not be doubting her. He could not.

Matthew gently laid a hand over one of hers. "It's quite all right. But I suppose we should go before I embarrass us both. If you are ready now?"

Faye nodded, a strangely contrite look on her impish face. She must have thought he was disturbed for the girl, which he wasn't. The chit could go to perdition for all he cared.

To reassure Faye, he wrapped his arm about her as he led her from the house.

The wait for the carriage was not long. As soon as it came, Matthew gave the driver instructions to drive a few times around the park, before joining Faye inside. Then, at once possessing himself of her hand, he drew her onto his lap.

She came to him willingly enough. Although the light through the window was too dim for him to see her features, he sensed reluctance. Her weight was so insubstantial, however, as to disappoint him again, until she placed both hands upon his chest and he felt the resurgence of the hum he had felt upon the ballroom floor.

"Would you like to slip your fingers into my glove?" she whispered temptingly.

Her entreaty made his pulse leap with a mixture of bewilderment and desire. What kind of enchantress had he fallen in love with? Faye was no mere eccentric with an unhinged relative or two, she was a graceful witch who had turned his gift into some kind of fetish--and one in which he thoroughly believed. They were aptly paired, he and she. She, with her enchanting brand of insanity, and he, with his ravings and his persistent delusions.

"If you like," he whispered back, and in a moment his fingers were brushing the palms of one of her hands.

"Oh, God . . . . " It was like nothing he had ever experienced.        "Faye--" As he kissed her, succumbing to the softness of her lips and the magical smell of her breath, Matthew posed her a question. "Have you ever--would you ever--consider marriage?"

"I have not. But as to--" she kissed him softly again--"whether I would or not--" and again more tenderly--"that would depend entirely upon who the gentleman was."

They deepened their kisses. If Faye had wanted to refuse him, surely she would not be kissing him with such abandon. Matthew felt the thrill of conquest, partnered by a deeper, more lasting sort of thrill, the profound generosity of love.

"Would you," he said, finally pausing to catch his breath, "take me for a husband?"