The Marriage Spell (10 page)

“That's what I want to talk about.” She moved to the bed to adjust the pillows behind him. As always, her touch and presence were soothing. After turning up the flame of the bedside lamp, she chose a seat where he could see her clearly. He realized that she always quietly acted for his maximum comfort. His friends might love him, but they didn't think to choose seating for his convenience.

“Very well, we shall discuss the matter,” he said agreeably. “But first, I've been meaning to ask you why I'm so tired. I broke my leg once before and I never felt as tired as I do now. It's absurd that a visit to the library in a wheelchair should be so fatiguing.”

“Some fatigue results from the healing process itself. Much of your natural strength was used in the healing circle,” she replied, seeming glad of the digression. “But blood loss is the real culprit. You bled so much, inside and out, that it might have been enough to kill you if your wounds hadn't been treated promptly. Now that blood must be rebuilt, and that takes time.”

“Is it possible to create more blood through magic?” he asked curiously. “I would have thought that would be easier than repairing a broken neck.”

“Actually, it isn't. The fragments of bone in your neck were all present. The trick was bringing them together and fusing them into solid bone again. While that took a huge amount of power, it was relatively straightforward. Rebuilding your blood would mean creating something from nothing, which is much harder.”

That made sense. “So I shall have to recover my strength at the same speed as a soldier who was wounded and bled badly.”

“Precisely. You should recover your usual vitality in a few weeks. About the same time that your broken leg is sound again.”

He nodded, happier now that he understood. “Shall we be married the day after your father returns from London?”

She brushed at her immaculate hair, her face cool and pale. “You agreed to marry me when under great duress. I cannot hold you to that. You are free to go about your business unencumbered by a wife, Lord Frayne.”

He felt a rush of shock, relief, and—disappointment? “The circumstances were extreme,” he agreed. “But why did you ask for marriage if you didn't want it?”

“It was an odd impulse,” she said slowly. “You were half out of your mind. I needed to…to capture your attention. To make you realize how high the stakes were. Love and death—there are none higher.” She gave a ghost of a smile. “It worked, too. The thought of marrying a wizard shocked you into greater awareness. Perhaps you decided that if I was willing to risk my life in the hope of an…an advantageous marriage, there was a chance that you might survive. That life was worth fighting for. Whatever your reasoning, you granted me permission to attempt healing magic, and for that I was grateful. And now that is behind us, and you are free to go.”

Struggling to sort out what he felt, he asked, “If you don't want marriage as a reward for your efforts, what would you like instead? A horse, a house, or a trip to America, as your fellow wizards will receive?”

“Nothing.” Her hands locked together, consciously calm. “As I said before, magical work on this level is rare and not for sale. I was privileged to be the focus of great power, and to enjoy the satisfaction of success. You owe me nothing. Go freely and live generously. That is enough.”

Go freely.
Wasn't that what he had always wanted? Freedom from the responsibilities of his inheritance. Freedom from the impossible demands of family. Freedom to ignore the starch and rules and irritations of daily life in favor of the stark realities of war.

But he had already recognized that his form of freedom was a boy's running from responsibility, and he was ready—compelled, even—to put that behind him. He was a grown man who must stop avoiding the challenges of his life. That meant selling his commission, managing his property, taking his seat in the House of Lords, no matter how little he wanted those things. It also meant finding a wife and starting a family.

He thought of lovely Lady Cynthia Devereaux, the exquisite blond sylph who had captured a bit of his heart when he'd met her the previous spring before his return to Spain. He'd thought at the time that when he was ready to settle down, he'd find a wife like her. If he was ready to marry now, why not Lady Cynthia? She was still unattached—Winslow had said as much in a passing comment. She had not seemed averse to his attentions, and she fulfilled his ideal of the perfect woman.

And yet there had been something unreal, or at least artificial, about their brief flirtation. She had been all trilling laughter and coy, fluttering lashes. He knew very little about her character. Would she risk her life in an attempt to save a stranger? Would she be serene in the midst of chaos? Would she tell the truth with eyes clear as water and deep as the sea?

Yes, Abigail Barton was a wizard, and he found that profoundly disturbing. But his accident had made him viscerally aware that he was not immortal. There was much to be said for having a gifted healer in the household.

He studied her, wondering how that ripe womanly body would feel in his bed. The thought triggered the shocking realization that he hadn't had a really sexual thought or dream since his accident. Good God, was that why she didn't want to marry him? “Will I recover in all ways, including…including…” He blushed and tried again. “Will I still be capable of…of marital relations?”

Her eyes lit with what might have been laughter, but she was polite enough to keep her voice grave. “If you were capable before, you will be again. Blood loss has many effects. A temporary inability is one of them.”

He sighed with relief. He also wondered if there was another woman in England with whom a man could be so frank. In that spirit, he said, “You claim it was an impulse that led you to ask for marriage, yet in my experience, impulses are seldom born out of thin air. Did you think that you might like to become Lady Frayne, and now you are dismissing the possibility as a point of honor?”

Her face became even more pale. “You are perceptive, my lord. Yes, the thought of marrying you has appeal, but coercion would make a poor foundation for life's most intimate relationship. Marrying a wizard would complicate your life in numerous ways, and that in turn would complicate mine.” After a moment of silence, she said tentatively, “Perhaps we could remain friends?”

The vulnerability in her words struck him to the heart. What had it been like to grow up as a wizard, needed by some, disdained by others? And a voluptuous wench like her wasn't the fashionably slim sort whose looks would compensate for her magic. Most men were drawn more to girls like Lady Cynthia Devereaux. But he was a great strapping wretch himself, and there was something to be said for bedding a woman whom he wouldn't have to worry about accidentally breaking.

He needed a wife, and he didn't want to endure hunting among the ton for girls who might be very different from their polished public appearances. Miss Barton had already proved herself kind, honest, and honorable. He might do better in London, but more likely he would do a great deal worse, given his general incompetence with women.

And despite her willingness to set him free of obligation, he was still in her debt. Honor was a sterner taskmaster than the lady herself.

He spent a last moment considering. His family and a good number of his friends would be appalled at his marrying a wizard. He also risked introducing wizardry into the Langdon family, though there must be a dash of it there already or he wouldn't have ended up at Stonebridge.

Honor mattered more than the considerable problems he would experience by marrying her. He must throw himself into the breach. “Miss Barton, I've done a great deal of thinking in this bed, and I have resolved that it is time to take up my responsibilities. That includes finding a wife.”

He searched for words that would honestly describe how he'd felt. “Would you consider marrying me? You are a woman of strength and character, and I think you would make an admirable wife.” Honesty compelled him to add, “I am by no means sure that I will make an admirable husband.”

Her eyes lit up. “You truly wish to marry me?”

“Truly. I've just realized that I know you better than any woman except my sister. Surely that is a good start to a marriage.” He smiled wryly. “I suspect that you know me a great deal better than most women will ever know their husbands. I'm not sure if that's good or bad. But since you've said you prefer your independence and life in the country and my responsibilities will keep me in London a good part of the year, we shouldn't rub each other wrongly too often.”

She gazed at him for a long time, her startling eyes seeming to see right through him. Drawing a deep breath of her own, she said, “If you genuinely wish this, then I am pleased and honored to accept your offer.”

He knew he had done the right thing. He just hoped he didn't come to regret it.

Chapter
IX

“W
ould you consider marrying me?”
Frayne's proposal was hardly the stuff of a maiden's dreams, but it was a proposal nonetheless. Abby had been sure he would retreat from marriage like a bolting hare, yet here he was, asking for her hand in all seriousness. It was what she had wanted, though depressingly matter of fact. Clearly he wanted her because she was convenient, a known quantity—and he'd given his word.

She found it significant that even though he'd been near death when marriage had first been discussed, he'd remember her saying that she would be an independent and undemanding wife, which implied an acceptance of them living separately for much of the time. Though she had wanted a marriage of close friends, like her parents had had, she would rather have Jack Langdon some of the time than any other man all of the time.

It would be easier to stay in her safe, comfortable world. But when she looked at Jack's powerful body and craggy, honest face, she felt a blaze of sensations that had nothing to do with safety. She had been safe long enough. If she wanted more from life, she must take risks, and Jack Langdon was a risk worth taking.

Their marriage might not be a success. He didn't love her now and he might never do so, but they were on their way to being friends. Perhaps that would be enough.

And if not—well, life was about change. Her father would not live forever, her brother would someday marry and take over the estate. Richard would never turn her out of Barton Grange, but she didn't want to dwindle to a maiden aunt. She would rather be a sometime wife, and know that she had had the courage to reach for what she wanted.

Holding his gaze, she said, “If you genuinely wish this, then I am pleased and honored to accept your offer.” Despite her measured words, she found herself breaking into a beaming smile.

His smile was slower, but it seemed genuine. “I do believe this will work out well.” His smile faded. “Perhaps I should tell you more about my family while you still have time to change your mind.”

Wondering what made him worry about his family, she said, “We all have some dirty dishes among our relatives. I will forgive you yours if you do the same for me. But I am wondering about how we will arrange our lives. I said before that I would not be a demanding wife. Do you wish me to live with you? If you are rejoining your regiment when you recover, it might be best if I stay at Barton Grange until you return.”

He looked startled. “Of course I want my wife to live with me. I intend to sell my commission. I've been a competent officer, but my presence isn't required to defeat the French. It is time to take over the management of my inheritance and claim my seat in the House of Lords. Those tasks will be enhanced by my being a married man.”

She tried to imagine him in ermine and velvet. It would be like decorating a lion: absurd and unnecessary. “You will bring refreshing common sense to the position.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are more confident than I, but I'll worry about Parliament later. As soon as your father returns, we can use the special license Ransom went to such effort to procure. I've imposed on the hospitality of Barton Grange long enough, so after the ceremony we can move across the valley to my hunting box. After I'm fit, we can go up to London to buy you a trousseau and enjoy the pleasures of the city. I should be ready to travel soon, I hope?”

“Unless you break more bones, you should be well in a few weeks.” She hesitated. “Are you sure you wish to take me to London? I fear I will be an embarrassment to you there.”

His jaw set stubbornly. “There may be a certain awkwardness, but that will pass. Traditionalists must accept that the new Lady Frayne is a wizard. Even if you choose never to go to London again, it's important to let society see you at least once.”

“It is brave of you to be willing to face them down.” She was silent for a moment. “I'm not sure I'm a crusader.”

“This won't be a crusade, but a campaign to shape how you will be accepted for the rest of your life,” he said seriously. “The best way to begin is with all banners flying, as if you care nothing for the opinion of the beau monde.”

“All banners flying—and avoid doing anything too embarrassingly magical,” she said wryly. “Since I am not a famous wizard, no one is likely to already know about my tawdry occupation, and I will not make a point of mentioning it.”

He looked relieved. “You're right, there's no need to attract censure unnecessarily. You are a woman of good birth and breeding, entirely suited to be my wife. That is all anyone need know.”

She guessed there would be some surprise that Lord Frayne had married a country girl of modest birth and fortune, without the outstanding beauty that would make such a choice understandable. But that was less scandalous than marrying a despised wyrdling. When the full story came out, she would be suspected of ensorcelling him when he was injured and weak. As he'd said, she must go in with pride and confidence, for it was unlikely that her wizardry would pass unnoticed for long.

In the Shires, she and her magic were known and accepted, but London would be different. She wondered what it would be like to enter a ballroom and have everyone present give her the cut direct. The thought made her stomach clench.

It wasn't too late to change her mind. Would retreat be the wiser part of valor?
No.
When she looked at Jack, she knew that wisdom wasn't part of this transaction. Only desire. And if London proved impossible, she wouldn't visit there in the future.

Realizing that her betrothed looked exhausted, she rose and crossed to the bed. “Thank you, Jack.” Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his forehead. The skin was healthily warm, not feverish. “Now you must rest.”

He caught her hand, then relaxed into the pillows, looking tired but happy. “The more I think of marrying you, the better I like the idea.” Too tired to raise his head, he pressed her hand to his lips. “Thank you for accepting me, Abby.”

She stood stock-still. Surely a simple kiss shouldn't scald her fingers like fire!

The door opened, and a solid, familiar figure entered. The silver-haired man arched his brows. “Ah, so this is where you're hiding, Abigail.”

“Papa!” Delighted, she threw herself into Sir Andrew Barton's embrace despite the rain dripping from his cloak and hat. “You're back sooner than I expected!”

“I had a feeling I should come home.” He stepped back and held her shoulders, eyes intent. “You're looking happy. I assume this is your noble patient, Lord Frayne?”

“He is both my noble patient and my betrothed, Papa.”

“Indeed?” Sir Andrew pivoted and studied Jack with piercing intensity.

“Sir!” Jack struggled to sit up in the bed, his fatigue forgotten and his eyes slightly panicked at being unexpectedly confronted with his future father-in-law. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Andrew. Perhaps I should have waited and asked you for Miss Barton's hand, but…but I didn't really think of that.”

“My daughter is her own mistress, and I know better than to argue with her.” Sir Andrew stepped forward and shook hands with a firm grip. “When I arrived, I was told that you'd been severely injured while hunting and were brought here?”

“Yes, sir. Miss Barton summoned a group of her wizard friends and held a healing circle to cure me,” Jack said. “I owe her my life.”

Sir Andrew swung around to stare at Abby. Even for his daughter, he had a gaze that could cut through solid granite. “You led a full healing circle? That was a huge risk, my girl!”

“I know. But…we succeeded.” She was grateful for Jack's presence, which reduced the likelihood of a scolding. “And nothing else would have been enough. I'd watched you often enough that I thought I could manage.”

“And you did.” His mouth quirked up. “Sooner or later you had to take the risk. I only wish I had been here. But I gather there was no time to waste.”

“Your daughter was very brave, sir,” Jack said. “I don't remember much, but my friends were truly amazed.”

“Abigail is one of the most talented healers of her generation. Do you fully understand what that means?”

Jack's gaze didn't waver. “Having been healed of a broken neck, I have a personal appreciation for her abilities.”

“I suppose you do.” Sir Andrew turned toward his daughter. “Being married to an ungifted husband will not bother you?”

“He attended the Stonebridge Academy,” she said quietly.

“Did he now!” The baronet examined Jack with alarming intensity. “So I see,” he said slowly. “You will have an interesting marriage, I think.”

“That is not a comforting statement,” Abby said tartly.

Her father laughed. “It wasn't intended to be. Marriage always requires adjustments. Neither of you are children, so I assume you've thought about what you're getting into. When do you intend to marry?”

“Since you're home now, perhaps tomorrow?” Abby said hesitantly. “Or the next day. A friend of Jack's procured a special license, so there's no need to wait. We could be married right in this room.”

Jack cleared his throat. “I would prefer a church, if that can be arranged. If we're going to move across the valley to my house, perhaps there is a church on the way?”

“Actually, our parish church is more or less in that direction,” Abby said. “I'll make the arrangements for the day after tomorrow.”

Jack nodded, looking gray with fatigue.

“Lord Frayne, you appear tired,” Sir Andrew said. “I shall see you tomorrow. Abby, will you join me?”

It sounded as if she would be unable to avoid that scolding. “Of course, Papa.” She tugged the covers up around Jack and indulged herself in a gentle brush of his hair. “Sleep well, Jack.”

His eyes closed wearily. She guessed that he was asleep before she left the room. Her father was waiting outside the door. “Are you sure, Abby?” he asked quietly.

Her smile was wry as they fell into step along the corridor. “Sure that I'm doing the right thing? No. Sure that I want to marry him? Absolutely. I've never had any interest in marrying anyone else, you know.” She hesitated, then added, “Jack has always caught my eye whenever I've seen him around Melton. It's not reasonable, but at least this way, you won't have me on your hands forever.”

Her father's eyes were warm. “I've always known that someday a man would come and carry you off. I'm glad he took his time about it, since I'll miss you dreadfully when you're gone. Just remember that if the marriage doesn't work out, you always have a home here.” He led her to the morning room, where a tray of food had been placed for the returned traveler.

Frowning, Abby helped herself to a small slice of ham as she took the chair opposite her father's. “Do you think this is going to be a disaster? I've considered the possibility, but no man could hold a wizard who wanted to leave.” She grimaced. “He is more likely to be sorry he wed me than vice versa.”

Her father ate a few bites of ham and cheese before replying. “Not necessarily a disaster. That young man may seem easygoing, but only a small part of him is visible. Though it's suppressed now, he has a great deal of magic.”

“I know. I had to draw on it during the healing circle, or there wouldn't have been enough power to fuse the broken bones of his neck.”

Her father's brows arched. “Using his power might have activated it, you know. He might find that disconcerting.”

“There seemed no other choice. His two friends who brought him here, a Mr. Ransom and the Duke of Ashby, met him at the Stonebridge Academy. They voluntarily joined the circle, or I wouldn't have tried it.” Cleocatra appeared and looked up hopefully, so Abby gave her a shred of ham.

Her father's expressive brows arched even farther. “They participated in the healing? It will be interesting to see how matters play out.”

Abby made a face, knowing her father's broad definition of
interesting.
But he was accepting the idea of marriage calmly, which he wouldn't if he foresaw catastrophe. She fed a sliver of cheese to the cat, who was now sitting up on her haunches and begging. “I haven't even seen Jack's hunting box. We'll move there after the wedding. When he feels strong enough, he will take me to London, then to his family seat in Yorkshire.”

“London? I hope you have time to visit some of our family friends as well as the members of the beau monde that are Lord Frayne's natural circle.” Sir Andrew took a meditative sip of wine. “You may need the company of friends who are comfortable with wizardry.”

In other words, her father expected her to run into trouble. Well, she expected that, too. She lifted Cleo onto her lap and encouraged the cat to purr by stroking the soft black fur. Odd how even the guarantee of trouble didn't make her want to change her mind.