The Marriage Spell (18 page)

“No need to get him up. Give me your hand.”

She stood and extended both hands. With her help he managed to haul himself to his feet without discovering any new injuries in the process. Since he was shaking, he immediately sat on the edge of the bed before he could fall again. His right leg ached, but not much considering his fall.

When he rubbed at his throbbing left shoulder, she asked, “Did you hit your shoulder when you fell? It might have dislocated.”

Once, Jack had dislocated his shoulder riding, and the pain had been different from this. He pulled back the neck of his nightshirt and stared in shock at bare, unbroken skin. Though the shoulder was red from his rubbing, there was no sign of damage.

“Your anti-magic spell is gone!” Abby touched his skin with cool fingers. “The scars must have been healed when you released all your suppressed magic.”

“That's possible?” He rubbed at the unblemished skin incredulously. “I suppose this is the proof, but I had no idea that magic could remove scars.”

Abby frowned. “Neither did I. Perhaps the brand had to be removed in order to free your magic. Did your headmaster brand you?”

Jack shook his head, remembering the drunken night when he had received the brand. “I did it to myself. One of my friends smuggled in some brandy, and we got drunk and irrational as only the very young can. In the heat of the moment, I took a friend's iron charm and heated it in the fire till it glowed red hot. Then I rammed it against my shoulder.” He'd used heavy leather gloves and tongs. The serpent symbol had hurt as much going on as it did when it burned off. He hadn't been the only one to brand himself that night, either.

Abby looked aghast. “You really did that to yourself?”

Jack straightened his nightshirt over his now-uninteresting shoulder. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I think that must have been after Colonel Stark cast his spell on me. I wouldn't have hated magic enough to do something so dramatic earlier.”

“You can create your own shields now. You don't need a serpent burned into your body.”

She was right. In a matter of minutes, his whole world had changed. Energy swirled around him, buffeting his inner senses. But the chaos was less than at first, and he presumed that eventually it would settle down.

When he looked at Abby, he saw her familiar figure, but by looking in a different way that he couldn't describe, he saw a transparent glow superimposed over her. The same kind of vision revealed a small swirl of light around her cat, Cleo, who sat with her tail neatly wrapped around her paws by the door to Abby's bedroom. “I feel as though I'm trapped inside a butter churn. I presume that you don't feel that way all the time?”

She shook her head. “You're sparkling like a fireworks display, but that's only because your natural power was suppressed for so long. This will pass. Apart from being churned, how do you feel?”

“Rather well,” he said, surprised. “Very well, in fact, though the first blast when I took the spell down was…uncomfortable.”

He fell silent. Abby quietly waited, saying nothing. Finally, reluctantly, he said, “You were right that my fear of and distaste for magic was part of the suppression spell. I no longer fear what is part of me, but neither do I want it. Must I use this unwelcome gift?”

“Not if you don't want to.” Abby resumed her perch at the foot of the bed. “But at the very least, you should learn to shield yourself. You should also learn how to control your power so you don't accidentally cause trouble with it. I can teach you basic techniques of control if you don't know them. Are you familiar with how to visualize a shield of white light?”

He nodded. “I learned the basic magical techniques before I was sent to Stonebridge. I'll start using them again.” He concentrated on surrounding himself with white light, and was surprised at how easily the shield formed. He thought back to the days when his boyish self had ridden into the dales to learn about his talents. Those had been some of the most exciting times of his childhood.

But even with the suppression spell gone, he didn't want to use magic other than for protection. The idea of becoming a practicing wizard was disturbing. He carefully packed his magical abilities away in white light. He'd leave that sort of thing to Abby.

The local vicar, Mr. Willard, had been Jack's tutor in Latin and Greek and the other subjects he would need to know when he went away to school. During visits to the vicarage, Jack has secretly borrowed Mr. Willard's books on magic. In fact, one such book had taught him shielding and control.

Looking back, he guessed that the vicar had known of Jack's borrowings, but had said nothing. Not only was Mr. Willard a kind man, but he had magic of his own, especially the deep empathy that was so useful to clergymen.

He wondered if Mr. Willard was still vicar of the Langdale parish in Yorkshire. He'd find out soon enough. But for now, he was weary to the bone.

He studied Abby's face and saw an exhaustion equal to his. Intuitively he guessed that she had followed him on his mind-bending journey, waiting to catch him if he'd shattered. His generous wife, a quiet hero to match any he'd met on the battlefield.

He swept the covers back. “Come to bed.” He hesitated, thinking of what a coward he'd been for the last couple of weeks. “Unless you'd prefer your own bed?”

She smiled like a weary Madonna. “I'd like nothing better than to join you.”

As he moved to the other side of the mattress, she peeled off her robe and climbed in next to him. He rolled onto his side and pulled her close, sighing with pleasure at the warmth wherever their bodies touched.

To his surprise, he found that his exhaustion was fading. The effect of Abby's healing presence, he guessed. Though his blood was not yet fully recovered, desire was building. He cupped her breast experimentally, not wanting to wake her if she slept.

She exhaled and pressed closer. “That feels good.”

Encouraged, he caressed her with increasing intimacy. Her throat was convenient, so he breathed softly against the smooth skin. Her small gasp of pleasure encouraged him to kiss his way downward to the provocative intimacy of her breasts. How nice that her nightgown buttoned—and unbuttoned—down the front.

“Oh, my!” Her nails curled into his shoulders when his mouth reached her breasts, and her head arched back. Her innocent, joyful response made him feel stronger, almost strong enough to join with her fully.

Almost, but not quite. Frustrated by his inability to harden, he reminded himself that every day he was getting stronger. His time would come. Now he would concentrate on pleasing his wife. With lips and hands and tongue, he silently thanked her for all she had done for him.

Her legs opened to his touch, and he took pleasure in the pressure of her thigh between his own legs. They began moving against each other as his caresses quickened until she cried out and convulsed against him. He felt an echo of her excitement in his own body, a small climax that mirrored hers.

Her head fell against his shoulder and their bodies stilled, quiet but still entwined. Holding her gave him the greatest peace he'd known since he was a child. Which meant it was time to move forward. “It's time to go to London,” he murmured. “I'm ready to take my seat in Parliament, along with all those other lordly responsibilities.”

Some of her relaxation evaporated. “You're healthy enough so there is no reason to delay. Where will we stay? A hotel, or do you own a house?”

“I do, but Frayne House is leased out. We can stay with my sister, Celeste. She has plenty of space. She looks forward to sponsoring the Reverend Wilson's daughter for the little season.” It would be wonderful to see his sister—it had been too long.

“Is Celeste terribly fashionable?” Abby asked warily.

“Yes, but she's a fine lass nonetheless. You'll get on well together.” He paused, then realized he'd better mention something else. “She's a duchess. But a
nice
duchess.”

Abby began to laugh, her curving form shivering delightfully. “It only needed that! Sleep well, my dear. We'll need all our strength for London.”

She was right. With a sigh of contentment, he kissed her hair. Tonight he'd sleep well—and hadn't he been a damned fool to avoid his wife's delicious self for so long?

Chapter
XVII

A
s the carriage rumbled to a halt in front of a vast Mayfair mansion, Abby steeled herself for whatever might come. Alderton House was extremely ducal. A bastion of aristocrat prejudice against wizardry, she suspected. “Are you going to tell your sister and her husband that I'm a wizard? Or would the news get me thrown out of the house?”

Jack hesitated. “Celeste should know, I think, though not until she's had a chance to become acquainted with you. As for Alderton…he's a good fellow, but rather traditional.”

Abby mentally translated that to “loathes wizards.” She suspected that Ashby might be the only duke in England who wouldn't run screaming from a room that contained a wizard, but he wasn't the typical duke. “Will you tell your sister about your own power?”

“There really isn't much to talk about,” Jack said. “I'm glad to have Stark's blasted spell out of my mind, but that doesn't make me a wizard.”

His answer was typical of his recent behavior. Though Jack's reaction to having magic was no longer the irrational loathing that had been induced by Colonel Stark's spell, he was still vehemently rejecting his newly released power. She hoped he would come to terms with it eventually, but that day wasn't imminent. She sensed that he'd locked his power away as thoroughly as Colonel Stark had done. At least now the choice was his.

A liveried footman opened the carriage door and offered his hand to Abby. “Welcome to Alderton House, Lady Frayne.”

She wasn't surprised that a duke's servant knew how to read the arms painted on the carriage door. No doubt the staff had been briefed that the duchess's brother and his bride were coming for a visit. Jack had written his sister the morning after they decided it was time to come up to London, and mail coaches traveled faster than other vehicles. Especially in midwinter. They were fortunate not to have run into really terrible weather. Instead, the trip had been merely gray, cold, and miserable.

Though most London streets were slushy and patched with ice, the section in front of Alderton house has been swept clean and the steps up to the entrance were impeccably dry. Since Jack was still using a cane, Abby was glad for this level of service.

As he stepped out of the carriage, he gave her an encouraging smile. “You'll enjoy London, I promise.”

As promises went, this one wasn't very convincing. She had visited London twice before, and they had stayed with wizardly friends in a neighborhood far from Mayfair. This stay would be very different.

She used her nervousness as an excuse to take Jack's hand. Not only did that make her feel better, but he could use her as a second cane as he climbed the steps. “I shall try not to disgrace you,” she said under her breath as they ascended.

She wished he would offer her reassurance that he could never be ashamed of her, but he was too honest for that, so he changed the subject. “If I know Celeste, she'll hold a grand ball to introduce you to London society,” he said with a shade too much heartiness. “She loves entertaining.”

This was a new and alarming prospect. Abby thought of being the object of scrutiny by London's elite, and cringed. “Can we refuse?”

Jack grinned. “Perhaps. I'll leave persuasion to you. Since she's my sister, I learned early to take orders meekly.”

“Liar!” The door swung open to reveal a petite blonde. “You were the most stubborn brother imaginable. Oh, Jack, I've missed you!” She darted into his arms and almost knocked him down the steps. Abby and the footman saved Jack from a fall, barely.

“Celeste, you menace!” Jack hugged his sister back enthusiastically. The top of her head barely topped his shoulder. “You seem determined to kill me on your front steps. Shall we go inside where it's safer as well as warmer?”

“Sorry.” His sister stepped back and motioned her guests into the foyer, which towered a full three stories high. Her gaze was caught by his cane and halting walk. “I thought you would have recovered from that hunting accident by now?”

“Mostly I have, but…well, the fall was rather worse than you were told.” Jack drew Abby forward. “My friends didn't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but the bald truth is that I was badly injured and would have died without Abby.”

Celeste turned to study her new sister-in-law, revealing the full force of her beauty. The duchess was exquisite, her blond loveliness so perfect that she wouldn't just inspire poetry, but launch ships. Abby saw little resemblance to Jack, apart from her hazel eyes.

At the moment, those eyes were narrowed. Abby could almost hear the duchess's thoughts as she wondered what kind of scheming wench had trapped her brother into marriage. For a horrible instant, Abby saw herself as the duchess must: too large, not graceful, not elegant, not well dressed. A clumsy country female who had somehow maneuvered an honorable man into marrying her when he was too weak to resist.

“Celeste, meet Abby,” Jack said gently. “Abby, meet Celeste. I hope you will be true sisters.”

Obviously deciding to give this strange creature the benefit of the doubt for Jack's sake, the duchess said, “Welcome, Abby. I have been longing for Jack to take a wife these last five years. I wish you both very happy.” She produced a dazzling social smile. “Since we are sisters, you may call me Celeste.”

What did one say to a duchess who was one's impossibly beautiful new sister-in-law? “Thank you. I look forward to becoming better acquainted.”

A brown-haired gentleman in the most beautifully tailored coat Abby had ever seen entered the foyer. Though undistinguished in features and not above middle height, he had an air of power and authority that instantly identified him as the Duke of Alderton. “Frayne. It's good to see you.”

Jack shook the proffered hand with a grin. “Piers, how do you manage to look so perfect all the time?”

That produced a faint smile. “Credit goes to my valet. I doubt he'd be able to manage in a campaign tent like your Morris does, but there isn't a better valet in Britain.” The duke bowed to Abby. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Frayne.”

His expression gave no hint as to whether he was speaking the truth or being polite. The energy in his aura was as hard to read as his face. Abby's guess was that his words were mere civility. There was a faint air of sadness about the duke. She suspected that he was not deeply interested in meeting his brother-in-law's new wife.

She glanced from the duke to his lady. With his air of power and consequence and her beauty, they made a striking couple. They had probably taken one look at each other across a crowded ballroom and decided they were made for each other.

And yet…as the two couples exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the journey, Abby noticed that the duke and duchess didn't quite look at each other. There were no private glances, nor did they draw together as happy couples often did. Even Abby and Jack, who were newly married and still getting to know each other, shared a smile and stood side by side. All was not well in the duchy of Alderton.

“Piers, you'll be happy to know I intend to take my seat in the House of Lords,” Jack said. “When you have time, I'd like to discuss the procedure.”

“I'm going to be quite busy over the next few days, but I have some time now.” Alderton turned to his wife and Abby, his gaze not touching Celeste's. “Would you ladies forgive us if we retire to my study for some gentlemen's business?”

“Of course,” the duchess purred. “Abby, please join me in my private parlor for tea. I look forward to a sisterly chat.”

Abby thought rather sourly that neither of the men seemed to hear the barb hidden in the duchess's dulcet tones. But she'd have to face Jack's sister sooner or later and she wanted a cup of tea, so she nodded. “Give me a few minutes to refresh myself. Can you send a maid as a guide?”

A glint of humor showed in the duchess's eyes. “I'll take you to your rooms. When you're ready, a maid will be waiting outside your door. I required guidance for weeks after I moved here.”

As Celeste led Abby up the curving staircase, she asked, “Do you have a maid?”

“I did, but at the prospect of her leaving Melton, her sweetheart proposed marriage,” Abby explained. “I need to find another.”

“The maid I'll send for guidance can help you. She often acts as abigail to female guests.” As they walked along the upper corridor, the duchess's brows drew together. “I shall have to use a term other than
abigail
for the lady's maids, I see.” She opened a door. “I shall send Lettie up. If you need anything, just ask her.”

The duchess withdrew gracefully, leaving Abby to explore her new quarters. The bedroom proved to be part of a suite, with another bedroom for Jack, two dressing rooms, and a private sitting room. The furnishings and draperies were lavish and the ceilings so high that most of the heat moved to the top of the room, leaving the rest of the space chilly. She found herself missing the moderate ceilings and well-used but friendly furniture rescued from the attics of Hilltop House.

A servant had already hung her gowns. The sturdy, unfashionable garments did not make an impressive sight. Abby had always been more interested in practicality than style, and she was so busy that she seldom found time to have new clothing made. Jack had said that she must indulge herself with the London modistes, but for now, Abby was going to look like the dowdy provincial she was.

There was no help for it. Perhaps feeling superior would improve the duchess's mood. By the time Abby had washed up, the promised maid had appeared. The efficient young Lettie helped Abby dress her hair and change into a plain, dark blue gown and a warm Italian shawl. Then she guided the visitor to Celeste's private parlor.

Abby would have known the room belonged to the duchess even if the other woman hadn't been present. The dainty, feminine furniture, fabrics, and carpets were the perfect setting for the exquisite Celeste. Her hostess rose from her desk. “I hope your rooms are comfortable?”

“They're magnificent. Jack usually stays with you when he's in London?”

“Yes, which isn't often enough.” The duchess moved to the tea table, where a silver tea service and a plate of pastries awaited. “Frayne House has been leased out for years. My mother and her husband never come to town. How do you like your tea?”

So the dowager Lady Frayne had remarried. Wondering if that was why Jack avoided discussing his childhood home, Abby specified milk for her tea and accepted a delicious French pastry as an accompaniment. They discussed the journey from Leicestershire until the duchess replenished the teacups.

Tiring of trivialities, Abby said, “Is it time for the interrogation, Celeste? To simplify matters, my birth is respectable. My father, Sir Andrew Barton, is a baronet and owner of a neat property near Melton Mowbray, my brother is an officer in Spain, and I have a dowry that is ample by gentry standards, but doubtless would look paltry to a member of the nobility.” She added an irregular lump of sugar to her tea and stirred. “In other words, Jack could have done much better for himself. I freely agree that he deserves better. Nonetheless, married we are. I hope this does not distress you too greatly, since Jack would not like you to be unhappy.”

The duchess's teacup froze in midair a moment before she carefully set it back in its saucer. “You are remarkably direct, Abby. I rather like that, though you might wish to be less forthcoming in society. I presume that you would not lie about the facts you just gave me, since they are so easily checked. So I will ask you the one truly important question, and I trust this answer will also be honest. Do you love my brother?”

That was not what Abby had expected from an elegant social butterfly. She concentrated on stirring her tea rather more than it needed. “Yes. Though I know the world will regard this as an unequal match, I swear I will be a good wife to him.”

“Excellent.” The duchess gave a genuine smile and looked much less intimidating. “My brother is a good catch, and he's far too easygoing to defend himself against scheming debutantes and their even more scheming mothers. If he hadn't been in the army these last years, I shudder to think what kind of female would have trapped him into marriage before he knew what he was about.”

She took a thoughtful sip of tea. “If he had consulted me about a possible wife, I would have told him to look for a down-to-earth woman and a relationship grounded in true affection. He appears to have done just that. Not for nothing is he called Lucky Jack.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to the Langdon family, Abby.”

Abby took the duchess's hand. The other woman's clasp was surprisingly firm for such a delicate creature. “I'm honored, Celeste. But to be honest, I'm surprised at your approval. Jack has responsibilities as a landowner and a member of Parliament. I don't know if I will do him much credit in society.” She glanced down at her plain gown.