Whisper of Magic (27 page)

He pressed his thumb to that
magic
place between her thighs, and she cried out her need. Her
blood thrummed and pulsed, and when he inserted a broad finger and rubbed, she
surrendered to the rhythm of the night, shuddering with shock and joy.

Her womb convulsed and liquefied, leaving her completely
open and vulnerable. “Now,” she whispered, without any need of using her charm.

Erran slid into her, filling her with the heavy maleness she
craved. Ecstatic, she felt the pressure build again. She raised her hips,
taking him deeper, crying out as his hard thickness thrust past a barrier and
entered her completely.

The joining was so immense, that she may have lost
consciousness for a moment. Her head spun with the high-pitched song wrapping
around them. The phrases of the music mixed with words she’d heard and words
that urgently demanded to be said.

“I vow to love, honor, and take thee in equality,” she heard
and chanted with the rhythm of her body and the night.

And the brilliant man who had saved her family’s future
joined her as thoroughly as it was possible for two people to join.

She couldn’t hold back
anything
.
All her life she’d been reserved, calm, in control of her passion. But tonight—
she was a force of nature.

She cried out her ecstasy as her muscles convulsed and stole
away his control as well as hers. Above her, Erran uttered a guttural growl of
pleasure and thrust high to spill deep inside her, where her womb needed him.
She wept again with the pleasure and felt as if she’d melt into the down of the
mattress.

She shivered as a shadow slid between them and entered her
womb, where his seed still burned. The music of the night exploded in triumph,
followed by the wail of a newborn babe.

Awed by the moment, Celeste wrapped her arms around Erran’s
broad chest, kissed his muscled shoulder, and wouldn’t let him go as he tried
to take his weight off her. “This,” she murmured senselessly. “This is why
we’re here.”

He rolled over, carrying her with him, his strong arm
capturing her waist and holding her close. “This is why they lock witches in
towers,” he said in amusement. “Both male and female, it seems. We enthrall
each other and lose our minds.”

“Minds can only take us so far,” she agreed,
mindlessly
. She was too satiated and
happy to actually think about what he was saying. In the morning, maybe, she’d
have time for regrets.

“Live in the moment,” he said thickly, drifting off to
slumber—as if he’d heard her thoughts.

She wanted him again, but she could wait a few hours.

***

With a beautiful, eager woman in his arms, Erran didn’t
need haunting songs to wake up aroused and ready in the middle of the night. It
had been too long since he’d been with any woman, and Celeste . . .
Celeste was far from any woman. She was made to fit in his arms, to respond to
his caresses, and to blend with him in such harmony that it was as if they were
really and truly one person as they climaxed together.

Magic
, he thought
again, as he cuddled her close and slept as he hadn’t slept in months.

It was still dark when he finally woke and realized the room
had no windows to let in daylight. Celeste stirred in his arms, and he wanted
to see her more clearly. He had to satisfy himself with loosening her silken
braid and watching those gorgeous almond-shaped eyes open to study him back.

“It wasn’t a dream then,” she said in wonderment. “You’re
really here.”

“And willing to linger longer if I did not fear I’ve made
you sore. Shall I call for another bath?” He waited for recriminations,
accusations, and tears.

He had only one honorable choice. He simply feared it was
the wrong one for her—she wanted to return to a distant island that held no
place for him.

His cock grew harder as his eyes adjusted to the dim light
enough to watch her run her hand unselfconsciously down her breasts and belly.

“I’m . . . I’m not sure what to say,” she
whispered, still sounding amazed. “I’ve never . . . I’m not . . .”

He kissed her brow. “I know. But you were miraculous, and I
thank you from the bottom of my stuffy heart. I hope you will not regret the
beauty of this past night when you are living in my cramped rooms without
servants and fancy gowns while I traipse up and down the countryside, doing my
brother’s work.”

Her long lashes flapped in dismay, and then she rolled from
his arms to climb from the bed and stir the coals. “I’ll heat some water.”

Erran bit his tongue. He’d said too much already. He wanted
her to know that he was more than willing to marry her, but he wouldn’t force
the decision—or give her delusions of grandeur in a life with him. Once they
had the will in hand, her family would be wealthy again, and all society would
be open to her. He couldn’t take that away, if it was what she wanted.

Although he had a notion it might kill him if she chose to
marry another. How had he come to this?

Aster had warned them . . . . And that
notion was patently ridiculous.

He would not consider her admonition that his grandfather
had been conceived here. Babies happened. They were the reason so many Ives
were bastards.

Celeste covered her glorious brown beauty in a robe as Erran
rolled out of the bed, naked. He couldn’t resist tipping up her chin and
kissing her. She flushed but didn’t pull away. That was a good sign. She
glanced down at his arousal as he reached for his own robe, and he felt the tug
of desire as if there were a golden chain between them.

“We make magic,” he murmured, brushing another kiss over her
hair. “I have no understanding, but it’s there. I’ll go to my room and wash.
Don’t run too far.”

She held her fingertips over her mouth as he departed.

Live in the moment
,
he told himself as he washed and shaved and dressed. He’d thought himself
unprepared for marriage, but he knew a good woman when he’d found one. Yes,
there were a thousand obstacles between them should he give it any
consideration. Still, he wouldn’t give her up easily. There had to be some way
he could make this work—if she’d have him.

He feared she wouldn’t. She wanted Jamaica and her home. He
couldn’t desert Duncan to his blindness and misery.

The memory of last night kept him strong.

He needed that strength when he escorted Celeste into the
breakfast room filled with chattering women. They all looked up expectantly, as
if angels might have descended from on high. When Celeste merely took a chair
and Erran inspected the buffet, they returned to chattering.

Their babble didn’t ease his anxiety any.

“Did you feel the energy last night?” one asked. “We should
all deliver our babes on a full moon! It was as if magic was in the air. I
think if my husband had been here, I’d be back in nine months, it was that
powerful.”

“Our ceremony did seem more than usually strong,” another
responded placidly. “The spirits were excited. If any of us is carrying a
child, I would think they found their soul last night. I had that happen once.
It’s a very odd feeling but satisfying.”

“I’d never thought of how closely the birthing ceremony
resembles a fertility rite,” another said. “Perhaps we should revisit the old
songs.”

“Not if it means the spirits of our ancestors can find a home
in our children,” a younger protested. “This is the reason we pass on our
gifts.”

Erran clenched his molars at this silliness and filled a
plate for Celeste, who was mechanically sipping tea when he knew she preferred
coffee.

“Is Lady Octavia well?” Celeste asked, changing the subject,
as if sharing Erran’s discomfort.

“She delivered a baby boy! They’re ecstatic. I believe you
brought good fortune with you.”

Erran gave up trying to discern one voice from the other as
they described the babe’s miraculous attributes. It was as useless as listening
to hens cluck since he barely knew one woman from the other. He kept his focus
on Celeste as he set down their plates.

“Once we return to London, I’ll sew some linens for the
babe,” Celeste said, keeping her voice unusually low.

He not only recognized her voice over the others, but heard
her uncertainty and confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so
in tune with anyone, much less a woman.

Not wanting to think about why she was uncertain, he stayed focused
on their goals. “We’ve learned that Miss Rochester’s father sent important
documents here. Is there a place where papers are stored for safekeeping?”

One of the older women nodded knowledgeably. “We have a
storage cellar that keeps paper remarkably dry. Only Malcolms are allowed
entrance, however.”

Erran considered himself an Ives, not a weird Malcolm, but
beside him, Celeste snickered, understanding his dilemma. He needed those
documents.

“His great-grandmother was Ninian Malcolm Ives,” Celeste said,
still looking at her tea and not at all the interested faces around the table.
“And this
is
his family home.”

She was using her persuasive voice. He watched with interest
as everyone listening—which wasn’t all of them by any means—nodded their heads.

“Saint Ninian,” one woman exclaimed in admiration. “We still
grow her herbs here. The village dries and sells them in the winter months. It
keeps families in shoes and clothing. I don’t suppose you inherited any of her
herbal gifts?”

“No, I did not,” Erran said gruffly, ripping off a piece of
cold toast so as not to have to explain more.

“His gifts are more masculine,” Celeste said in a voice
laced with laughter. “But he is very good with law and documents, and that’s
what I need right now. My father was descended from one of Lady Ninian’s
cousins, so I believe I qualify, but Lord Erran will be better at finding what
we need.”

He was glad to hear that she was recovering from her earlier
confusion, even if he was miffed that she found him an object of amusement.

But they’d gained the ladies’ trust, and after breakfast,
they were escorted to the locked cellar room where the family papers were
gathered.

The windowless stone chamber wasn’t exactly a romantic
bedroom, but the instant the door closed, Erran was painfully aware that he was
alone with Celeste again, perhaps for the last time.

“I may have to ask you to leave the room,” he muttered,
holding up the lamp to look for dates on the various tin boxes stacked on
shelves. “Looking for papers is the last thing on my mind.”

“Same here,” she murmured. “This whole tower is enchanted, I
believe. Perhaps there really are spirits here.”

“If so, then you may be carrying the spirit of my
great-grandmother,” he said cynically, finding the box he wanted and pulling it
down.

She didn’t respond. He tried to believe it was because she
didn’t wish to distract him while he searched.

He feared it was otherwise, but he didn’t want to hear any
more absurdity about spirits and ceremonies and . . .
fertility rites
. He didn’t need to be
reminded that one thing led to another. He couldn’t afford a squalling babe and
nannies.

He could very well have sacrificed the last of his
freedom—and so had Celeste. His hands shook with guilt. He was a man consumed
with the need to fight injustice—not a lady’s man. How had he come to be caught
on the horns of two wrongs?

She took the lamp, freeing him to sort through files of
cramped handwriting and dozens of worthless receipts someone had thought
valuable. He put that box back and started on the next.

At her continued silence, Erran halted, and studied her
expression in the pale light. Without her voice to tell him how she felt, he
was lost, but he could acknowledge the one thing that had changed between them.
He knew what was expected of him, even though he feared she might have other
ideas. As she’d said, Jamaica’s customs were different from England. A woman
who would wear trousers and ride astride might not think what they’d done so
very important.

“You do understand that no matter what I find or do not find
here, that I
will
marry you? You do
not need to worry about all the inanity they were spouting upstairs.”

She grew still, and her expression indicated her thoughts
had drifted elsewhere. Then she shook herself, and seemed to return to normal.
“They are right. This is a very odd place.”

That wasn’t precisely an acceptance of his proposal. But it
hadn’t been much of a proposal, either. He understood that she might not have
done what they did last night if it hadn’t been for the weirdness of the tower.
Erran thought it an excuse for doing what they’d wanted to do, but he wouldn’t
argue if she preferred to believe they’d been enchanted.

“Ask Aster about the legends,” he advised, returning to
searching. “History doesn’t have to repeat itself if we learn from the past. I,
for one, do not wish to be supporting a dozen bastards as most of my family has
done.”

“I don’t think you’re in charge of that,” she said pertly.
“Women may have few rights, but they have the right to say no.”

He hid his wince. “True. I shall remember that and keep my
trousers buttoned.”

Angry, he almost passed over the slashing handwriting of
what he assumed was still another letter from some long dead solicitor. But the
name on the address rang a bell, and he pulled it out to peruse it more
carefully.

“By Jove, I think we’ve found it,” he said in awe and
delight.

Clasping the valuable documents to her breast, Celeste
tried not to dance up the stairs. They had the will! They could chase
Lansdowne’s thieves from the plantation, and Nana and Jamar could be happy
again!
Miracles happened.

She wouldn’t have to fret about an enchanted castle and a
tempting man for another night.