The Marriage Spell (25 page)

The Langdons of Langdale had been peers for centuries, cultivating their lands and doing their duty. The family had supplied its share of soldiers and clergymen, and even a few diplomats. In the thirteenth century, a Langdon had stood with the other barons at Runnymede to face down King John.

God willing, Jack would return to this chamber year after year to debate issues great and small. Just standing here made him feel more opinionated. But it also gave him a desire to find a middle ground. He had seen enough of war. Talk was better.

Winslow, who was one of his sponsors, murmured, “Sobering, isn't it? I took my seat at twenty-one and still haven't recovered.”

Jack nodded, glad his friend understood. He shook the hand of the Lord Chancellor, then was escorted to the benches reserved for viscounts.

When they reached the viscounts' bench, there was more handshaking and congratulating and welcoming him to the House. Jack knew some of his peers personally, and many more by reputation. For today, at least, all was goodwill.

He was sharing a joke with Ashby when he heard a man behind him remark, “They say Frayne has married a rustic wyrdling.”

Another voice said, “He
married
her?” There was a knowing laugh. “Wizard wenches make demmed fine mistresses, but one doesn't marry them.”

Jack felt a blast of pure rage. After drawing several deep breaths to master it, he turned and asked pleasantly, “Did I hear my name mentioned?”

Something in his face caused the two men's expressions to change. “Glad to have you here, Frayne,” one said hastily. “Demmed fine work in the Peninsula.”

“Right, right,” the other man said. “Your army experience will be useful here. Good you've taken your seat.”

Formalities observed, the two peers withdrew. Jack recognized one as a baron called Worley, from East Anglia, he thought. The other was a stranger.

Not that it mattered who they were, for their opinions were common in this place. In the weeks since the accident, Jack had been among people who accepted magic. Though he was still uneasy with his own power and probably always would be, he was much more accepting of wizards in general. He'd half forgotten how many aristocrats believed magic was contemptible, an occupation for inferior people.

Not for the first time, he pondered why the upper classes were so dead set against wizardry. He suspected that it was because magic was a talent that paid no attention to class. No amount of money could buy magical ability. Most of the best wizards were of humble origin.

No wonder aristocrats despised magic. It was a power they couldn't control, so they feared it. And fear was usually at the root of hatred.

Jack wasn't sure when he would make his maiden speech. Certainly not before the next session of Parliament. But when the time came, he would not settle for a safe, noncontroversial topic. He'd make a plea for tolerance and acceptance of wizards on the grounds that they were Britons, too, and no different from anyone else.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?”

He smiled as he remembered the words from
The Merchant of Venice.
Leave it to Shakespeare to say everything important first.

Chapter
XXV

C
eleste's personal maid tied the last ribbon in Abby's hair and carefully trained the narrow lengths of dark blue silk to curl down over her right shoulder. “There, milady. You are perfection.”

Abby studied her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She was not perfection. She would never be as beautiful as Celeste, with features so exquisite they took the breath away.

But for a woman of average appearance, she looked very fine. The shimmering blue silk of her gown made her eyes electric and emphasized the cornflower shade of the embroidered underskirt. Madame Renault's corset shaped her figure into a sensual hourglass, and her shining brown hair glinted with auburn and gold highlights in a sophisticated upswept coiffure.

The maid was not responsible for the fact that Abby wore the expression of a woman about to be hanged. She reminded herself that all she need do was endure the evening without disgracing herself or Jack or Jack's family. She could manage that. “Thank you, Lasalle. You've done a wonderful job. Now go to your mistress.”

The maid inclined her head and withdrew. Because she had to dress two ladies this evening, she'd come to Abby early. Now Abby had entirely too much time to make herself feel even more nervous. Needing distraction, she left her room, crossed the sitting room, and knocked on the door of Jack's bedchamber. “May I come in?”

“Of course, lass,” he called. “I want to see you in all your glory.”

She entered to find Jack wearing his scarlet regimentals. He was a sight to dazzle the hardest female heart. Abby caught her breath, her nerves temporarily forgotten. No wonder the wench in Spain had used an aphrodisiac to capture his interest!

Though Abby had always admired Jack's looks, now he had truly come into his own. He had accepted himself and his station in life, and the result was a powerful authority that riveted the eye. “You look magnificent! I've never seen you in uniform before. You must have left a chain of broken hearts wherever you marched.”

“Hardly. Remember, all officers wore uniforms and many were better looking and more gallant with ladies.” He tweaked the sash so that it lay perfectly. “Morris will miss the uniform. He says it displays my shoulders to advantage, which compensates for my lack of elegance. He was generous enough to say that while it is harder to dress a large man fashionably, at least I am not fat.” Jack grinned. “He's a hard taskmaster. It was easier when we were in Spain and standards were lower.”

“Celeste's maid did her best for me, but I could hear her thinking that she prefers dressing her mistress, who is a perfect showcase for a maid's skills.”

Jack cocked his head to one side. “You can read minds?”

“No, but I could read her feelings. She was doing her best, and grateful that she would soon be dressing
madam.
” Abby smiled wryly. “I'm duty, Celeste is pleasure, from the point of view of Lasalle.”

“Nonsense. You look glorious, lass,” he said warmly.

“So do you.”

He smiled at her. “I was never one to wear my uniform when not on duty, but since I'm almost out of the army, I realized this might be my last chance to show my colors.”

“Will you miss the army?” she asked quietly.

He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Lord, no! Bad food, worse quarters, stupid orders, and the chance of dying nastily in a strange place. I won't miss any of that.”

“But surely there were some good things, too.”

After a long silence, he said, “The people. My friends, both living and dead. My troops. The way war can turn a man who would never be your friend in regular life into something closer than a brother. Such things are beyond price.”

She drew a deep breath before saying, “You don't have to sell your commission, you know. I would not ask that of you.”

Jack hesitated, then shook his head. “Though selling out isn't my choice, it's time to take up my responsibilities.” He smoothed the gold lace that trimmed his scarlet coat. “I'll regret losing the uniform, though. There isn't a man born who doesn't look his best in scarlet regimentals.”

“I suspect the uniforms are designed with that in mind. It must help persuade men to join up.” She regretted the fact that he would prefer to stay in the army if he could, but at least selling out was his decision. An idea struck her. “As a wedding present, I'd like to commission a portrait of you in your uniform. I'm sure that Celeste can give me the name of a painter worthy to the task.”

“I'd have to look at myself forever?” he said warily.

“If you don't like the portrait, I'll hang it in my private boudoir. Assuming I have one. Long after we are gone, it will be a Langdon family treasure.” She smiled mischievously. “If only because the uniform is so splendid.”

“I'll agree to the portrait if you will, too. I want to have a painting of you as you look tonight.”

She blushed with pleasure. “I'd like that, since I'll never look better.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Why are you so anxious? In most matters you are fearless, so what do you fear in London society? This is merely a ball. What's the worst that can happen to you?”

“Burn, witch, burn!” she blurted out. She stopped, shocked at what she had said. “I don't think of such things every day, but knowing that I am going among people hostile to what I am stirs up ancient fears. Even though wizards have been tolerated since the black death, it's still not uncommon to hear of one being killed in some benighted, superstitious corner of the country. Two hundred years ago, women like me could be burned for having a house or a piece of land some man coveted. All he had to do was accuse me of cursing his children or his cattle and I'd have to run for my life. Those fears are in my family's bones, Jack.”

“I can see how that would make a person wary, but there will be no burnings in the Alderton ballroom tonight. The worst that might happen would be the cut direct.” His eyes narrowed. “And anyone who offers that to you will have to deal with me.”

“What happens in the future if it becomes known you have magic and the cuts direct are offered to you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He frowned. “I haven't thought about that. Magic still seems like something other people have. But if I'm ever condemned for having some magical ability—well, bedamned to the bigots!”

Abby wished she had that sort of confidence. Would the day ever come when all men and women could live freely, without the fear of persecution if they were different? She wanted to believe this would happen, but it wouldn't be in her lifetime. “Over the years, the situation has improved. These days, the average person accepts magic and is willing to visit a wizard or healer when needed.”

“Perhaps you will help bring the beau monde into greater acceptance. After all, you are one of them now as well as a wizard.”

She sighed. “That is part of my fear. It's only a matter of time until it becomes known that Lady Frayne works magic. It could even happen tonight, which won't be good for your sister's ball.”

“If it does, hold your head high and know that you are the equal of any man or woman in Britain.” He gave a sudden wicked smile. “But for now, perhaps I can relax you since it's still too early to go down.”

The midnight blue ribbons that fell enticingly from her hair began gliding sensuously over her bare skin. When they curled into the hollow between her breasts, she gasped with shock, startled by the erotic charge of his touching her magically when he was on the far side of the room. “I thought you didn't believe in using your power.”

“I'm willing to make an exception for a good cause,” he said mischievously. “Let's see what more I can move.”

As one end of the ribbon caressed the top of her breasts, the other end rose upward to stroke her mouth with gossamer promise. Instinctively she licked her lips, imagining the taste of one of his kisses.

Her right nipple was squeezed teasingly by the quilted dimity of her corset. Then the left. She clasped her hands to her breasts, aching for his touch. “Jack! If we go to bed and I ruin my dress and hair, Celeste and her maid will never forgive me!”

“Don't worry, your gown is safe.” Brow furrowed with concentration, he tightened the corset on both nipples at once. They hardened, throbbing urgently.

“Are you sure this is wise?” she said unsteadily.

“Probably not.” His intense gaze moved lower on her body.

Under her silk gown, the sheer fabric of her chemise glided provocatively across her thighs. Pleasure shimmered over her skin, stimulating her body in astonishingly intimate places. “I'm not worried about the ball now,” she managed to say. “Instead, I ache for you. Is that better?”

“Much better, for I can soothe that ache.” He stepped close and bent to kiss her throat just above the sapphire necklace inherited from her mother.

Fire shot through her, pooling in her loins. Dizzily she reached for his shoulder to steady herself.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and raised her skirt with his other hand, careful not to crush the silk. She moaned as his hard, knowing hand slid upward between her thighs. As soon as he touched the moist heat between her legs, she began writhing against him as frantic spasms rocked her. She would have fallen if not for his support. He filled her world, his tenderness even more shattering than his passionate skill.

As her body stilled, she found that her forehead rested against his shoulder. Though he supported her, their bodies weren't crushed together. “You spared the gown,” she said with a choke of laughter. “But what about you?” Her hand moved tentatively down his body.

He caught her hand and raised it to his heart. “I will collect my reward later,” he said, his voice a rich rumble. “Are you relaxed about the ball now?”

“So relaxed I can barely stand upright!”

“You'll be grand, lass.” He kissed her hard on her mouth. She felt strength flow from him into her, and with it some of his confidence.

She felt
ready.

T
he mundane business of standing in a receiving line and being introduced to what seemed like half of London eliminated the last of Abby's nervousness. The members of the ton she met were mostly pleasant. And if a fair number of the men studied her figure with frank admiration—well, that wasn't so bad, not with Jack standing protectively beside her.

“Lady Cynthia Devereaux.” The announced name caught Abby's attention. Wasn't that the girl Jack had admired? Abby kept most of her attention on Lady Castlereagh, the foreign minister's wife, who was welcoming Abby to London, but she did look out the corner of her eye at the female who was approaching him.

Lady Cynthia looked…just like Celeste. No, not just like her—their features and expressions were quite different. But both were petite, exquisitely dressed blondes who looked as if they belonged on pedestals. Beside Lady Cynthia was a taller, darker blonde who must be her sister, and who was almost equally attractive.

As Lady Castlereagh inclined her head and moved away, Abby heard Lady Cynthia say to her companion, “I see that Frayne decided to marry a great cow.”

The other young woman tittered maliciously. “She must have a huge dowry. There couldn't be any other reason he'd marry such a creature.”

The words were a stiletto through Abby's heart. She had feared such contempt for her person almost as much as she feared being revealed as a wizard.

Had the comments been meant to be overheard? She hadn't had much experience with malice. In Melton Mowbray, everyone liked her, or they concealed it if they didn't. Welcome to high society.

“Lady Cynthia, it's good to see you. You're in your best looks, I see.” Jack must not have heard the comments, for his smile was friendly. “And Lady Jane, you also dazzle. I believe I saw a notice of your engagement in the newspaper last week?”

“Yes, I'm soon to marry Lord Mortensen.” Lady Jane's smile was very close to a smirk of satisfaction. She had won a major prize in the Marriage Mart and would marry before her sister. Abby wondered if Mortensen knew his intended was mean-spirited. Perhaps he wouldn't care, since she was wellborn and pretty.

More important was whether Jack still cared about Lady Cynthia. There was no sign of special interest in his face or in his aura. His greeting was what he might offer any old friend.

The line moved. While Lady Jane and Jack exchanged a few more words, Lady Cynthia stepped up to Abby.

How should she behave?
Take the high ground.
Spitting in the little minx's face wouldn't help Abby's reputation. She summoned her warmest smile. “Lady Cynthia, I've heard so much about you. I'm so glad you were able to attend tonight.”

“I wouldn't have missed the chance to meet Jack's wife,” Lady Cynthia purred, her use of his given name implying deep intimacy. Though her words and tone were civil, there was malice in her eyes. “I heard that he was injured in the Shires and you nursed him?” Her eyes flicked disdainfully over Abby. Without saying a word, she implied that Abby must have taken advantage of Jack's weakness to snare him.