The Shadows (11 page)

Lucy pouted. “I don’t know. He’d notice it was gone, I think. And you still haven’t told me what
milis
means.”

“Sweet. Like candy. Or ice cream.” He flashed her a teasing look.

“Mmmm. I like ice cream.”

“I know.”

“I’ll bring you some the next time I go. Though I don’t know how I can get it here without it melting.”

“I’ve no need of it,” he said. “You’re sweet enough for me.”

She smiled, looking at him from beneath her lashes. He wondered if she knew how alluring that look was, and decided she probably did. “Come out,” she said. So imperious.

He said, “One moment,” and gave the final brush to the mare. When he put aside the brush and stepped from the stall, Lucy threw herself into his arms so hard he stumbled back.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

He obliged. She was sweet and willing—more willing than she should have been. Bespelled.
Don’t think of it. Do what you must.
He kissed her pouting lower lip, then kissed her more fully, once and then again before she sighed and
drew away, laying her head against his chest. “I can’t bear to be away from you.”

“You weren’t about yesterday,” he said—a question, as subtle as he could make it. His goal wasn’t just to get something of Patrick’s but to discover what he could about him, and so far he hadn’t been that successful. Lucy didn’t like to talk about Patrick. What she’d told him already today was the most she’d said since he’d met her. She claimed her brother and his politics didn’t interest her in the least. All Lucy cared about were the latest fashions—and him, but he’d known that would happen the moment he showed her the lovespot.

“I had to be at a tea.” She made a face again. “With my brother and the girl he intends to marry.”

It was the first Diarmid had heard of it. “He means to marry?”

She nodded. “Grace Knox. He’s loved her for . . . oh, I don’t know. A hundred years at least.”

He raised a brow.

“Well, not a hundred years. But he used to moon about her, and she hardly looked at him. She was too busy with her poetry.”

“Poor Patrick.”

“Yes. But now she suddenly finds him
riveting
. I don’t wish to be uncharitable, but I’m not the only one who’s noticed that she finally sees Patrick just when her family’s fallen on hard times.”

No, not uncharitable at all,
he thought wryly. “I thought your brother had been gone a good while.”

“Three years.”

“Then it’s been three years she can’t have looked at him.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s unfair of me. Grace is perfectly lovely, it’s only . . .”

“What?”

She met his gaze, though her cheeks grew even rosier. “She can have who she wants, while I can’t.”

He felt guilty. Too softhearted, Oscar would say, and that was true. But he couldn’t look at a girl without wanting to protect her in some measure. Lucy was no different, even if it was himself he wanted to protect her from.

It was just a spell. This wasn’t real.
Infiltrate.
He sighed and whispered, “Come now, lass, let’s not think of that, shall we? Tomorrow’s a long time away. What’s to keep us from having a little fun right now?”

He kissed her again. She pressed against him, pulling on his shirt, jerking it from his trousers so she could touch his skin. He let her do it, though he would stop it soon enough. There was no point in hurting her more than he had to. Just so far and no further.

Because as soon as he learned what he needed about her brother, he’d be gone.

SEVEN

Grace

I
woke with a headache almost every morning now, pain colored with the lingering memory of my nightmares: battles and blinding light, violet lightning and fire. It was a relief to wake to the sun streaming through my thin curtains, to hear the familiar sounds of the city instead of war cries and the hoarse, strident caws of ravens.

Mama had given her first lesson to Mrs. Needham’s daughters, and she came back pale and nervous, her mouth tight, the shadows beneath her eyes darker. “Mrs. Needham has requested Mademoiselle Paulette make your debut gown.”

Requested.
More than a suggestion, then. I saw how much my mother hated this. I hated it too. “I’ve never heard of Mademoiselle Paulette.”

“Nor have I,” she told me. “But Mrs. Needham says she’s a talented seamstress. And apparently not too expensive.”

“Why should she care how much it costs? We’re paying her back, aren’t we?”

Mama sighed. “Oh, Grace. How can I tell her it’s not her concern when she’s lending the money?”

“Then I can go to Stewart’s. Or Lord and Taylor,” I said resentfully. “Ready-made is good enough if it’s money she’s concerned about.”

“Go to Mademoiselle Paulette. At least to see what she’s offering. I would go with you, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling well.” Mama put a fluttering hand to her temple. “Perhaps you could go with Lucy. Or Rose.”

This was all so ridiculous. “Mama, there’s no need for a debut. Not with Patrick—”

“Of course there must be a debut. What will people say if you marry Patrick Devlin without one?”

“I don’t care what people say.”

“I won’t have rumors that there are . . . reasons for the rush when you’re a respectable girl.”

I felt myself redden. It was only made worse when I remembered Patrick’s kiss and how much I’d liked it.

She continued, “If Patrick does propose, as his mother and I both believe he will, then we will announce it at your debut. But you
will
have one, Grace. On this I must insist. Go to the dressmaker’s. Now I truly must rest. Where’s Aidan?”

I hadn’t seen my brother since that morning, when he’d stumbled in, unshaven and haggard. It was clear he’d been up all night.
“Where have you been?”
I’d demanded, and he
had waggled his fingers at me and said,
“Nowhere you want to know.”

“Probably sleeping. But I can wake him up if you like.”
Which he deserves,
I thought, hoping Mama would give me the satisfaction. But she shook her head and said nothing—what was there to say anymore?

Rose lived just down the street, and there was no one to send with a message, so I walked to her door to invite her along.

“We’ll take Lucy too,” Rose said with excitement. “She’s moping about her stableboy, so this will give her something else to think about.”

I didn’t really want Lucy there, but I supposed if she was going to be my sister-in-law, I should make her a better friend. Rose sent a message around to the Devlins’, and Lucy was free. The day was pleasant and not as hot as the last few had been, and so we walked to the square. Lucy had said we could take her carriage.

“It gives her another chance to see her stableboy,” I noted.

Rose dimpled. “Exactly. And we’ll want her in a good mood for shopping.”

I hoped to see Patrick, but when we got there his mother said that he was at the shop. “He’ll be so sorry to learn he’s missed you, my dear. But I’m grateful you’re taking Lucy with you this afternoon. She’s been most . . .” Mrs. Devlin spoke as if hoping I would understand, and I did. Better than she knew.

“Hopefully, Rose and I can change her mood.”

“I’ve already ordered the carriage for you, and it should
be here in a few moments.” She glanced up the stairs. “I’m certain Lucy won’t dawdle.”

Rose said, “Perhaps we should go up and hurry her along.”

“Oh, please do. And you girls must stop at the confectioner’s after. Have them put it on my bill.”

“You’re very kind, ma’am,” I said.

She smiled and hurried off; Rose looked up the stairs and sighed. “Well then. Into the lion’s den.”

I shuddered. “Perhaps we should go without her.”

“And give up a visit to the confectioner’s? You must be mad.”

“You know I won’t be able to help at all. She doesn’t like me that much.”

Rose grimaced. “Coward. But if I’m gone more than fifteen minutes, you’d better come rescue me.”

“Fifteen minutes,” I agreed.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and went up to Lucy.

I walked outside to wait on the stoop. There was a small bench that looked out at the cast-iron railing and the raised brick beds with their yew hedges. Promenaders trailed from the park, women with their veiled hats, elegant men seeming not to sweat despite the warmth, a few children with their parents.

I reached into my pocket for the book that Patrick had given me, opening it to “Dark Rosaleen,” soaking up the words because they belonged to him, because somehow I could see him so clearly when I read them.

I was lost in thoughts of Patrick when I heard the thudding creak of carriage wheels, and I looked up as the Devlin carriage came to a stop before the house. I closed the book and stood, going down the steps to tell the driver that Lucy and Rose would be there in a moment. Then the boy who’d brought the carriage jumped down from the seat.

My first thought was that he was stunningly beautiful.

My second was that he was glowing.
Glowing
. Not just limned by the sun, but glowing as if he
were
the sun. The light began at the very center of him and spread, an aurora that pulsed and radiated, and suddenly I was struck with blinding pain, a spike driven hard into my temples, so I gasped and dropped Patrick’s book, and the whole world tilted and spun and I was falling—

Arms caught me, holding me close. “Careful now, lass. Careful. I’ve got you.” A deep voice, a heavy Irish accent in my ear, an arm like an iron bar around my waist. I grabbed his hand, and the world righted; the pain in my head abated as if it had only been waiting for his touch—there and then, just as suddenly as it had come, fading nearly to nothing, to a dull throb. I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I felt shaky but no longer light-headed.

His face was only inches from mine. He looked to be eighteen, or perhaps nineteen, and that he was Lucy’s stableboy there was no doubt. She’d said he was handsome. He was much more than that. Dark, shaggy hair fell into his face, nearly covering his black eyes so I had to resist the urge to push it out of the way. He had a long face and a strong chin with a bit
of a cleft. A wide mouth. Full lips and a blade of a nose—big enough that it should have marred his beauty, though it didn’t in the least. My breath seemed to lodge in my chest. My heart set up this rapid beat. I thought:
Oh, here you are at last.

As if I knew him, as if I’d been waiting for him, though I’d never seen him before in my life. He was not someone you could forget.

He frowned at me, drawing back. “Have we met?” His voice was much deeper than such prettiness should allow.

I heard myself say, “You must be Lucy’s stableboy.”

He replied bluntly, “And who are you?”

Arrogant, a little superior. Startlingly impertinent.

“Grace Knox.”

“You’re Devlin’s lass.”

Devlin’s lass. Patrick.
Now I was aware of the fact that we were standing in front of Patrick’s house, and that this boy hadn’t released me and I hadn’t asked him to. And worse, that I didn’t want him to. He held me so tightly that every inch of me pressed against him. And my skin tingled as if it had stopped being numb after a very long time.

No. Oh no, no. This could ruin everything.

I tried to push away. His arms only tightened. I said, “Please. Please let me go.”

“I’m going to take you inside. Can you walk, or do you need carrying?”

“No.” I shook my head, trying to bring my thoughts into some kind of focus. “You were glowing in the sun, and . . . just let me sit. I’m all right. Truly.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe me, but he let go. He appeared as reluctant to stop touching me as I was for him to do so, and I was startled at how cold I was when he released me. I felt for the brick ledge of the flower bed and sat on its narrow edge, leaning back against the springy yew.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you inside?”

That accent was so strong he must have just come off the boat.
Oh God.
I put my hand to my head. Only the memory of pain remained. “I’m all right,” I said again.

“You’ll pardon me if I say you don’t look it.” He smiled; a long dimple creased one cheek. It made him more attractive than ever. I swallowed hard and then was irritated with myself for being so affected.
Patrick!
I reminded myself.

“I told you I’m fine,” I snapped. “And I don’t know how you can see anything with that hair in your eyes.”

“You’ve a sharp tongue for a girl who was swooning in my arms only moments ago.”

“You’re very arrogant for a stableboy.”

He shrugged. Cocky and confident. Again that grin. “And that was a quick recovery you made, lass. Perhaps the quickest I’ve ever seen.”

“My headache’s gone already. It’s never been so—” I understood then what he’d meant. “You think I swooned just so you would catch me?”

“’Twouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well it wasn’t
this
time. It had nothing to do with you. It was the glow.”

“So you said.”

“You
were
glowing. You were.” I realized the moment I said it how absurd it sounded. And the truth was, now that it was over, I didn’t quite believe it myself. It had been so strange. “I don’t know. I haven’t had anything to eat this morning. Perhaps it was only that.”