The Marriage Spell (23 page)

Her brows drew together. “There is an element of magic in the surrender of virginity. Perhaps doing so produced enough energy to bring both of us to the best possible health?”

“That sounds reasonable, and if it's not the right explanation, no matter. What matters is how we feel.” He caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Let's get dressed and take a walk. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to walk normally again, so I want to celebrate by walking.”

“It's cold out there!”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Dress warmly.”

With a laugh, she surrendered and slid out of the bed, making a beeline for the clothespress. She yanked her heaviest flannel shift over her head, then reached for thick knit stockings. “My warm bed is looking very good right now!”

“It will look even better later.” Jack retreated to his own bedroom to dress, returning in time to fasten the ties on her gown. She wrapped a soft paisley scarf around her throat, liking the silliness of their going out in the middle of a winter night.

Equally silly and enjoyable was helping each other dress, laughing at their clumsy fingers and stolen kisses. She looped another warm scarf around Jack's neck, thinking it would have been easy to ring the servants' hall for help, but this was more fun. At the moment, anything they did together was fun.

As Jack placed her warmest cloak over her shoulders, she said, “Maybe you ought to take your cane, just in case the cold makes your leg ache again.”

He laughed. “You do worry, don't you? Very well, I'll take the cane even though I don't need it.”

He buttoned his greatcoat and donned a hat, then offered Abby his arm. She took it with ridiculously possessive pleasure, feeling truly married.

A footman sat by the front door, waiting for the duke and duchess to return home from their activities. “We won't be out long, Williams,” Jack said.

The footman bowed them out, only the faintest twitch of his cheek showing surprise that the duchess's brother and his bride wanted to go for a walk on a cold winter's night.

“It's snowing!” Abby said with delight as they walked down the steps.

“So it is.” Jack gave her a slanting smile. “A magical end for a magical night.”

She tightened her grip on his arm. Yes, what they had shared was magic, but it was of a profoundly human kind. And thank God for it.

Chapter
XXIII

L
ess than an inch of snow had fallen, just enough to glaze the streets to pristine white. Reflected light made it easy to see the way, though Jack found himself glad that he had the cane to balance against occasional slipperiness. A few windows glowed here and there, but they had the night to themselves. That would change later, when carriages began returning the Quality to their homes. Until then, their footprints marked the only trail in the soft whiteness.

He couldn't ever remember being happier.

Nice that Abby wasn't a chatterer. Like him, she was content to enjoy the silence. Crystalline flakes caught in her lashes like stars and frosted the warm hat she had donned. Though the air was icy cold, their warm garments kept them cozy. It was easy to forget she was a wizard. What mattered was that she was his wife.

He linked his fingers through hers and buried their joined hands in the left pocket of his heavy greatcoat. There was a delicious intimacy in their closeness that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced with a woman. He fancied that he was learning a thing or two about what
romantic
meant.

“I calculate that with another half hour or so of recovery time, I'll be ready to make love to you again, so let's be back at Alderton House by then,” he murmured.

She gave him a deliciously wicked glance from the corner of her eye. “It's merely your opinion that you'll be ready. We shall see.”

“If my leg is healed, so is my blood,” he said positively. “In fact…”

He stopped and turned her toward him for another kiss, this one deep and leisurely. They were alone in the heart of London, and he wanted to kiss his wife. She filled his arms, wonderfully satisfying.

She gave a sigh of pleasure when their lips separated, her breath a pale plume in the night. “If we walk around this block and head back, will that get us to Alderton House at the right time? Or should we just head back now?”

He chuckled. “Insatiable wench. We'll walk around the block and then return.”

They ambled along two sides of the block and had turned to head back when he noticed a stealthy movement from the corner of his right eye. Instantly alert, he glanced to his right for a closer look.

Someone was behind him.
Before he could react to the knowledge, a man slammed into his back, the solid weight accompanied by rank smells.

Jack staggered, almost falling. Abby's grip and the cane kept him on his feet. Releasing her hand, he stepped in front of her and spun to confront their assailants.

Two—no, three—thieves had appeared from a narrow alley and gathered in a half circle just beyond arm's reach from Jack. “Give us yer money and jewelry and you might walk away,” one of the shadowy figures snarled, raising his hand to reveal the glittering blade of a knife.

The one in the center said, “'Ware, he's a big brute! You better—”

Lightning quick, Jack swung his cane up and rammed the tip into the man's throat before the sentence could be completed. His target made a horrid gurgling sound and staggered backward. Blood spurted from his throat as he collapsed into the snow.

In one swift movement, Jack swung the cane around and knocked the knife from the grip of the other man. It spun to the ground, catching the light as it fell. Before the knife hit the cobblestones, Jack slammed the cane into the assailant behind him. A howl of agony proved that he'd hit his target.

“Bastard!” The other man scrabbled in the snow to retrieve the knife, then moved forward, watching the cane warily. Since the thief's gaze was on the cane, a roundhouse punch from Jack's left hand was enough to smash his nose with an audible crunch. As blood splattered, the thief tried to retreat, but he slipped on the snow and fell clumsily. His head hit the ground with an audible thump and he lay unmoving.

The man struck in the throat also lay still, his blood a black stain in the snow. The one who'd tackled Jack from behind was wrapped around himself, moaning horribly as his crossed hands protected his injured crotch.

Jack drew a deep breath, shaky now that the need for action was over. “Are you all right, Abby?”

“I…I'm fine.” She stood rigid, her hands clenched. “They never touched me.”

“Fortunate that you suggested I bring my cane. It made a good weapon.” He watched his wife narrowly. “You're sure you're all right?”

“Sh-shaken.” She collected herself with visible effort. “I hadn't really thought about your military life. You are very good at fighting.”

He shrugged. “The military life doesn't involve much actual combat. There are a lot more long days slapping flies and trying to keep the men out of trouble. But when one needs to fight, there are no second chances, so it needs to be done well.”

“Did you know where that man was behind you, or was it a lucky blow?”

He thought about it. “I believe I did know. I struck at him without thinking, but even so, I knew I would hit where he was most vulnerable.”

“Do you always know the location of your enemies when you fight? If so, it might be a magical ability. A valuable one.”

Startled, he thought back. It was disquieting to think he might have been using magic for years. “You may be right,” he said reluctantly. “Usually the action is so fast I don't have time to think, but if I do know who is around me, that had to have helped me survive. But that's really not magic. More like soldierly instinct.”

“Call it what you will, but seeing what's behind you is definitely a gift.”

He shrugged uneasily. “Everyone has a little magic. This kind is common among soldiers who survive for any length of time.” Wanting to change the subject, he studied the fallen men, their bodies dark against the snow. “Now to decide what to do with these villains. I think there's a watch station nearby.”

“A watchman from there is patrolling about a block away and heading in this direction. I imagine Mayfair gets better protection than most neighborhoods.” Her voice caught as she gestured at the man he'd struck in the throat. “No need to hurry for this one. He's dead.” Her voice was flat.

Jack was silent a moment. “I didn't mean to kill him, but I can't say I have any regrets, either.” He thought about the rage and violence he'd felt from the assailants. “They would have robbed us, maybe even killed us on a whim.”

“And possibly raped me first. I know.” Abby rubbed at her temples. “They are not good men. But when someone dies, especially so abruptly, I…feel it.”

“I'm sorry.” Jack wondered how death felt to someone like Abby. A painful emptiness? He had noticed nothing, but he was no healer. “I wonder if this attack was pure bad luck, or if the danger spells in my mind helped draw these men to us.”

“You could be right,” she said with a frown. “Those spells might have drawn these villains into your vicinity. If we hadn't walked out tonight, they might have moved on to attack others now that the spells have been removed. I certainly hope this doesn't happen again!”

The man whose nose had been broken made a bubbling sound and pushed his hands against the ground in a feeble attempt to sit up. As Jack stepped closer, Abby said sharply, “Don't hit him again. I think I can keep them asleep until the watch arrives.”

“That would be good.” Though Jack would do what was necessary, he wasn't keen on striking men who were down.

She knelt in the snow and placed one hand on the moaning man's temple. After a moment, he slumped to the ground again. She turned to the other survivor and did the same while Jack thought about what had happened. He'd killed before, but never had he found it so sobering. Just as well that he was leaving the army, since a man couldn't think too much about the results of what he was doing when fighting for his life.

He was not the man he had been. This was another disturbing thought. But it didn't mean he was a wizard.

The watchman appeared, as Abby had predicted. Jack waved the fellow over. “I'm Lord Frayne and this is Lady Frayne. These men attacked us.”

The watchman was broad and elderly, and he had the air of competence that suggested he was a retired sergeant. He made a quick examination of the thieves. “There been other attacks 'round here lately. Looks like you put a stop to that.” He rose creakily and gave Jack a curious glance. “You took all three down?”

“Ten years as an army officer,” Jack said tersely. “May I take my wife home? We're staying at Alderton House. I'm brother to the duchess, and you can find me there if you need a statement about this incident.”

“Go along and take care of your lady, my lord. Someone will call at Alderton House tomorrow for that statement. You've done the city a service tonight.” The watchman tipped his hat, then pulled manacles from his pocket.

Jack took Abby's hand and they returned to his sister's house. Their earlier playfulness was gone. As they climbed the steps of Alderton House, Abby asked, “What will happen to the two men who survived?”

“Probably transportation to New South Wales.”

“It's said the colony is warm and sunny, so they may end up grateful.” Her attempt at lightness was undermined by a shiver.

He put his arm around her shoulders, not caring what the footman who let them in might think. “It's been a full day, lass.”

And a day that had ended on a sobering note. They returned to their rooms, changed into nightclothes, and climbed into bed with few words. He drew Abby into his arms and felt better when she settled down with a contented sigh. There was comfort in closeness. He suspected that there might be even more comfort in making love, but he didn't need to be a wizard to know that his bride was not in the mood for passion.

Despite having Abby in his arms, his sleep was troubled.
He soared over the blighted hills and valley of Langdale, his heart anguished by the sorrow below. His mate flew with him, above and a little behind, guarding his journey.

Abby had said, “You always know the location of your enemies.”

His enemy was below, in Langdale Hall. Sir Alfred Scranton wasn't just an unpleasant family connection, but truly Jack's enemy. The battle for Langdale's soul would not end till one of them was dead.

Sweating, Jack jarred into wakefulness. He stared into the darkness, his arm tightening around Abby. Was his dream a prophecy, or an expression of his worst fears? Would it be possible to separate Scranton from his mother without breaking her heart? She adored the man, her letters were mostly about him. Yet Scranton must go.

The simplest resolution of the problem would be to evict Scranton from Langdale Hall, forbidding him to ever return. Jack's mother would presumably accompany her husband and be bitter about her son's treatment of Scranton.

Jack knew in his bones that the solution wouldn't be so simple. Too many dark influences were involved. Yet when the crisis came, he would have no choice. He was an army officer and a lord, and both of those roles required him to protect those who were his responsibility—even at the cost of his mother's happiness.

He had a swift mental image of his mother laughing as she took his hand and they ran into the house to escape a rain shower. He had been perhaps five or six years old. She had wrapped him in a shawl, then had a rainy day tea party with him and Celeste, who had been very proud to be trusted with a delicate porcelain teacup. That day had been his mother at her best.

If he destroyed her husband, she would hate him forever.

His mouth twisted. Given how estranged they had become, that would not be very different from the present situation, but at least now she didn't hate him.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep, one hand stroking Abby's shoulder. He would do what must be done—and may God help them all.

A
bby awoke slowly, so comfortable in her husband's embrace that she was reluctant to move. Too much had happened the previous day. Her cleansing Jack's mind of old spells, his loss of temper with her. The consummation of their marriage.

The first time she'd seen her husband kill a man.

Yet when she opened her eyes, he was sleeping peacefully, his face looking the same as always. Strong, good-humored, tolerant. It was her perception that had changed. She was grateful to have a husband so capable of defending her, but she felt as if one of her tabbies had turned into a tiger.

No matter. He was a soldier as well as her husband, and soldiers killed when they had to. She trusted him to do what was appropriate.

She realized that he was now watching her through lazily slit eyes. “Good morning,” he murmured. “I wonder what today will bring.”

She stretched like a cat, managing to move closer to Jack. “Celeste will give me lessons on surviving the ton, complete with diagrams on who hates whom and who the worst gossips are.” She contemplated the prospect without pleasure. “What about you?”