Everyone drank, including Marcus. This was his world now. There would be no going back home after this. He was well and truly trapped. Trapped being a viscount. Trapped being a gentleman. Trapped being a man in need of a wife. Trapped without her. Trapped without the woman he loved.
The compass in his pocket fluttered. Marcus tugged the chain to pull it from his pocket as the orchestra set back up and music began to flow around the room again. He glanced down at the dial. It pointed across the room. Marcus followed the direction of the arrow, and it landed on her. It landed on the one woman he thought he’d never see again. He picked it up and shook it beside his ear. Perhaps it was broken. His compass was supposed to point the way home. But it pointed to her. What the devil was going on?
***
The hair on the back of Cecelia Hewitt’s neck stood up, and a shiver crept up her spine. He was there. And he was looking at her; she was certain of it.
Cecelia frantically searched the room, looking for his long, dark hair, which was probably pulled back in a queue to hide the tips of his ears. She reached up to adjust a pin over her ear for the same purpose. Living in the human world was difficult. One couldn’t let the humans see one’s magic, and that included one’s fae ears. Aside from her wings, which she could bring about or make disappear at will, her ears were the only evidence of her heritage. She looked as human as everyone else. But she wasn’t. Not even close. Because she had magic inside her. Magic she couldn’t do away with if she tried.
The mission tonight had gone well, Cecelia thought. She hadn’t wanted to be here at all, but Marcus’s grandmother had bid her attendance, and she couldn’t turn the widow down. She’d come by way of the wind the night before. She’d spent the night at Ramsdale House and was doomed to stay until the next moonful when she could ride the wind back to the land of the fae.
“Thank you, dear,” Marcus’s grandmother said, laying her hand upon Cecelia’s arm. “I know you hadn’t planned to come to this world, but I appreciate that you did. We needed all the magic we could gather.”
“My magic is at your disposal until the next moonful,” Cecelia replied. She didn’t have anything else to do. She might as well stay busy. Marcus’s grandmother patted her arm again and left her standing there.
Another shiver traveled up Cecelia’s spine. He was nearby. She hadn’t seen Marcus in more than six months. Not since that night when he’d told her he was done with her.
Now she hated him. He could go burn in hell and she wouldn’t care. Six months. It had been six months since she’d seen him. And he hadn’t sent one letter. Not a single correspondence. He hadn’t reached out to her at all. And then she’d been asked to come and contribute her magic to his success. She’d done it. But she wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. She was, however, happy to have a brief respite from home.
“Miss Hewitt,” a voice said near her shoulder. She turned and flinched when she saw the familiar dark eyes and dark hair, and the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn’t Marcus, although he looked enough like him that they must certainly be brothers. He bowed in front of her, and she dropped into a quick curtsy. “Please excuse me for the impropriety of this, since we haven’t been properly introduced, but I’m in need of a dance partner.” He picked up the dance card that dangled from her arm and saw all the empty spaces. “May I take my pick?” he asked with a grin.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a hand to her shoulder took her attention. “Sorry, Allen, but the lady is already spoken for,” Marcus said. Marcus took her hand and laid it upon his arm.
“Hello, Marcus,” she croaked out as she pulled her hand back from his arm.
He looked down at her hand, as though confused. “Hello, Miss Hewitt,” he replied. “I hope you have been well.”
Miss Hewitt? She should have called him Mr. Thorne. They weren’t in her world anymore. “Mr. Thorne,” she corrected. Her tongue was unwieldy and suddenly felt two sizes too big for her mouth.
“I see you’ve met my brother,” he said.
So this was Allen, the brother that Marcus had displaced. “We just met, yes.” She forced herself to smile at Marcus’s brother. Perhaps a bit too brightly. But she didn’t care. “We were just about to dance,” she said, reaching for Allen’s arm, arching her brows at him.
“I thought you were spoken for,” Allen whispered to her as he let her tug him onto the dance floor.
“Not by him,” she replied.
He chuckled. “I believe you’re the first person to choose me over him in months,” he said, his face dulled by… pain? Perhaps. She couldn’t be sure. He tilted his head and looked at her, his gaze searching her face. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked quietly as he led her into a waltz.
“One of what?” she replied.
He sighed heavily. “Where are you from, Miss Hewitt?”
“I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”
His eyes narrowed and he heaved a sigh. “Just as I thought. You are one of them.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Only if you know what to look for.”
“And you know what to look for?”
“I was just looking for a pretty lady to dance with.” He jostled her in his arms. “I found one.” He looked down at her as they circled the floor. “And thank you for letting me draw you away from Marcus. Something tells me he’s ready to knock my head off my shoulders for it.” He nodded toward the edge of the dance floor where Marcus stood with his arms folded over his chest.
“Mr. Thorne,” she began.
He interrupted. “Call me Allen, please.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Pretty please?”
“Allen,” she corrected, clearing her throat a little. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Not as lovely as it is to meet you,” he said, his grin making her feel warm all over. “If I may be so bold as to ask, what’s your relationship with my brother?”
“We don’t have one,” she said, blinking back the tears that pricked at the backs of her lashes.
“That bad, is it?” He pulled his chin closer to his chest and looked down at her. “You’re the one he left behind, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet. And yet it raked across her heart like broken glass.
She didn’t reply. Did she need to?
“When will you return home?” he asked.
“The next moonful.”
He quirked a brow. “That long? That gives us almost a month to remind him of how much he loves you.”
Cecelia tripped over her own foot. Allen caught her and drew her closer to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Never you mind, Miss Hewitt. Just that little fumble has him ready to leap to your aid.”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Thorne,” she said. But if Marcus’s scowl deepened any further, he would be marred for life. Did this really affect him? He’d left her, after all.
“I assume you’re not here hunting a husband?” he asked.
“I’m just here to lend my magic to the cause.”
“Yes, the install-Marcus-in-his-place cause. Thank you so much for doing that.”
His last comment was bland enough to make her laugh.
“Your laughter is lovely, Miss Hewitt,” he said, his voice soft. “Marcus doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Thank you,” she said. Was he being kind? Or was he entirely self-serving?
“Would you like to take a ride with me in the park tomorrow?” he asked as the music slowed to a stop.
“I suppose I could,” she said. Is that what they did here?
“I suppose you should, my dear,” he said with a laugh, glancing at Marcus, who still scowled at the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s allow Marcus to be the one displaced for a day or two, shall we?”
“Yes,” she blurted. “My answ
er is yes.”
“There’s a smart lass,” he breathed. Then he bowed to her and returned her to the edge of the room.
Did she just make a deal with the devil? She supposed she would find out.
Two
“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Claire said from beside Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus didn’t take his eyes off Cecelia, except for a moment when he looked down at his sister. Her eyes twinkled with merriment.
“Shut it, Claire,” he growled. Cecelia was beautiful. Tall and willowy, with hair as black as night and eyes as blue as the sky.
Claire looked up at him, her head cocked to the side like an inquisitive puppy. “What’s the matter, Marcus? Is something wrong?”
“Claire,” he warned. God, his sister knew how to get his blood boiling. She always had. Sophie was the sweet sister. Claire was the nuisance. He pitied Lord Phineas, because he would have to put up with her sharp tongue for the rest of his life. Marcus, on the other hand, did not have to.
“They make a lovely couple, don’t you think?” she asked. The corner of her mouth tilted up, but then she composed herself.
Allen held Cecelia much too close to his person for Marcus’s comfort. And she looked up at Allen and smiled. That was his smile, damn it all. It was not meant for another man. “Lovely,” he replied, as soon as he realized she’d asked for his opinion.
“If they decided to marry, I wonder if we could bring her father from the land of the fae to this world so he could give her away.”
The idea of Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt coming to the other world to sanction a marriage between Cecelia and Allen was enough to make his heart leap. But that could never happen. Marcus wouldn’t allow it. Marcus grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing footman and tossed it back in one big swallow. Then he scowled down at Claire. “You are not amusing.”
“I don’t intend to amuse you, Marcus. I intend to help you.” She patted his arm.
“I don’t need any help.” He took another glass from a waiter and drank it quickly.
“If you didn’t need help, then the woman you love wouldn’t be in the arms of another man, you idiot,” she snapped. “You need help. Lots of help.”
“Did you ever stop to think that I might not want your help?”
She shrugged. “All the time. I just don’t care.” She smiled widely at him. What a pain in the arse.
“Mind your own matters, Claire,” he warned.
“Or what?” She made an O with her lips and then pressed a finger to them. “Or you’ll be angry at me? Frankly, Marcus, I don’t give a damn if you’re angry at me. Because you’re about to let the love of your life walk right into the arms of another man. You’re practically shoving her at him.”
“She’s not the love of my life,” he grumbled.
She said one word. “Liar.”
“Stop it, Claire.” He was ready to beg for her to desist at this point. It hurt too damn much to talk about it.
“Did you receive news of a mission today?” she asked.
He patted his coat pocket and nodded. “Do you know what it’s about?”
“The Earl of Mayden has been spotted.”
Marcus’s heart stopped. The Earl of Mayden had nearly killed Claire the year before. “Where?”
“In France. Apparently, when I shoved him into the painting, I put him right in front of Sainte-Chappelle.” She shrugged at what must have been his perplexed look. “What of it? I liked painting the windows.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “He was penniless and more than a bit mad, but he has made do. We’re to take a trip to Paris to ask around and see if anyone knows his whereabouts.”
“You have time for a trip to Paris?” She had twins, for goodness’ sake. And a husband she hated to leave.
“It’ll only take a few hours. We can walk through the painting I shoved him through months ago. Then we can come back the same day.”
Sometimes Marcus forgot that his sister could walk into paintings. If the painting was of a real place, she and anyone who touched her person could walk into the painted area and actually be in the physical location.
“Will it just be the two of us?” he asked.
“Three.” She pointed a finger toward the dance floor.
“Absolutely not,” he barked. He had no desire to be in such close quarters with a woman he couldn’t have.
“I do not assign the missions, Marcus,” she reminded him. “The Trusted Few do.”
“They need to unassign this one.”
“I highly doubt that will happen.” She looked quite pleased with herself. “She’s the only one of us who speaks French. We’ll need her.”
Marcus already needed her, though not for the same reason as Claire.
***
Cecelia closed the door to her chambers and sagged heavily against it. She wasn’t made for this way of life. Her feet protested the fit of the crazy other-world slippers that had pinched her toes all night. And her head positively ached with all the pins her maid had stuck in her hair to hold it in place. She began to tug her gloves from the tips of her fingers and crossed the floor.
A rap at the window jerked her from her misery. She sighed heavily as she opened the window and threw open the shutters. Milly climbed over the sill and landed on her short legs with a thump. “What are you doing here?” Cecelia asked.
Milly put her hands on her tiny hips. “What am I doing here? What am I doing here?” She shook her head and climbed onto the bed. She crossed her short little legs and rested her chin on her palms and gazed at Cecelia. “How was it?” she blurted out.
Cecelia shrugged. “Fine.”
“I have been with your family for centuries,” the garden gnome began.
“I know, I know.” Cecelia held up a hand to stop Milly’s diatribe. She knew it was coming. She mocked Milly’s tiny voice. “I’ve been with your family for centuries. I’ve brought you missions, followed you on disasters, and taken care of you when you needed help.”
Milly sniffed. “The least you could do is tell me what happened.”
Cecelia scoffed. “As though you weren’t watching from the bushes outside the ballroom window.”
“I couldn’t hear anything from out there,” the gnome admitted with a grin.
Her merriment was contagious. A grin tugged at the corners of Cecelia’s lips, too. Then she heaved a sigh. “He acted like I was an old acquaintance.”
Milly had been with her family since long before Cecelia’s birth. Every fae family had a garden gnome who was assigned to the household. They ran errands, helped with missions, and carried missives to and from the land of the fae. So Milly knew all about Cecelia’s relationship with Marcus. Or her former relationship.
“I met Marcus’s brother,” Cecelia finally said. The gnome wasn’t going to go away. Not until she got some details. “He asked me to dance.”
“And what did Marcus think of this?”
“I think he positively hated it,” Cecelia said, finally feeling a buoyancy of spirit. “He hated every second of it. And he hated it even more when Allen asked me to take a drive with him in the park tomorrow.” It was terrible to be happy about making the man jealous. But she had made him jealous. Hadn’t she?
Milly waggled a finger at her. “Don’t cause problems between the two of them. You won’t like what will happen if you do.” She drew in a deep breath. “He obviously cares about his family.”
“What he feels for his family is obligation.”
“And you don’t like that, I suppose?”
“They are not his family. His family is in the land of the fae. His family was supposed to include me.” Her voice cracked on the last comment, and she forced herself to steel her spine. She flopped down on the bed. “What am I going to do, Milly?” she asked. “I’m stuck here all by myself until the next moonful.”
“It’s bette
r than being at home with your father, isn’t it?” Milly asked.
It was. It so was.
Milly reached over and pushed Cecelia’s hair back from her forehead. “You’re going to go for a ride in the park with a handsome man.”
“He is handsome, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Sinfully,” Milly affirmed. “He reminds me very much of Marcus.”
Cecelia growled. “You had to go and ruin it for me, didn’t you?” She threw a pillow at Milly’s head, and the gnome scampered across the bed and over to the window. She threw open the sash and waved at Cecelia. “Have a good time on your ride in the park,” she said. But then she stopped. She pulled a rolled-up piece of parchment from her décolletage. At the disgusted shake of Cecelia’s head, Milly shrugged and said, “I like to keep my hands free.”
“What is this?” Cecelia took the parchment and began to open it.
“A plan to thwart your revenge against Marcus, I believe,” Milly said. But then she sobered. “It’s a mission.”
“But… but…” Claire sputtered. “I’m on holiday.”
Milly shook her forefinger at Cecelia. “You’re in the land of the other world until the moonful. You’re not on holiday.”
Cecelia harrumphed. “What’s the mission?”
The gnome glared at her.
“I know you read it.” Claire tossed the parchment onto the bed. “Tell me what it says.” Milly couldn’t keep herself from reading the missives she carried back and forth.
“You’re to go on a mission tomorrow.” She shook a finger at Claire. “No rides in the park with the younger Thorne.”
“What kind of mission?”
“Do you remember last year when Claire threw some earl into one of her paintings?”
Cecelia vaguely remembered it. The man had been missing ever since. She nodded.