The Magic Between Us

  “Goodness,” Marcus breathed.

  Marcus had never seen anyone more beautiful. Cecelia’s dark hair was piled atop her head, with tiny tendrils cascading down her neck. Her ears pointed out through her hair, and she even had her wings displayed. Marcus had almost forgotten how very beautiful they were. She’d been so human in his mind lately that he’d almost forgotten she was fae. That they were fae. That they were part of something so much bigger than themselves.

  A blush crept up her cheeks, and her wings pinkened to the same color as her cheeks. He couldn’t wait to see her naked, to touch her wings, and to feel her around him, her magic mixing with his in a way that only their magic together could.

  “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Mr. Hewitt scolded.

  She smiled and slid her hand into her father’s. “I needed to hear it.” She stood up on tiptoe and kissed her father’s cheek. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

  “I’ve made you cry on your wedding day,” he said, reaching up to wipe her tear. He heaved a huge sigh. “I had more to say to Mr. Thorne,” he said. “But I suppose I can say it with you here.”

  Cecelia nodded, her gaze curious.

  Mr. Hewitt said clearly, “If you ever hurt my daughter, I will hurt you.”

  Marcus’s eyebrows lifted. He choked on his next words. But then he had to remind himself that when he and Cecelia had a daughter, he would feel exactly the same. “If I do, I’ll deserve it.”

  Marcus held his arm out to Cecelia. “Shall we go and get married?” he asked.

  But her father knocked his arm out of the way and threaded Cecelia’s arm through his. “She’s still mine until the vicar pronounces you husband and wife,” he said. But he winked at Cecelia, and she beamed under his attention. She needed this. She needed for her father to make amends.

  Marcus followed behind the two of them, all the way back to where the family was assembled. Ainsley’s hand was in Allen’s, and they would be next to get married, Marcus was certain. Allen had already spoken to Ainsley’s father, and he almost had the man’s blessing.

  Ronald and Milly sat in the back row, and Milly had her hand settled within Ronald’s. Marcus would never get used to that. He’d always assumed Ronald was a solitary individual. But even Ronald deserved someone to love.

  Claire and Lord Phineas, and the Duke of Robinsworth and Sophia, along with the duke’s daughter, Lady Anne, took up the second row. The babies were snug in the nursery, thank goodness.

  Marcus stepped into place in front of the vicar and held his hand out to Cecelia. She nestled her hand in his, her palms damp and warm. He pulled her close to his side and finally felt like he could take a deep breath. He’d almost missed this. He’d almost given up his chance for a happily-ever-after with this woman.

  The vicar’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Cecelia squeezed his hand gently, but he needed no prodding. “I will,” he said. He would. He would. He would again and again and again.

  The vicar asked Cecelia the same question as she looked up at Marcus and said, “I will.”

  Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring Mr. Hewitt had given him the day before. He slipped it onto her fourth finger, and she looked up at him, a question in her eyes. It was obvious the moment she realized it was her mother’s ring, because tears filled her eyes. Marcus swallowed past the lump in his own throat when Cecelia turned to her father and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  He smiled back, wiping a tear from beneath his eye.

  “With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly Goods I thee endow,” Marcus said. “I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  And it was done. Cecelia was his. She would be his forever and a day. Nothing would ever separate them, save death, and Marcus would fight that with his last breath. Cecelia looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. He picked up her ring and kissed the purple moonstone in its platinum band. “Mine,” he said.

  She nodded and stepped up onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

  His father coughed into his fist. “Shall we have some cake?” he asked.

  Mr. Hewitt chuckled, clapped Marcus on the back with a heavy hand, and said, “I think we should.”

  ***

  Marcus was watching her from across the room. She could feel his gaze on her, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up, as did the fine little hairs on her wings. It wasn’t often she wore her wings in public, but His Grace’s house was apparently fae friendly. The butler didn’t even blink when he walked into the room to find it full of faeries, as Sophia, Claire, Ainsley, and her mother all had their wings on display that day. It was a special day, after all. And they all were safe in the walled garden that was the duke’s sanctuary and in the house.

  “Your husband looks like he wants to come over here and steal you away,” Claire murmured, laughing at her.

  “Do you have a painting you can shove us into?” Cecelia asked.

  “I doubt that would work right now,” Claire admitted, “although I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to come and sling you over his shoulder.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so. The last time, it was to get her away from her father. To keep her safe. He would keep her safe always, of that she had no doubts. She never had to worry about him harming her or about him allowing anyone else to do so. Marcus loved her. He’d chased the dream of a family for six months, but he’d realized she was his family and the only one who truly mattered, or so he’d told her. His family would be there later. And now, so would she.

  “I wouldn’t complain if he tossed me over his shoulder,” Cecelia admitted.

  “Eww,” Sophia complained.

  “I want to spend some time alone with him before the celebration.”

  “Are you at all afraid that Mayden is going to show up?” Sophia asked both of them.

  “Terribly afraid,” Claire admitted. She heaved a sigh. “The man is mad. And he needs to be stopped.”

  “Perhaps it was a mistake to invite him to such a gathering,” Sophia mused. “I’m not certain I want him in this house at all.” She shivered uncontrollably, and the hair on Cecelia’s arms stood up.

  “Finn will have men all over the place. If nothing else, we can get a warning to his wife tonight, if he even comes. He may not show his face. If he has an ax to grind, he’ll be here. But he may just want to live a quiet life now that his debts have been paid and he’s settled back into society.” Claire nibbled absently at a nail. “He threatened to throw me from the turrets last year,” she said. “He isn’t aware that I can fly.” She laughed lightly.

  “Not much use tossing one of us off the tower,” Cecelia agreed.

  “Whatever he does, it will be cowardly,” Sophia reminded them.

  “Well, this conversation has turned morbid,” Claire chirped. “Happy wedding day, Cecelia,” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a nearby footman. She handed one to each of the other ladies as well. Claire reached out to squeeze her hand. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” she asked, her gaze searching Cecelia’s.

  “Despite Mayden and the threat he proposes, I couldn’t be happier,” Cecelia said.

  Marcus caught her gaze from across the room. He motioned with his eyes toward the staircase.

  She shook her head, laughing. They couldn’t leave their families just because they wanted to be alone. Could they? Definitely not.

  ***

  Marcus nodded toward the staircase again, and Cecelia smiled and shook her head. His sisters looked over at him,
and Claire shot him a scolding glance. Sophia shook a finger at him. Good God, would he never get the woman alone? He supposed there would be time enough to spend with her, a lifetime in fact, after the celebration.

  He nodded toward the staircase again, and she grinned, shaking her head. Her cheeks pinkened. “No,” she mouthed.

  He walked over to her, his gait slow and unhurried. The part of her bosom that was exposed by her bodice flushed, and Marcus wanted to peel her clothing off to see if she was that flushed everywhere.

  “Oh, dear,” he heard Claire say. “Your wings are blushing, Cecelia.” She laughed. She was right. Cecelia was a delicious shade of pink.

  Marcus put his hand at the small of Cecelia’s back and began to draw tiny circles. She flushed even more. “Worried about tonight?” he asked.

  “Which part of it?” she asked.

  He leaned down and spoke, his lips moving against the shell of her ear. “The part where I get to show you your wedding gift.”

  “Wedding gift?” she asked. “We weren’t supposed to purchase wedding gifts.”

  “We needed a house to move into, didn’t we?” he asked.

  “You bought a house?” she squeaked.

  “Just a small one.” He held his fingers a small space apart. “And I didn’t buy it. I just rented it. I thought you might want to help me pick the house we’ll eventually live in. This one is only temporary.”

  “Tired of living the bachelor lifestyle?” she asked.

  “Ainsley and Allen will live in our old quarters for a time, after their wedding. It’s not big enough for all of us, and I’m a little plumper in the pockets than Allen right now, so I volunteered to move out. I think you’ll like it.” He looked down at her. “And no one will be around to hear you scream when I have my wicked way with you,” he said softly.

  “I do not scream,” she scoffed. But a new blush crept up her cheeks.

  “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Claire made a gagging noise at the back of her throat. “If the two of you are going to carry on like that, I would suggest that you go ahead and leave. Or I’ll have no choice but to cast up my accounts.”

  Marcus looked down at Cecelia. “Do you want to go and see your new home?” he asked.

  “What about all the people?” she whispered.

  “All the people know what you’re going to do,” Sophia whispered back dramatically. She leaned in to hug Cecelia. “Go. Enjoy the afternoon. You’ll be back tonight for the celebration.”

  “No one will mind?” Cecelia asked.

  “No one will care,” Sophia said, waving a breezy hand in the air.

  And with that, Marcus took her hand and they sprinted for the doorway. As she ran beside him laughing, Marcus’s heart jumped into his throat. God, he loved this woman. He couldn’t imagine living a day without her. Ever.

  They reached the waiting carriage and Marcus handed her inside, just before climbing in himself and settling back against the squabs. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was a mix of mouths, and her gentle response nearly undid him. “I have missed you so much,” he breathed.

  “You’ve seen me every day,” she corrected. “What’s to miss?”

  “Now that you’re my wife, I can kiss you anytime I want. I can hold you anytime I want. I can touch you anytime I want.” He touched her shoulder. “When we get home, I want to see you naked with just your wings. I want to touch them.”

  “They’re very sensitive,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be careful,” he breathed back.

  He spent the next ten minutes kissing her, and she was breathless and he was hard as stone by the time they arrived at their new address. It was a small town house in Grosvenor Square. “It’s charming,” Cecelia said.

  “Not as charming as you are,” Marcus said, tweaking her nose. “It’ll do for now.” He looked down at her and swooped her into his arms.

  “What are you doing, Marcus?” she squealed. “Are you mad?”

  He was. “Mad for you, yes,” he laughed as he sprinted for the door. It opened, and Cecelia squealed when she saw Mr. Pritchens standing behind the open door.

  “Mr. Pritchens,” she said, laughing, as Marcus walked by the older man.

  “Mrs. Thorne,” he said, his haughty nose in the air. Marcus stopped.

  “Say that again,” he commanded.

  “Welcome home, Mrs. Thorne,” Pritchens said, grinning at Cecelia.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Pritchens?” Cecelia struggled to get down from Marcus’s arms, and Marcus set her on her feet.

  “We couldn’t have a household without him,” Marcus said. Cecelia wouldn’t have been happy if she didn’t have the old man. “He’ll go back and forth with us from one world to the other.” She looked up at Marcus, her eyes bright and shiny. “If that’s all right with you,” he added.

  She grinned and smacked his arm. “Of course, it’s all right with me,” she said. She turned and kissed Marcus quickly. “You make me so happy,” she said.

  Marcus looked at the older servant. “You, Mr. Pritchens, may take the rest of the day off, if you’ll have Cook leave some provisions for us in the kitchen.”

  “They’re already prepared, Mr. Thorne,” he said. “You’ll find everything you’ll need when you’re ready for it.”

  “There’s a good man,” Marcus said, and he took Cecelia’s hand, showing her the house.

  “It’s lovely, Marcus,” she breathed.

  It was actually a little too big, but it was all he could find on such short notice. “I thought we might have your father come and stay with us when he’s in Town. There’s plenty of room.”

  “He’s not coming today, is he?” Cecelia whispered dramatically. Her finger trailed down the front of his coat.

  “No one had better show up today,” Marcus warned, and then he took Cecelia’s hand and tugged her toward the staircase. He raced her to the top, and laughing, they stumbled into the master’s chambers.

  In the center of the room was a large four-poster bed. An adjoining door led to a dressing room, and a bath was on the other side of that. “It certainly is large,” Cecelia breathed.

  Marcus had Mr. Pritchens take care of the furnishings, and he’d done an amazing job.

  Cecelia’s nose wrinkled when she heard splashing from the tub in the other room. “What’s that?”

  He turned Cecelia toward him. “I had Mr. Pritchens send footmen up with a bath for you.”

  ***

  She nodded. She was slightly overwhelmed. “You make me so happy, Marcus,” she said.

  He took her hand and laid it flat upon his chest. “You make me complete,” he said.

  Tears pricked at the backs of her lashes, and she blinked quickly to blink them away.

  “The house. And Mr. Pritchens. And chambers for my father.”

  “On a lower level,” he whispered. “Not up here with us.”

  He spun her so that her back faced him, and he began to unfasten her dress. As he worked at the fastenings, he kissed his way down the center of her back. “If this thing wasn’t my mother’s, I’d have to rip it off you,” he growled. He nibbled on a tiny freckle on her shoulder. How many of those did she have? He would have to count them after he got her naked. He would count them again and again.

  He shoved her gown and her dress down over her hips and tapped her leg, saying, “Step,” so she would move out of it. He tossed the dress onto a nearby chair.

  Cecelia crossed her arms in front of her chest. He pulled the ribbon of her drawers and repeated the motion, the silk sliding along the inside of her thighs like fire, followed by his hand, which slipped up her thigh. She opened her thighs to give him access, but he just chuckled and said, “Not yet,” as he untied her garters and rolled her stockings down her legs.

  “I’m naked and you’re
not,” she protested.

  “I can remedy that quickly,” he said, as he began to tear at his own clothing. He was breathless and hard when he stopped, his manhood arching up toward his stomach. Or toward her—she wasn’t certain which. “Would you like to avail yourself of that bath?” he asked.

  “Only if you’ll join me,” she taunted.

  His brow arched. “A bath? With you? Nothing would please me more.” He took her hand and walked with her to the bathing room, his footsteps quiet beside hers. She wasn’t even feeling self-conscious. “How should we accomplish this?” he asked.

  The claw-foot tub was huge, not one of the simple bathing tubs some houses had. It was large enough for two. “How should I know?” she asked. “I’ve never bathed with anyone before.”

  “I saw you, you know,” he said as he settled into the tub, his back to the wall. He opened his thighs and motioned for her to get between them. “Come on,” he encouraged.

  “You saw me do what?” she asked.

  “On the night I returned to the land of the fae, I came directly to see you. You were in the bath and you were crying.”

  She nodded. “I spent a lot of time crying back then.”

  She laid her head back on his shoulder, and he wrapped around her. The water lapped at her breasts, and his manhood pressed hard and insistent against her bottom. Marcus reached over and picked up a bar of soap from a nearby table. “I have a feeling I’m going to smell like roses by the end of the bath.”

  She flipped over so that she was on her knees between his, and she took the soap from him. “You’re going to smell like me,” she warned fiercely.

  “I should have come to you immediately and asked why you were crying,” he said as she began to soap his chest. He stopped her hand with his, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Marcus. But why didn’t you come to me when you saw me crying? Why did you leave? I missed you so much.”

  “I didn’t know why you were crying,” he admitted. “And you were naked. Totally naked.” He reached out and caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it gently. “Much like now. Minus the crying.”