The Magic Between Us

  Allen pulled a watch fob from his pocket and glanced down at it. “We’ve been waiting for five minutes,” he corrected.

  “Well, it feels like hours,” Ainsley grumbled. “My feet hurt.”

  “Mine do, too,” Cecelia admitted, settling down beside Ainsley.

  Marcus leaned close to Cecelia’s ear so that only she could hear. “If we were married, I’d feel led to rub your aching feet for you,” he murmured. His eyes looked down the bodice of her dress. “Among other places.”

  Cecelia was certain she’d flushed scarlet, if the look on Ainsley’s face was any indication. Ainsley picked up a hand and started to fan Cecelia’s face. “Goodness.” Ainsley laughed. “What did he say to you?” she asked.

  “Nothing that bears repeating,” Cecelia replied. He’d been doing this all afternoon as they scoured the streets of Paris for the elusive Earl of Mayden, who was nowhere to be found. Not a single person had recognized the miniature.

  Marcus had started out by brushing her elbow, and then he’d drawn her to his side and told everyone they met who spoke English that he and his wife were searching for her long-lost cousin. He’d slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, and had kissed her soundly on the cheek. And all it had served to do was make Cecelia angry. How dare he? She picked up a rock from the ground beside her foot and threw it at him. He deflected it with a laugh.

  “Perhaps another time,” he suggested with a cheeky grin. Cecelia almost smiled along with him, but then she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to find him charming. But he was charming. No matter how much she dearly didn’t want him to be.

  They’d met up at the bench across from Sainte-Chappelle at dusk, just as Claire had instructed, but Claire and Finn were nowhere to be found. “Do you think they’re all right?” Ainsley asked.

  “As long as she has Finn with her, you needn’t worry,” Marcus said. Finn had laid down his life for Claire’s the year before and would do so again. And again. And again. “Maybe they stumbled upon some important information about Mayden?”

  Ainsley’s brows drew together as she asked, “What if this isn’t the place where Claire sent him? He could be anywhere by now.”

  “He could,” Marcus admitted. “But I’ve seen with my own eyes the damage Mayden could do. He’s hurt enough people, countless people. We’ll have to keep searching if he’s not here.”

  The sun was setting, and Cecelia was hungry. Her stomach protested loudly, and she laid a land over her belly to stifle the noise.

  Marcus chuckled. “It’s getting late. We need to get you fed.”

  “I’ll survive,” Cecelia replied. It was too late for him to try to take care of her now.

  “I won’t,” Ainsley complained, which made Allen smile. “I’m going to swoon and fall into the dirt due to excessive hunger.” She blinked her dark lashes at Allen. “Will you catch me if I do, Allen?” she asked.

  “As a gentleman, I would be obligated to catch you, Ainsley,” he said with a wink.

  “Obligated?” Ainsley complained. “That’s the only reason you’d do it?”

  Allen’s cheeks colored. The man had blushed more today than he probably ever had in his life. “That’s not the only reason,” he admitted quietly. And Ainsley suddenly grew as somber and quiet as he was. What was that all about? Ainsley and Allen? Already?

  Marcus grunted. “I’m a little hungry myself.”

  Allen said blandly, “I doubt there’s a soul here who would try to catch you if you swooned, Marcus. So buck up.”

  “I would let him fall,” Ainsley said with a grin.

  “So would I,” Allen admitted.

  Cecelia raised a hand slowly, as though being called on by a tutor. “I would feel inclined to do the same.” She shouldn’t have said that, but she couldn’t help it.

  Marcus feigned pulling a knife from his chest. “Remind me not to call on any of you if I’m ever in trouble.”

  Allen grumbled. “I suppose I’m honor bound to catch you if you swoon.” He looked put out by the thought. “Mother would be cross with me if I didn’t.”

  “Father might take away your allowance.”

  “I daresay he would applaud me if I told him the circumstances.” Allen laughed.

  Marcus shrugged. “That may be true.”

  “Do you two always bicker like this?” Ainsley asked. “With such good natures?” She looked from one to the other. Cecelia had wondered the same.

  “Things were tense when we first met,” Allen admitted. “But our circumstances can’t be changed. So, I’ve learned to tolerate him.” He waited a moment and grinned.

  Marcus scoffed. “He barely tolerated me in the beginning.” He twisted the signet ring that he wore on his finger. The ring was a symbol of him becoming a viscount, if Cecelia was correct. “Father gave this ring to me as a gesture of goodwill when I agreed to succeed him,” he said quietly. “But I’d rather have had a puppy.” He grinned. Goodness he was handsome when he smiled.

  “Oh, a puppy,” Ainsley crooned. “I wanted a puppy once.”

  Marcus’s brows drew together. “What on earth would you do with a dog?”

  Ainsley heaved a sigh and then went on to explain to Allen. “We travel too often to keep pets. They become a burden.”

  “You don’t have staff to care for them when you’re gone?” Allen asked.

  “Yes, but then I’d miss the dog.” Ainsley rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe leaving things you love behind to go from world to world is good for anyone,” she said quietly. She looked at Marcus and then down at the ground where the toe of her slipper drew a circle in the dirt.

  Silence fell on the foursome like a heavy cloak. Allen cleared his throat to throw it off. “It’s well past dusk,” he informed them. “I hope Claire and Lord Phineas are well.”

  Just then, Claire and his lordship walked toward them down the lane.

  “Where have you been?” Marcus barked. His mood was sufficiently sour after Ainsley’s comment. Ainsley was right, but she didn’t have to say it the way she did.

  “We’ve been hunting for Mayden. We found a woman who thought she recognized the miniature, but nothing came of it.” Claire shrugged. “We should get back. I’m hungry. And I want to see my children.”

  Finn retrieved the painting from the bushes, hung it on the wall, motioned toward the painting, and scooped her up in his arms to put her through. She reached back to pull him in. Ainsley followed, assisted by Allen. And when Cecelia would have climbed over the edge of the painting, Marcus scooped her up and jostled her in his arms until she looked up at him.

  “Stop working so hard to hate me,” he said quietly. Then he stuffed her into the painting and followed her into his mother’s parlor.

  ***

  Cecelia was driving him mad. He’d been with her the whole day. He’d pretended to be her husband, and she’d still treated him like an interloper. Perhaps that was because she loved another. Perhaps it was because she was still sore at him because he’d left her. But he wouldn’t leave her again. Not for anything. She might as well get used to having him in her life, because she was stuck with him.

  But there was still the question of the man back home. He had to find out who it was so he could take measures. He also needed to approach her father so he could ask for her hand. The man would probably say no, after the way Marcus had broken her heart. And he would have every right to. But she belonged with him, and Marcus wouldn’t take no for an answer. He could have her. He could have the title. He could have the land of the fae. He could have his family and his missions. He could. If she’d just accept him and what he had to offer her.

  What did he have to offer her?

  His father broke into his reverie. “Woolgathering?” Lord Ramsdale asked quietly, as he sat beside his son at dinner. Dinner had been waiting when the six of them returned.
br />   “I suppose,” Marcus admitted.

  “Want to talk about it?” his father asked.

  “Perhaps another time.” He stabbed his fish with his fork and took a bite of his potatoes.

  “I’m here to talk anytime you need me,” his father offered.

  Marcus knew that. He did. But what Marcus wished for more than anything was to have his grandfather to talk to. His grandfather had taught him everything he’d known, and Marcus had been destined to follow in his footsteps, all the way to his place with the Trusted Few.

  “I miss Grandfather,” Marcus admitted.

  He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He didn’t intend to make his father feel inadequate. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to say. But his father held up a hand.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. “He raised you. He helped to form you into the man you are now. Things didn’t get fouled up for you until I came along.”

  “Fouled up.” Marcus snorted. “That’s a good way to describe it.” He inhaled deeply. “She says she’s obligated to another,” he told his father quietly, glancing at Cecelia where she was seated at the other end of the table. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes and then looked away quickly when he saw her watching him.

  His father’s brows drew together. “Do you know this person?”

  “She hasn’t said who he is. But she’s promised to stay in the land of the fae for him.” He took a sip of his wine.

  “Hmm,” his father said quietly. “Do you think she loves another?”

  Marcus shook his head. He couldn’t be certain. When he’d kissed her, she didn’t act as though she loved another. But then again, she’d always been the one for him. The only one. So, he had no comparison to make. “I think she loves me. But she’s angry.”

  “At least you’re aware of it.” His father chuckled. “Most men are without a clue. We walk around as if we’re on top of the world, while the ladies want to remove our stones with a dull knife.”

  Marcus choked on a piece of bread. “Beg your pardon?” he gasped out.

  “Don’t ever assume your stones are safe, son,” his father said as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Not when a woman has been scorned.”

  ***

  Ainsley leaned toward Cecelia and whispered, “What happened between the two of you today? I’ve been dying to ask you.”

  “Nothing,” Cecelia lied. It may as well have been nothing. Because nothing was what could come of it. But heat crept up her cheeks as she remembered that kiss.

  “You don’t flush when ‘nothing’ has happened, Cece,” Ainsley scolded. “Tell me. You know you want to.”

  “I told him,” Cecelia muttered.

  “Told him what?” Ainsley’s brow puckered.

  “Told him that I can’t accept him. Because I’m not free to do so.”

  “Since when?” Ainsley’s silverware clattered to the tabletop.

  “Since my mother died and my father fell apart,” Cecelia hissed back.

  “So you lied.”

  “I didn’t lie. Not really. I told him I’m not free.”

  “But you are.”

  “My father needs me right now.”

  “You can’t give up your life for your father,” Ainsley groaned. “I can’t believe you let Marcus think that.” She stabbed at the air with the tines of her fork, punctuating what she would say next. “You”—stab—“shouldn’t”—stab—“have”—stab—“lied.”

  Cecelia heaved a sigh. “It’s the only way.”

  “Sometimes the truth is the only way, Cece,” Ainsley said quietly.

  Eight

  Cecelia sat down on the garden bench and tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The night air was chilly, and her heart felt even colder. She’d made a mistake in letting Marcus kiss her. She should have soundly trounced him, rather than ever letting his lips touch hers.

  She’d dreamed of another kiss for as long as she could remember. And it had been all she’d expected it to be. It was all she could think about. After dinner, she’d made her excuses, claiming to be tired. But she really just needed some time alone. She’d put a candle in her window to summon Milly and walked into the garden to wait for her to appear.

  Cecelia sat back and looked up at the stars. They seemed brighter at home, although she knew these were exactly the same as the ones she’d looked at her whole life.

  She took a deep breath. She’d gotten herself into a perfectly wretched position.

  “That kiss in Paris was beautiful,” a voice said from behind her.

  Cecelia closed her eyes and wished for Marcus to go away. She didn’t want to face him right now. “A gentleman would never discuss such things,” she scolded.

  Marcus chuckled and dropped onto the bench beside her. “It’s a good thing I’ve never been a gentleman then, isn’t it?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his parted thighs. “Did it mean anything to you?” he asked, not looking at her. His hair was unbound and curled around his face. He was so handsome when he was unguarded like this. Like he was at home. Perhaps this was home now?

  “I never know what to expect when I go on a mission,” Cecelia said with a shrug.

  “Stop being obtuse,” he chided. “You know I’m not referring to the mission.” He still didn’t look at her. He looked at everything else.

  “Marcus.” She sighed.

  He leaned back, put his arm behind her on the back of the bench, and then slid over so that his thigh touched hers. “How many nights have we spent beneath the stars like this?” he asked.

  “One too many, if you count tonight,” she said, her tone purposefully caustic. She tugged her shawl from beneath his thigh.

  He sat quietly for a moment. “What will it take?” he asked.

  “For what?” She knew what he was referring to. But oblivion was so much easier.

  “For you to forgive me.” He didn’t elaborate. He just looked into her eyes. His were black in the darkness of the night.

  Cecelia groaned, flinging her head back in frustration. She sat back up and said, “You’re forgiven.” If what he wanted was absolution, then maybe now he would go away.

  “I’m going to tell you something that you might not like,” he warned.

  “How will that be any different from a normal day?” she asked.

  “I am very angry at you for not accepting me.”

  Cecelia’s back straightened. “What right do you have to be angry?”

  He laughed, but it was a sound with no mirth. “None, apparently. But I’m still hurt by it.” He was suddenly, clearly serious. “I always thought it would be me and you until the end of time.”

  “Things change when time and space separate people.”

  “Things don’t change that much,” he ground out.

  Marcus didn’t know about her mother’s death. He didn’t know about her father’s problem with drinking too much. He didn’t know that her father needed her until he could heal. He didn’t know anything about her obligations. “You have no idea,” she finally said.

  His brows rose and his eyes flashed. “Beg your pardon?”

  “We were once fated for marriage. But things change. They change in irrevocable ways.” Her voice rose. But she didn’t care. “I believe you weren’t in a rush to marry me because you knew I’d always be there. That I was yours for the taking. That I would go wherever you led and do whatever you want to do. I was easy. So, you just didn’t care to try.”

  He made a noise at the back of his throat. “I can assure you that nothing with you has ever been easy. Including this.”

  She snorted. She couldn’t help it.

  “When you loved me, I threw it all away. But some day, you’ll love me again.”

  “I can’t, Marcus,” she said. “You didn’t
care enough.”

  “No one will ever care more than me. Not even him.”

  “Him who?”

  “See,” he laughed. “You don’t even care enough to know his name. Yet you’ve promised to marry him?”

  “Oh, him,” she said. “I didn’t understand what you were saying.”

  “Who is he?” Marcus tensed, his back straight.

  “He’s no one.” She heaved a sigh.

  “He’s someone if you’ve promised your life to him,” Marcus mumbled.

  “Oh, good Lord,” Cecelia said, getting to her feet. “Will you stop it? Envy is not a pretty color on you.”

  “Get used to it. Because I’ll wear it as long as you’re promised to someone else.” He stood up and got close to her, so close that she had to take a step back. But he just followed. “I will never stop. I will chase you until I can’t chase you anymore.”

  “I don’t want to be chased,” she whispered.

  “You want to be married. And to have children. And to have a home of your own.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “You want me.”

  She shook her head. This was going nowhere. “I’m going to bed.” She pushed past him toward the garden gate.

  Marcus spun to chase her. “Tell me who he is.” He tugged gently on her elbow.

  “Who?”

  “The man who will keep you from me.”

  He was never going to let this rest, was he? Ever. Cecelia squeezed her eyes closed. “There is no one, all right?” she cried. Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. But the subterfuge wasn’t fair to either of them.

  “What?” He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up there in the darkness of the night. “There is no one else?”

  Cecelia steeled herself with a fortifying breath. “No. I just told you that to make you leave me alone.”

  Talking about her father hurt too much. She didn’t have to tell him about that yet, did she?

  ***

  He would never, ever, ever leave her alone. Not now. Not a chance. “I’ll never leave you again,” he promised. Hope bloomed within him.