Moonspun Magic

  “But now? Really? Now that you’ve seen me?”

  He turned to look at her. “Face me, Victoria. Now.”

  She stalled.

  “Now, sweetheart. Look at me.”

  She obeyed him.

  “Do you think I could be such a silly ass of a fellow? Such a shallow human being?”

  “You’re not shallow. It’s just that I didn’t know. I don’t know. I haven’t been around all that many men, you see. I think Damien would hate the ugly scar on my leg, and I don’t think he would try to hide his revulsion. What is more, you are perfect. And I am not. You’re far more a beautiful man than I am a beautiful woman. It is rather a travesty to mate the unwhole with the whole.”

  He gave her a long, emotionless look, then waved a negligent hand to send a fly buzzing away. “A travesty—perhaps you’re right about that. It would appear then that you took me in. False pretenses, Victoria, I believe a solicitor would say. You should have bared your leg exactly three days before we were wed and allowed me the opportunity to cry off. But you didn’t. You wed yourself to me knowing full well that you were taking me in. And now I am well and truly tied to you.”

  She said nothing. A single tear trickled down her cheek.

  Rafael waited a long moment, then said quietly, “You’re an utter fool, Victoria. No, I hope I’m not a shallow man. I think you and I will pay a long overdue visit to the Seawitch. I would like you to meet Blick, my physician. Should you mind a doctor looking at your thigh?”

  She would, but all she said was, “What would he do? What could he do?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest notion, but Blick has used many odd-named plants from the most godawful places imaginable. You will like him. And let me make this very clear, Victoria. I don’t want you to see Blick because he could perhaps make your leg look better. I’m hopeful that he has a remedy that can lessen your pain when you strain your leg. I don’t care how your leg looks. I care only about this awful pain. Now, why don’t we go to Falmouth tomorrow? I do need to see how things are progressing, and my men will have the pleasure of meeting my beautiful, stubborn, willful wife.”

  She gulped down a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’ve been so very afraid.”

  “There was no need, of course, but how could you have known that? Particularly after my absurd attack on you on our wedding night.” He sighed, then reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. She snuggled against him, her arms twined about his shoulders, her head pressed against his throat. “Remember our extremely satisfying, er, mating on the kitchen floor at Honeycutt Cottage?”

  He grinned over her head, knowing she wouldn’t say a word.

  To his surprise, he heard a very small, “Yes.”

  He waited a moment, then said, “I should like to take you back to our Pewter room, strip you as naked as the day you emerged from your mother’s body, and love you in the full sunlight from our windows. What do you think of that idea?”

  What she felt was a tremor deep inside her. He knew that she would want him, want him with all her loving nature. “You want to know what I’m going to do to you? Certainly you do.” She responded to love words, he knew now, delighting in how the words fired her own imagination, making her wild for him. Only for him. He kissed her earlobe, then whispered in her ear.

  “What?”

  “Once I have you naked, I want us to still be standing. I want to lift you, have you wrap your beautiful legs around my hips. I want to come deep inside you and—”

  “But that must be impossible, surely.”

  “Wait and see, Victoria.”

  Rafael carried her once again in front of him on Gadfly’s back. Every few minutes he nibbled on her throat, kissed her mouth, moved his hands higher until they touched the undersides of her breasts. He was driving her distracted, and he knew it. He smiled and kissed her nose. And then he spoke to her softly, into her ear, telling her what he was going to do once he was deep inside her.

  Victoria was wildly aroused by the time they returned to Drago Hall.

  Damien silently watched the two of them as they swiftly walked the length of the entrance hall and up the staircase. They didn’t see him. They’d seen no one. They were aware only of each other.

  The panel slid silently open and he peered into the Pewter Room. Rafael was laughing, tickling Victoria as he removed each article of her clothing. And then he was kissing each spot of flesh he uncovered. Her breasts—bared and glistening—were full and white as cream silk, her nipples taut and deep rose. And he, Rafael, was enjoying her, caressing those magnificent breasts, sucking her nipples, making her want him. She arched her back, offering herself more fully to him, and moaned, ever so softly, tangling her fingers in his black hair, pulling him closer to her.

  Then Rafael was laughing again, cupping her glorious breasts, pushing them upward, lowering his head for more kisses. Her eyes were dark with pleasure, and she was laughing and moaning as he played with her. He watched her hands, her slender white hands, slip below the waist of Rafael’s buckskins, saw his eyes widen, his pupils dilate, saw his swollen sex against her caressing fingers.

  Then she was naked, her clothes strewn about her feet on the floor, her chemise half-torn in Rafael’s hand. And she was so very lovely that it was painful to look at her. And to watch Rafael enjoying her. But she was protesting now, laughing, poking him in the stomach.

  “This isn’t fair. Come, it’s my turn. This won’t be like the kitchen again at Honeycutt Cottage.”

  And her nimble hands were unfastening buttons, pulling off his coat and his frilled white shirt. Soon he was sitting in a chair, Victoria’s naked bottom toward him, and she was tugging at his boots, laughing, and he was chuckling, and touching her buttocks, splaying his fingers over her, leaning forward to kiss the white flesh, running his hands down her thighs.

  There was the jagged scar on her left thigh.

  Ugly, he supposed, but her legs were long and slender, sleekly muscled. Beautiful as the soft nest of hair between her thighs, covering her, waiting to be probed by a man’s hands and a man’s mouth.

  The boots were off and soon Rafael was as naked as she. They came together, she on her tiptoes, fitting herself tightly against him, her arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him more thoroughly. And there were her cries, her moans, and Rafael’s hands all over her, kneading her buttocks, then lifting her, fitting her legs around his waist.

  He pulsed and swelled himself, and ached with wild pain, wishing it were he, hating Rafael for being the one to possess her.

  He sucked in his breath as Rafael lifted her suddenly, his hand going between her thighs, parting her, he knew, and then without warning he came deeply into her and she screamed—not in pain—throwing her head back, her hair, loose now, a veil of pure chestnut down her back. Her legs hugged him, and her hands were frantic on his chest, his arms. And he was working her, plunging deep, then withdrawing himself, only to return completely into her.

  She cried out, beyond herself, again and again.

  He hurt now, a lusting pain so great that he moaned softly to himself.

  Then Rafael pulled her tightly against him, drawing on lost control, he knew. More kisses and murmurs, and Rafael saying to her something about wanting her so much, about his mouth on her. Then she was on her back on the bed, her legs parted, and Rafael was coming over her, covering her, his hand between them, finding her.

  And she climaxed wildly, endlessly.

  God, he couldn’t bear it. He slid the panel closed, feeling the small wooden knob slip. His fingers were slippery with sweat. His forehead was beaded with sweat. His pants were distended with his need.

  He fled down the dark, narrow passage, his breathing harsh in his own ears.

  “Love,” Rafael said, “I can’t wait.”

  She drew him deeper, and it seemed in that moment that she would want him forever. She told him she loved him and his eyes gleamed at her words, and she watched the cords tighten in his strong throat, his eyes close, his
back arch, and felt him filling her.

  And she held him, holding him so closely that they were one, and he was now a part of her and she of him. She didn’t want it to end, ever.

  He was breathing hard, as if he’d been running. He was beyond words, beyond thought. He collapsed atop her, his head on the pillow beside hers. Never had he felt such profound joy.

  The Ram read Johnny Tregonnet’s letter once again, trying to make sense of the less-than-cogent recital of Rafael’s approach to Johnny the previous night at the ball. Stupid sod, he thought, crumpling the single sheet of paper in rage. So Captain Carstairs wanted to join their little group, did he? Or he would destroy everything? That was his threat.

  The Ram sat back in his comfortable leather chair and stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace. He was briefly tempted to let the captain loose on his threatened rampage. He would doubtless learn the identity of every member—if he hadn’t already guessed who they were. Except one. No one, not a single member, knew the identity of the Ram. The men thought the black hoods were all a lark, a ploy to pretend that they were anonymous so that their inhibitions were nearly nonexistent. But of course they all knew each other with or without the hoods. No, the black hoods were to protect his, the Ram’s, identity.

  This was the first occasion the hidden box for messages had ever been used. The Ram had on an afterthought sent his man to the box to check. And there was the letter. At least Johnny had sobered up enough to remember the existence of the box. Now, what was he to do?

  He remembered the one terrible mistake. That damned viscount’s daughter. It was more than a possibility that Captain Carstairs was here on behalf of the viscount, and if that were the case, there was no doubt that the captain was out to destroy him, regardless of the nonsense he’d told Johnny.

  What to do? He rose from his chair, stretched his aching muscles, and poured himself a brandy.

  He supposed there was only one thing to do. Not that he really wanted to; he’d never before considered himself that sort of man.

  But there was the fact that Victoria would be dependent again, vulnerable, with no man to protect her. It was heady, that thought. He wanted her, had wanted her for so very long.

  Still, he must move slowly, carefully. There must be no mistakes. He wouldn’t take the risk of informing any of the members of his plans. One of the fools just might ruin everything.

  21

  No man ever became extremely wicked all at once.

  —JUVENAL

  Victoria stood outside the stable door, listening to Flash recount to Jem, a stable lad of great credulity, one of his more outrageous adventures in London’s Soho. He finished with, “So, you see, Jemmy boy, if a mort’s attention flies away from you, if you ken what I mean, then whosh! And it’s yours, every coin the cove’s carrying. Nimble fingers and fast feet, that’s what’s needed, yes, sir. Did I tell you about the time I tried to lighten the captain’s purse?”

  “What is this?”

  She turned and smiled, a dazzling smile that made him draw in his breath. “Rafael. I thought you’d gone to St. Austell. Well, as near as I can tell, Flash is telling Jem all about the marvels of picking pockets in Lunnon town, and how’s it to be done, if you ken my meaning. His story of how he tried to relieve you of your sovereigns is next. I suppose I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but—”

  He waved a negligent hand. “Actually, I just got back from St. Austell and—”

  “I know, now you want us to prepare to leave for Falmouth. After luncheon? I do look forward to seeing your ship and meeting your people.”

  “Er, yes. Actually, what I was going to say,” he continued, his voice lowered, “is that every time I think of yesterday afternoon, I want you again. Every time, Victoria, very much.”

  She turned red, murmured unintelligible words, and scuffed the toe of her riding boots in the dirt.

  “You’re enchanting, I’ve told you that many times. It isn’t yet time for luncheon, and even though I haven’t a kitchen floor like the one at Honeycutt Cottage, I do know of a very private glade, the ground covered with moss and soft grass, the area hemmed in with huge maple trees.”

  Her heart began to pound. She licked her lower lip unconsciously, and he grew instantly hard. He wanted to grab her, tear her clothes off, and be damned. Instead, he held himself in iron control.

  He wanted to kiss her here, now. They were not in clear view, but on the eastern side of the stable, no one in sight. “Victoria, come here.”

  She came to him willingly, her expression one of anticipation. She slid her arms around his waist and stood on her tiptoes. His hands went from her arms around her back, bringing her even closer. Slowly he lowered his head and kissed her. Fiercely. Then he gentled, his tongue lightly stroking her bottom lip.

  Victoria was stunned. She kissed him back, parting her lips, but still felt nothing. What had happened?

  What was wrong?

  “Rafael?”

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth, probing, finding her tongue, and she drew back, her brow knitted as she stared in confusion up at him.

  “I want you now, Victoria. Come along.”

  “But this isn’t right,” she said, looking up at him. “No.”

  He grabbed her wrist suddenly, pulling her off balance, and she fell against him. She felt his hardness against her belly, through her clothes, and saw the gleam of purpose in his eyes.

  “Damien. I would that you speak to your brother. Would you look at him and Victoria, just look. There, by the stable, nearly making love for all to see.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. “What are you talking about, Elaine?”

  “I’m talking about Rafael and Victoria. I know they are married, but still, they shouldn’t be so very loose, don’t you agree?”

  He stared at her, then quickly strode to the window. There was no sign of them.

  “Damien? Whatever is the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he said shortly. “Nothing at all. Your loose cousin and my brother have probably gone into the hayloft.”

  Damien pulled her in his wake behind the stable, never loosening his grip on her wrist.

  “Let me go, damn you. Now.”

  “Victoria, love, come along. You know you want me—”

  “I know, Damien, I know it’s you.” She jerked free of him, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “You’re despicable. Why, you’ve even taken his jacket and tied your neckcloth as he does. Did you sneak into our room?”

  Damien tried to smile, but it was difficult. He’d failed. “How?” he asked, not moving, his body aching with need for her. “How did you know I wasn’t Rafael?”

  She looked at him squarely, and her voice was icy calm. “I felt nothing when you touched me. I felt nothing when you kissed me. Then I felt disgust when your tongue touched my mouth. With Rafael, I feel everything that is wonderful. Go away. You’re a pig, Damien.”

  His look was ugly. “You’re lying, Victoria. You wanted me. Oh, yes, I know you’re wild with my twin, and you will be as wild with me.”

  She slapped him, hard. His head flew to the side with the power of her blow. Neither of them moved. Damien lightly stroked his fingertips over his cheek. He said very softly, “You will pay for that.”

  But Victoria paid no attention. She grabbed her riding skirts and ran full-tilt from the stable toward Drago Hall. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She was trembling. It had been Damien, Damien all along. He’d worn Rafael’s clothes, he’d spoken of Honeycutt Cottage, the kitchen . . .

  She stopped dead in her tracks, the edifice of Drago Hall looming over her. She closed her eyes, feeling such fear and humiliation that she couldn’t think straight.

  “Come with me.”

  She blinked, and stared at Rafael, who was standing on the top stone step of the Hall.

  “Rafael?” Her voice sounded tentative, uncertain, and he frowned fiercely down at her.

  A black brow arched upward and his tone was snide. ?
??Who did you think it was, Victoria? My twin, for example?”

  “I couldn’t be all that certain. You see—”

  He slashed a hand through the air. “Enough. I said to come with me. Now.” And he turned on his heel and strode through the great front doors, not looking back.

  Victoria stared after him; her back stiffened, anger filling her. What was wrong with him? She followed him, but saw that he was turning toward the small estate room. She ignored him, and picked up her skirts again, dashed up the stairs, her destination the nursery and Damaris.

  Rafael turned, once inside the estate room. “Now, Victoria, I believe you have quite a bit of explain—” His jaw dropped. She was nowhere to be seen. How dare she. He felt rage pour through him. But he controlled it at the sight of his twin, in his shirtsleeves now, walking across the entrance hall, his head lowered in profound thought.

  “Damien.”

  “Hello, twin. What are you doing in my estate room?”

  He wanted to kill Damien, he wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. But he hadn’t seen him and Victoria together, no, just Elaine had seen them, supposedly. He said mildly, “Just looking about. You’re very neat, Damien.” He looked about at the tidy desktop, the rows of books on the shelves. “Where is your coat?”

  “I was overly warm,” Damien said, shrugging. “I removed it and left it somewhere, I suppose.”

  “And I was with your wife.”

  “What is that supposed to mean, brother? More cryptic wit of yours?”

  “She was upset that I was with my wife, making love to her in front of God and the stable lads, but you see, it wasn’t me, it was you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damien said easily. He walked across the Aubusson carpet to the narrow sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “Would you care for some?”

  “No, all I care for at this moment is an answer from you. Tell me, Damien.”

  “Elaine is nearing her time. She also tends toward hysteria, just like her mother in that respect, and it’s magnified when she is pregnant. I really haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I shall speak to Elaine if you wish.”