The Magic of I Do

  “There,” he said, dusting his hands together. “I’ll take care of the bedchamber next.” Lord Phineas nodded, obviously distracted by the contents of his correspondence.

  “Thank you, Benny,” Claire said. The boy flushed at her praise.

  “I put your things in his lordship’s bedchamber.”

  “That will be all, Benny,” Lord Phineas barked.

  Benny bowed to her quickly and fled the room.

  “You need to clear up the boy’s misconception.”

  “What misconception would that be?” He looked up at her, his blue eyes flashing.

  “The lad is under the impression we’ll share a bedchamber.”

  Lord Phineas stood up slowly. He crossed the room to stand in front of her and bent down by her ear, where he said softly, “My darling, we are going to share a bedchamber.”

  Three

  If Miss Thorne drew her bottom lip between her teeth even once more, Finn would feel led to kiss it. She’d been nibbling on that lip for more than an hour, ever since she’d opened the pages of Northanger Abbey. She’d nearly knocked him over in her quest to retrieve it from his library when she saw its shiny, red spine faced out on his overpacked shelves. Mrs. Ross liked to read romantic novels. That was the only reason it was there. He certainly wasn’t going to read it. But Claire looked enraptured. About as enraptured as he was with her.

  She was a prickly little thing, all backbone and iron. But spending the day with her sharp tongue and that curl that kept falling from the upsweep of her hair was nearly maddening. She had a retort for every comment he made, and it had become something of a sport to antagonize her.

  “He dies at the end,” Finn said without looking up at her.

  Her quickly indrawn breath let him know she’d heard him. “He does not,” she cried, her breath catching in her throat. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He couldn’t help it. She was too much fun to tease. She picked up one of the many books she’d piled beside her and flung it toward his head. Finn ducked and let it hit the wall behind him.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he replied, making a show of straightening his hair after she’d ruffled it.

  “I am not a nice person,” she said, ducking her head back into the pages of her book.

  “Would you like to play chess?” He didn’t know why he asked that. It was a foolish question. But he was her host, after all, and he was bored. Not to mention that if he had to look at her silk-clad toes peeping from beneath the hem of her dress for one more moment, he would go completely mad.

  She’d lifted her feet to rest on the settee and laid her open book against her bent knees. Her slippers lay beside her where she’d kicked them off her dainty little feet. It was much too comfortable of a pose. His mistress had never even gotten this comfortable in his presence, and he’d very nearly lived with Katherine, for God’s sake.

  Miss Thorne made a grunting noise in her throat.

  “Was that a yes or a no?” he asked.

  “What do you think?” she muttered, not looking up from her book.

  “Cards? I could teach you to play vingt-et-un,” he suggested. He tried not to sound hopeful.

  She grunted in response.

  “You’re such a scintillating conversationalist.”

  She snorted. “Don’t even pretend you want to talk to me.”

  “Heaven forbid I should want to interact with you.”

  “No doubt you’d love to interact with me. You haven’t taken your eyes off me the whole night.” She grinned down at her book. She turned the page.

  He wasn’t aware she’d noticed. But she was rather easy on the eyes. And the more comfortable she got, the more he liked looking at her. He could imagine her sitting there in her dressing gown. Or better yet—he could imagine her without her dressing gown. He’d done so more than once that night. He shifted in his chair.

  She looked up and arched a brow at him. “Problem?” she asked.

  He was getting hard and she chose that moment to look up? Of course, she did. Damn contrary female.

  “Aside from the fact that you’re a terrible conversationalist, no.”

  She went back to her book.

  “How long do you plan to keep me here?” she finally asked, breaking the silence that hung about the room like a heavy blanket.

  “Didn’t we already discuss this?”

  “I’d like to solidify my plans.”

  He’d like to solidify the palm of his hand across her arse. Preferably when it was bare. Finn crossed to the window and drew apart the curtains. The gardens behind the house were coated with a fine dusting of snow. “The snow has already started to cover the ground. So, even if Robin sent word, we’d probably not be ready to leave here for a few days. Benny said his mother thinks it’s going to snow heavily.”

  “How would she know?” Claire’s dark little brows drew together.

  “She’s older and wiser than you.”

  “Someone’s growing surly.” She shrugged and went back to her book. But then her head darted up. “If you’re bored, you could give me my magic dust, and I could do some tricks to entertain you.” She looked almost giddy at the idea.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He patted his pocket, where the vial of dust was still safely hidden. “Do I look like an idiot?”

  She tilted her head at him. “Well, as a matter of fact…” She blinked those innocent green eyes at him.

  He wanted to strangle her and they had only been there for a few hours. What would it be like after a few days? He’d be ready to brave the weather just to hand her over to someone else to take care of her.

  ***

  Claire watched closely as he poured himself another drink. He’d already had two glasses. And was pouring a third. Perhaps there was a chance she could get her dust back after all. He might lower his guard if he were foxed. She could only hope.

  She looked back down at her book and forced herself to turn the page. She hadn’t read a single word all afternoon. She’d been too busy studying his actions. He was a fidgety man who obviously had a hard time sitting still. He was also almost as observant as she was, if his keen gaze was any indication. More than once she’d felt the scorch of his hot glance.

  “What would you be doing if you were at home?” A better question was probably who he would be entertaining. But she didn’t dare ask that question.

  He shrugged.

  She closed her book and regarded him over her bent knees. “What are you drinking?”

  He gazed into his glass for a moment. “Whiskey.”

  “Would you pour a glass for me?” She dropped her feet to the floor.

  “Absolutely not.”

  She startled. “Well, that was rude.”

  “The last thing I need is an inebriated faerie on my hands.”

  She raised her feet back up onto the settee. “Well, the last thing you’d need is a personality,” she murmured to herself.

  He set his glass down with a clunk and glared at her.

  “I didn’t ask to be here,” she reminded him.

  “Nor did I.” He continued to glare.

  ***

  She really was startlingly beautiful. When she kept her mouth shut. Unfortunately, she’d done that most of the afternoon, and now that the sun was setting, Finn realized how much of a predicament he was in. He had an irritated faerie, a pocketful of magic dust, and orders to keep her out of sight until Robin returned with Sophia from the land of the fae. It would be so much easier if Claire wasn’t quite so comely. He could get used to looking at her.

  Until she spoke, that is. The chit had a rapier-sharp tongue. “Can I have my dust? Please?”

  She tried a smile that would melt a normal man’s heart. Good thing he wasn’t a normal man. “No.”

  “Fine,” she
murmured to herself as she looked back down at her book. She began to twirl a lock of her hair around her finger. He wondered what it would feel like sliding across his own finger. He shook the thought away. It would get him nowhere. The lady was his brother’s sister-in-law. A part of his brother’s family. Robin would cut off Finn’s stones and feed them to him if he even dared to think lascivious thoughts about her. But it was hard to think anything else.

  The quick clip of footsteps in the corridor made Claire’s head tilt to the side as she waited. Finn was somewhat startled when the round face of Mrs. Ross popped around the corner. “Just wanted to come by and be sure you don’t need anything, my lord,” she said as she brushed a hand over her hair to shake away the snowflakes that clung to her graying coiffure. “Did Benny get you settled in properly?”

  “Mrs. Ross,” Finn began smoothly. He was actually overjoyed to see her. The house felt a bit like a prison with its quiet corridors and cold kitchen. “How is Mr. Ross? Better, I hope?”

  Mrs. Ross shook her head, her lips turning down in a grimace. “No better yet. I fear he has done more damage to his leg than he wants to admit.” She looked at Claire and grinned. “Some men refuse to age gracefully.”

  Claire grunted and continued to read.

  “Are you here to stay?” Finn asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “Unfortunately not. I just came to bring you a warm dinner and be sure you’re all right.” She eyed Claire inquisitively as she held up a basket of food. The smell that emanated from it was enough to make Finn’s mouth water. They’d had a lunch of fruit and cheese. “It’s just some shepherd’s pie and an apple tart for dessert.”

  Finn loved shepherd’s pie. His stomach growled loudly. Mrs. Ross’s laugh bounced around the room as she set the basket on a nearby table.

  “I left Benny to bring in more wood for the fire. I don’t want the two of you to freeze.” Finn couldn’t help but think he might freeze from the icy glare that emanated from Claire.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ross, for braving the weather,” Claire said suddenly. Her voice was kind and smooth as warm honey on a summer day. Why didn’t she ever talk to him like that?

  “You’re quite welcome, miss.” Mrs. Ross nodded her head toward Claire. Claire dipped her head back into her book. “I hate that the two of you will be stuck here for so long.”

  “So long?” Claire croaked.

  “I’m suspecting it’ll be about a week before the snow clears enough to travel. By tomorrow, we’ll be buried pretty deep.” At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping Claire prisoner by any extraordinary means. The weather would do it for him. Even she wouldn’t be stubborn enough to try to escape in the frightful weather.

  Claire looked like she wished with all her heart that she could call out to Mrs. Ross and beg her to take her along with her when she left. But that would do her no good whatsoever. Benny stomped into the corridor and filled the hearth with more wood, causing it to crackle and pop as he tossed on more split logs. “That should hold you for the night.”

  “Did you stoke the fire in the bedchamber?” Finn asked.

  “Yes, my lord. It should be nice and toasty by the time you’re ready to retire.”

  Mrs. Ross looked as though she wanted to scold Finn for his choice in ladies. But she thankfully bit her tongue. The cook-housekeeper would never have to see Claire again. Let her think whatever she wanted. He was a libertine on the best of days. And on his worst.

  She patted her son on the shoulder with a look of pride. “I’ll send my Benny over tomorrow with some food.” She clucked her tongue and looked around like she was forgetting something. “Have a good rest, then,” she finally said, and she left without looking either of them in the eye. Benny trotted out behind her.

  ***

  As Lord Phineas peeled back the cloth that covered the shepherd’s pie, his stomach made a loud protest about all the time he was taking to smell the concoction. Claire had to admit that it smelled divine. And she was suddenly as hungry as he was. He cut a small wedge of the pie and placed it on a piece of china that Mrs. Ross had conveniently put in the basket. Then he pulled the rest of the pie over to his side of the table and sat down heavily.

  “Wait a minute,” she protested. “That pie is big enough to feed a family of eight. And you gave me one little sliver?”

  “A lady who likes to eat?” he drawled, a grin tipping the corners of his lips. “What a novel idea. Most women pick at their food.” He cut a larger piece and put it on her plate.

  “Thank you,” she said begrudgingly as she sat down across from him at the small table in the corner of the library. He poured himself more of the amber liquid in his glass and raised it to his lips. He set it down and turned to pick up his napkin, which he’d dropped on the floor. Claire raised his glass to smell it. It smelled fairly harmless. By the way he was acting, she’d have to get him to drink a lot more of it before the night was over if she wanted to slip away. She brought his glass to her lips and took a sip, simply out of curiosity.

  The liquor slid in a fiery trail down her throat, numbing her tongue and stealing her breath. Lord Phineas glared at her and took the glass out of her hand. “Do you listen to anything anyone tells you?”

  “I asked you very nicely to pour one for me.”

  “And I said no.” He spoke around a mouthful of shepherd’s pie. He jabbed his fork toward her plate. “Eat.”

  Claire heaved a sigh as she took a bite of the meat and potato pie. It was nearly flavorless after the fiery burn of the liquor. She laid her fork to the side and picked his glass back up. If her dinner was going to be ruined, she might as well enjoy it.

  He held out his hand and glared at her the way a governess might glare at a girl taking an extra biscuit from the tray during tea. That was immensely amusing and she laughed out loud. She wasn’t quite certain why it was so hilarious, but it was. She just knew it was by the way she was laughing at herself.

  “Give it to me.” He clasped and unclasped his hand in her direction in a grasping motion.

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.” The corners of his mouth tipped in a grin.

  “You are foxed.” He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Oh, I only had a little.”

  “It only takes a little.”

  “That’s not what she said.”

  His face flushed. She offered his empty glass to him. “Did I drink all that?” A bubble rose from her belly and she made an unladylike sound. “Pardon,” she said quickly, suddenly mortified. But the feeling only lasted for a moment. She put the glass in his hand. “I want my magic. What would you like in exchange?”

  Four

  Claire arched a playful brow at him, her green eyes darker in the waning light of the room. They were rimmed in brown, flecked with gold, and green around the center. They were striking. Like limpid pools he could drown in if Finn wasn’t careful of his footing. He poured himself a drink to replace the one she’d just downed. She looked longingly toward the glass. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

  She lifted her elbow to the tabletop and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. A smile hovered around that pretty mouth. “You have no idea what I’m thinking about.”

  Her gaze traveled down his body. He suddenly knew what the courtesans felt like when men leered at them. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I would dare to wager on what you’re thinking about.”

  She held her hands out to the side in a motion of surrender. “No need to wager. I’ll just tell you. I was thinking about how handsome your arse is in those breeches. Why don’t you stand up and spin around so I can take another look?”

  Finn jumped to his feet. He had a sudden and confounded urge to cover his arse with his hands to keep her from looking at it. How had he gotten into this mess? A mere mention of his arse and how much she liked looking at
it, and he was getting as hard as the tabletop. He would have to take drastic measures. He pushed his glass in her direction. “Here. Drink this.” Soon she would pass out and then he could tuck her into bed and stand guard over her all night.

  She drank the contents of the glass in one large swallow that was loud enough for him to hear. “That gets smoother and smoother the more I drink.”

  He filled one for himself and did the same. He could do no more than nod in response to her comment. His lack of the ability to speak wasn’t a big problem. The chances of her remembering anything that she said tonight would be slim to none.

  “Is it safe for the both of us to be foxed?” she whispered dramatically, her hand curved around her mouth as though she wanted to impart a secret.

  He couldn’t keep from smiling. He tried to be stoic and proper. And failed. Miserably. “Only one of us is drunk.” Thank God.

  She lurched to her feet in a quick motion that had her grabbing for the back of her chair. “Goodness,” she breathed.

  “You should sit.”

  “You should sit.” She mocked his tone. Poorly. But she didn’t sit. She began to wander around instead. She ran her finger down a row of books on his bookshelf. Then she spun the globe on its stand beside his desk. She hitched her little bottom up to sit on the edge of his desk.

  “Have you lost your mind?” He shot to his feet.

  ***

  She would get to him. She was certain of it. But she wasn’t at all certain how. He thought she was inebriated. And she had drunk a little bit much, but not as much as she pretended.

  She forced herself to slur her words. “What? You told me to sit.”

  “I didn’t mean on my desk.”

  She lifted one side of her bottom and looked down. “I don’t think I’m hurting it.”

  He scrubbed at his forehead. Then he pointed toward the settee. “Go sit over there.”

  “Don’t want to.” She forced herself to hiccup. “I’m fine right here.”

  “You are going to regret this tomorrow.”