Stronger than magic, p.24
Stronger Than Magic, page 24
What indeed? Grinning at her own foolishness, she pushed aside her worry and began to chant in earnest.
Lucian held his hand to the candle, shielding the flame from the draft as he stepped into the Italian Renaissance wing. As he’d hoped it was cool here, it usually was in the winter. Still tending his flame, he paused before one of the ill-fitting floor-to-ceiling windows, letting the trespassing night chill seep over him. He was hot, feverishly so, his body burning from his erotic dreams …
… dreams about Alys. From the moment he’d closed his eyes to sleep, his mind had replayed the disturbing scene from the nursery. Over and over again he’d fallen on top of her, the tension in his groin deepening and tightening each time she in turn squirmed beneath his weight. Indeed, so intense was his arousal that it was the wrenching ache of his need that had finally awakened him.
And it still plagued him. Groaning his discomfort, he pressed his face against the cold window glass, desperately trying to banish the lingering image of Alys lying beneath him. She looked so beautiful, so very tempting. He groaned again, this time letting his hand stray from the candle flame to massage the source of his need through his dressing gown. If only he were in London. Reina would set him right quick enough.
Well, you’re not in London, he reminded himself, and aside from releasing yourself, the only way you’re going to rid yourself of your problem is to get walking.
Release himself? Lucian dropped his hand to his side, his cheeks burning as he realized where it was and what it was doing. Bloody hell. He’d never succumbed to that particular indignity, not even when he was at Eton, and he wasn’t about to do so now.
Which left walking. Sighing his resignation, he pushed himself away from the window and stalked down the hall. He was halfway to the Jacobean annex when he saw a feeble light glimmering in the distance. He paused a beat, his eyes narrowing as he made out a shadowy figure lurking at his sister’s door. By the size and shape, it was clearly female. Charlotte, perhaps?
Of course it was Lottie. Who else would be in this part of the house at this time of night? For the first time since his miserable awakening, Lucian smiled. And who better than his sharp-tongued sister to distract him from his nagging lust? More eager for conversation than he’d ever been in his life, he hurried toward her, the thick carpet runner silencing his footfall as he went. It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he began to doubt the shadow’s identity.
This woman was smaller, slighter in build. And when she bowed over her candle, fight haloed her head, illuminating hair braided in a rope of moonbeams and sunshine.
Lucian halted in his tracks, his eagerness turning to shock. It wasn’t Lottie, but Alys, the person he least desired to see at that moment. Who else had hair like that?
Stifling his urge to moan aloud, he instinctively backed away. What was she doing at Lottie’s door at this time of night he didn’t know, and he most certainly had no intention of finding out. Not garbed as he was in only his woolen dressing gown with his arousal jutting against the folds.
Utterly unnerved by the thought of an encounter, he took another step backward, followed by another. Just a few more and …
Clink! Tinkle! … He backed against a crystal candle branch, setting the delicate pendants clanging against each other.
Alys spun around, a small cry springing from her lips.
“W-who’s there?” she whispered, shrinking against Lottie’s door.
A frustrated noise escaped Lucian. Bloody hell! He was trapped. Seeing no other choice, he reluctantly moved toward her, holding his candle up to illuminate his face. “It’s me, Alys,” he said. Was that really his voice, so rough and tight?
She held her own candle aloft, squinting slightly as she peered up at him. Instead of looking relieved, as he’d expected, she looked dismayed, almost … guilty. Casting the door behind her a furtive glance, she squeaked, “Lucian?”
He frowned. What in God’s name was wrong with the chit? She was acting most peculiar. He almost laughed aloud the instant that thought formed. Hell, Alys wasn’t acting peculiar, she was peculiar. And for her, her current behavior was perfectly normal. Still …
Remembering his duty as her guardian, he felt obligated to inquire, “What brings you here at this time of night? Are you ill?”
“Ur—” She lowered her lashes and slanted another glance at the door, squirming slightly as if caught in an illicit act.
Illicit act? His gaze sharpened with sudden suspicion … and something else; something that gnawed at his belly like a dagger-toothed demon. Was this wing the rendezvous place for a midnight tryst with a suitor? Drake, perhaps? It was clear from the way he and Alys were huddled together after dinner, laughing and cooing like a pair of mating doves, that they had come to terms over the afternoon’s debacle.
The remembrance of that scene coupled with the thought of her seeking greater intimacy with the simpering, dandified blood provoked his inner demon into a gut-shredding fury. “Well?” he snarled.
She looked up, her eyes wide, visibly taken aback by the savagery in his voice. “Uh—I’m—um—fine,” she murmured.
“And?’ Lucian met her gaze over the flickering flames of their candles, his eyes boring into hers, demanding an answer.
Her brow knitted. “And what?”
“If you’re not ill and seeking Lottie’s aid, what are you doing here?”
She returned his gaze for several moments, her expression tense and hunted. Then she replied in her odd, halting manner, “I-I couldn’t sleep, so—uh—I was taking a walk, and …”
A duet of moans exploded from behind Lottie’s door, tailed by a feminine cry. To Lucian’s seasoned ears it was obvious that his sister was being pleasured, and in a very fine fashion indeed.
Alys, of course, hadn’t his sexual experience. “Listen! That noise!” she softly exclaimed, jabbing her thumb at the door. “I heard it as I was walking by, and stopped.”
A series of groans, these masculine, volleyed out into the hall. Her eyes widened a fraction more. “There it is again. You don’t suppose someone has broken into the house and is robbing them, do you?”
Lucian met her guileless gaze for a beat, then looked away, at a loss for a reply. Damn that school. Damn those Bible-brandishing teachers for leaving her so unprepared to face the world. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Though his arousal had substantially subsided, the last thing he wanted to do was explain sex to the chit who had put him in his heat in the first place.
For one cowardly instant he considered ignoring her question and ordering her back to her room. Then his mind flashed on Drake and his own initial suspicions, and he knew that he couldn’t leave her vulnerable to the silver tongues and seductive wiles of unscrupulous rakes. And they would pray upon her, there was no doubt about it. She was simply too desirable to be resisted by men as weak of flesh as they.
Slowly he raised his gaze, this time to study her face. She was still staring at him, awaiting his response. The question now wasn’t what to do, but how to do it.
He thought for a moment. One way would be to fob the noises off as nightmares, and then beg Lottie to explain matters to her in the morning. Another would be to insist that she read the book his father had given him on his fourteenth birthday.
In turn he weighed each alternative, finally discarding both with a sigh. While Lottie might be able to explain what went on in the marriage bed, he doubted if she would fully impress upon Alys the dangers represented by rakes. As for the book, well, in order to understand the contents, one needed at least a rudimentary knowledge of sex, something that she clearly did not possess.
That left only once choice, the one he was loath to consider; he could talk to her himself. Though he’d have liked to discard that option as well, he couldn’t. Not in good conscience. For as she had pointed out just that afternoon, it was his duty as her guardian to augment her woefully inadequate education.
Not quite certain how he was going to do so, yet honor-bound to try, he grasped her elbow, murmuring, “Clay and Lottie are … fine. However, I do think we need to have a talk.” With that, he gave her arm a gentle tug, urging her to accompany him. Where, he wasn’t certain, just somewhere away from his enraptured sister’s door.
She didn’t budge. “Can’t it wait until morning? I find that I’m exceedingly”—she yawned—“tired all of a sudden.”
He shook his head. Wish though he might that it could wait, he knew that he’d find an excuse to cancel their talk should he have the whole night to think. And the results of that failure could be disastrous.
Shooting the door one last glance, as if not quite convinced of her friend’s well-being, Alys allowed herself to be led away. After a brief contemplation, Lucian escorted her to the library.
Spacious, but cozy, the library was lined with books from ceiling to floor, its air redolent with parchment and leather. Scattered throughout were plumply stuffed chairs, two of which sat before an impressive stone fireplace with a cluttered tea table between them. Apart from his tower chamber, this was Lucian’s favorite room at Thistlewood.
After he’d settled Alys in a chair by the hearth, stoked the fire, and lit the lamps, he strolled over to the side table where he stood pretending to study the wine and liquor-filled decanters. Stalling for time while he searched for a way to broach the delicate subject, he inquired, “Would you care for something to drink? A glass of brandy to help you sleep, perhaps?”
She shook her head, her flaxen braid bouncing on her shoulder as she moved. Urgently in need of fortification himself, Lucian poured a liberal measure of port, his motions as slow and exacting as if he were doling out the elixir of life. When he’d delayed the inevitable as long as he could, he took the seat next to Alys.
For a long moment he sat staring at the contents of his glass, making one last attempt to concoct an opening line. Finally he sighed and forced himself to meet her gaze. “God help me, Alys. I’ve tried and tried, but I simply can’t think of a delicate way to ask what I must. So please pardon my bluntness, but I must know: what knowledge have you of matters of the flesh?”
She tilted her head, eyeing him as if not quite certain she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
He gritted his teeth and clarified, “Did that school teach you anything of sexual matters?”
Alys stared at him for several seconds, speechless, then dropped her gaze, heat rising to her cheeks. Oh, perfect! Because of her feigned ignorance, he now thought it necessary to explain what had been going on behind Charlotte’s bedroom door.
“Well?” His voice was gentle, yet demanding.
She chewed the inner lining of her lower Up, fraught with indecision. Should she confess her understanding and nip what was bound to be a disturbing conversation in the bud? Or should she continue to pretend innocence as befitted her schoolgirl guise?
As she struggled to decide, wavering back and forth between her options, she was struck with a new and very intriguing notion: if she were to allow him to explain love, marriage, and all related matters as he saw them, she might gain a better understanding as to how to go about matching him to Diana.
Instantly taken with the idea, she made a helpless hand motion and stammered like an embarrassed Bath miss, “I know that … um … s-sexual matters often result in babies.”
“And do you know why?”
She shook her head, her lashes still demurely lowered.
He sighed. “You do know the manner in which men’s and women’s bodies differ, I trust?”
“Men are taller and—uh—let’s see now—they’re stronger.” She slanted him what she hoped was a suitably timid look. “Oh”—she gestured to his stubbly chin and jaw—“and they have whiskers.”
His shadowed jaw visibly tightened. “Anything else?”
“No … no. At least not that I can think of.”
He was staring at his glass now, lightly tracing the rim with his thumb. “Have you never seen an unclothed male, or perhaps a painting of one?”
“No.” A lie, for she had once spied on a trio of knights bathing in a stream back when she was Alys le Fayre.
He released another sigh and quaffed his port, draining the entire measure in one smooth swallow. Dropping his empty glass to the table between them, he muttered, “I see that you’re more innocent than I feared.”
For several beats he simply stared at the glass, as if at a loss how to proceed, then he heaved himself to his feet and stalked to the bookcase comprising the north wall. After a rather lengthy search, during which he remained silent, he pulled a thin, gold-bound volume from the shelf.
Leaf by leaf he flipped through it, pausing now and again to examine a page. It wasn’t until he neared the end that he found what he sought. Nodding once, he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
“You reminded me this afternoon that it is my responsibility as your guardian to improve your education,” he said, his strong fingers tightening on the book as he spoke. “And as I can see from your reply just now, it needs considerable improvement in the areas of anatomy and the related sciences.”
A half dozen long strides and he was by her side. “Since I deem it crucial that you have at least a rudimentary understanding of these subjects, I see no alternative but to teach them to you myself. I also see no reason not to start our lessons now, since we’re mutually plagued by sleeplessness.” With that, he placed the open book in her hands. “For our first lesson, I want you to examine the sketch on the left-hand side and tell me what you observe.”
Obediently Alys did as directed, a hot wave of embarrassment sweeping her from hairline to toes when she saw what she was to study. It was an anatomical chart of a man … a detailed one.
Leaning over her shoulder to join her in her scrutiny, he quizzed, “Well?”
“Um … it’s a man.”
“And?”
Her cheeks heated to the point of burning, she averted her gaze from the chart to stare at the carpet. “He’s … n-naked.”
“Yes. And aside from being taller, stronger, and having whiskers, how does his body differ from that of a woman?”
Her, and her brilliant ideas! Alys squirmed self-consciously, desperately regretting her lie. Why hadn’t she had the good sense to confess her understanding of sexual matters and be done with it? As meticulous as Lucian was about everything else, she should have guessed that he would be equally so in teaching her this.
Certain her face matched the beets they’d had for dinner, she glanced back at the picture and gingerly laid her fingers on the man’s chest. “He’s … f-flatter.”
Lucian’s head was so close to hers, she felt the motion of his head as he nodded. “Correct. What else?”
Half expecting to die from her mortification as she did so, she let her fingers slide lower to the point at the sketch man’s groin. “He’s got a … um …”
“A penis,” he supplied, his voice as impassive as if he were referring to an ear. “And those”—he reached over her shoulder and pointed at the globular sac between the man’s legs—“are his testicles. These organs”—he drew an invisible circle around the sum of manly parts— “are what a man uses to plant a baby in a woman’s belly.”
Struck mute by her embarrassment, Alys nodded faintly, hoping upon hope that he’d close the book now and be done with the disturbing lesson. But, of course, he wasn’t finished. Indeed, from the way he moved from behind her chair and began to pace before the hearth, it appeared that he’d just begun.
Deeper and deeper she shrank into her chair, growing more discomfited by the second as he delved into the mysteries of those masculine parts and their functions. Though she knew the rudiments of the sexual act—how could she not after hundreds of years of matchmaking?—she had never bothered to ponder the mechanics it took to perform it. Now that he was explaining them, she understood why: they were too amazing to be imagined. Especially what he was describing now, how the male member grew and stiffened in response to physical stimulation or lustful thoughts. An erection, he called this hardening. Hmm.
As he expounded upon erections, how they occurred and their purpose, she found herself stealing glances at the sketch, her toes curling as she wondered what Lucian would look like naked and aroused. His body would be magnificent, of that she was certain. She’d felt his muscular strength as he’d lain atop her in the nursery; she had admired the lithe symmetry of his body beneath his elegant clothes.
Her belly suddenly tight and achy, she closed her eyes and imagined touching him in the manner of which he spoke. Oh, what joy to bring him such pleasure, to fondle and tease him until he lay inflamed and writhing. What rapture to have him caress her in return, stroking that secret place that now tingled and throbbed.
Just the thought of sharing such intimacies with him sent a flood of liquid warmth gushing to her woman’s parts; parts that grew ever hotter as he explained the male need for regular sexual release. Wantonly emboldened by her passion, she opened her eyes and inquired in an oddly husky voice, “What of you, my lord? Are you too plagued with such … needs?”
He paused his pacing midstride, visibly taken aback by her question. For several tense moments he stared at her, his expression inscrutable, then replied, “I’m a man aren’t I?”
He most certainly was. The handsomest, most desirable one she’d ever met. He was everything a woman could wish for and more. Much more.
And he could never be hers.
