Dangerous Gifts Page 2

  Her gaze followed the fluttering wings as the dove rose into the air. She watched until it soared out of sight among the trees, then turned back to Ranulph of the Wood.

  He was gone, leaving not so much as a single footprint or broken blade of grass.

  She drew a dazed breath and sank onto the fallen tree trunk. The cool wind slid over her heated face. Had the faery vanished, or never existed?

  She looked at her left hand, but there was no trace of a cut. Pressing her cheek against the silky wood of her harp, she bent her head and closed her eyes. The encounter must have been some sort of dream. She had dozed, and dreamed of a magical offer that would bring her happiness. She’d had many such fanciful daydreams as a child, though never one so realistic.

  Face taut, she stood and slung her harp over her shoulder. Now she was grown and knew that happiness did not come with the swish of a magic wand—or the slash of a magical dagger. The reality was that eventually she would inherit a comfortable independence and would never want for anything. She was a fortunate woman, for she did not need a husband or children or passionate, romantic love.

  It had only been a dream.

  Leah entered the manor house quietly and headed for the stairs. Her dream of Faerie had delayed her, and she barely had time to change before dinner.

  Then her mother called, “Leah, dear, come in here, please.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Leah smoothed a hand over her wind-whipped hair, then slung the harp as far behind her as possible. Her parents approved of her skill on the pianoforte, but they had never understood her strange passion for a common, old-fashioned harp.

  The instrument had been the gift of the old Irishman who had been her father’s forester until his death the previous winter. McLennan had taught her to play. He’d also filled her ears with tales of the Fair Folk, of how they loved music and how he himself had once spent a midsummer’s night listening to the wild melodies of faery harpers. Then he’d nod and say that Leah had the same gift.

  The memory relaxed her. It was McLennan’s tales that had produced that strange—dream? Hallucination? A faery in the woods! She must have been mad.

  Leah entered the morning room, where her mother reclined on a brocade sofa. “Do you need something, Mother? Your shawl, perhaps?”

  Lady Marlowe, gray-haired and chronically vague, but still retaining some of the frail prettiness of her youth, looked up from the letter in her hands. “ ’Tis the most extraordinary thing. This has just come from your father’s cousin, Lady Wheaton. She’s one of your godparents, you know.”

  Leah nodded. Her ladyship had sent her goddaughter an elaborate silver christening cup twenty-one years before. That was the extent of their relationship.

  “Andrea wishes for you to join her in London for the Little Season. She’s a widow, you know, and she’s decided that it would be amusing to present a girl to society.”

  Leah gasped. “London—me? I . . . I would have no idea how to get on.”

  “Nonsense,” her mother said reprovingly. “You’re well bred and a very handsome girl. You shall be a great success. Your father and I have often discussed taking you to London, but . . .” Her shrug delicately explained that such a project had been beyond her strength.

  Leah scarcely noticed, for she was stunned by the remark that she was a very handsome girl. Apart from an occasional sigh after studying her daughter’s unprepossessing countenance, or perhaps a remark that it was a pity Leah resembled her father’s side of the family, Lady Marlowe had always been silent on the subject of her daughter’s looks.

  Weakly Leah said, “I have no clothing suitable for fashionable society.”

  “You’ll need a new wardrobe, of course. Andrea shall select it for you.” Lady Marlowe refolded the letter neatly. “Since you will be taking few of your own clothes, it won’t take long for you to pack. You can leave tomorrow morning. Andrea is most anxious to welcome you.”

  “As you wish, Mother.” Still dazed, Leah left the morning room and headed upstairs to her room. In her—dream—Ranulph had said that there was more than one way to get to London. Could he have arranged this visit?

  Absurd!

  Then she passed the gilt-framed pier glass that hung in the upper hall, and came to a dead stop, as stunned as if she had been hit with a hammer. The image in the mirror was that of the beautiful, faery-touched Leah that Ranulph had shown her. But now she could see all of herself. Her hair was a sensual, tawny mane and her figure was alluringly petite instead of merely thin.

  She touched the reflection with shaking fingers, half expecting it to vanish like an image in a pond, but there was no change. As her mother had said, she was a remarkably handsome girl. No, more than that. She was beautiful. Achingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. Even in her worn gown, she looked like a princess. No man would be able to resist her.

  Yet as she had noticed earlier, she was still herself. Each of her features was much as before, but now refined to perfection. Her fair complexion, always good, was now flawless. Her formerly average gray-green eyes had become a riveting shade of green—exactly like those of Ranulph of the Wood.

  Involuntarily she glanced down at her left palm. The sunlight revealed a faint, silvery line across the center, exactly where Ranulph had drawn his dagger.

  Her hand dropped. With eerie calm, she accepted that Ranulph had been real, and she had pledged herself to an unholy bargain. What would she have to pay when the time came? For now, it didn’t matter. As her eyes drank in the sight of her new self, she knew that what she had received was worth an uncertain price.

  She tore herself away from the pier glass and hurried to her bedroom in the east wing. As soon as she closed the door, she looked into her own mirror, half afraid it would reflect the drab image of her old self. But it was the beautiful Leah who looked back, and who reflected Leah’s joyous laughter.

  Exuberant, she set down her harp, then whirled across the room in a mad dance. She was beautiful and going to London and she would have admirers by the score. She would enjoy the attention, then love and marry the best of her suitors. Everything she had silently yearned for would be hers.

  Still laughing, she threw open her casement windows and leaned out. “Look out, London, here I come!”

  Leah did not expect a response, but a ladylike “Meow” sounded from very close at hand. She glanced to her left in surprise.

  Perched daintily on the branch of a tree that grew near Leah’s window was a magnificent cat with long black hair and golden eyes. It was quite unlike any other cat Leah had ever seen, but quite in keeping with the events of the day. “Good day,” Leah said courteously. “Are you a magical faery feline?”

  The cat compressed itself like a coiled spring, then made an amazing leap that took it all the way to Leah’s window. After landing lightly on the sill, it rubbed its cheek against Leah’s arm, purring powerfully.

  Leah stroked the cat’s back. The splendid black fur was silky soft. “What a beautiful lady you are. You couldn’t be anything but a lady.”

  The cat raised her aristocratic head and regarded Leah with huge golden eyes that seemed as intelligent as those of any human. Leah blinked. Perhaps this really was a faery being. Feeling absurd, she asked, “Did Ranulph send you to watch me?”

  Making a disdainful feline sound, the cat jumped from the sill into Leah’s room, glided across the carpet, then leaped onto the bed. There she circled thrice around before settling down to sleep in a furry ball.

  “You certainly believe in making yourself at home,” Leah said with amusement. She sat on the bed by the cat and began petting again. “I’d love to keep you, but I’m sure that you already have a home.” Though she could not imagine who in the neighborhood might own such a rare and obviously valuable cat. Leah knew every pet for miles around, and none of them were remotely like this lovely creature.

  The cat purred ecstatically as Leah’s fingers found the sensitive spot under her throat. Leah asked, “What shall I call you?”

&nbs
p; The cat opened her eyes for a moment. As her gaze met Leah’s, a word formed in Leah’s mind. Half convinced she was ready for Bedlam, Leah asked, “Is your name Shadow?”

  Radiating satisfaction, the cat closed her eyes again and tucked her nose under the magnificent plumy tail.

  Leah was definitely ready for Bedlam. Nonetheless, she hummed with pleasure as she changed her clothing for dinner.

  All was chaos at Marlowe Manor the next morning. Ranulph drifted across the grounds and took refuge in the shade of a topiary hedge as he watched the preparations for sending Miss Leah to London. First the massive travel coach lumbered out of the carriage house. Then a footman brought out a small trunk of the young lady’s clothing. Ranulph was glad to see that she was not taking much; he’d never been impressed by her wardrobe. Luckily that would be improved in London. And of course when she was his, he’d garb her in moonbeams and faery silks.

  Leah herself appeared, looking harassed and a little frightened to be leaving home for the first time in her life. In her arms was the case that held her harp. Behind her trailed the elderly maid who would accompany her to London, then return with the coach. Last of all came her parents, dutifully bidding their daughter goodbye.

  Ranulph studied Leah hungrily. Mortals had such enticing vitality. The addition of faery glamour had made her lovely indeed. But his magic was limited by the fact that she was not yet bound to him; all he could do was maximize the features she had.

  When she was fully his, he’d be able to alter her appearance at will. Make her tall, perhaps, or voluptuous, or give her the silvery blond hair of a faery queen. It would be like having his own private harem. Perhaps he’d give her black hair that swirled and danced about her heels. Though he’d never fancied black hair, it might be a pleasant change since most ladies of Faerie were blond.

  Leah was on the verge of climbing into the coach when a fluffy black cat streaked by her and leaped into the vehicle. Leah removed the cat. It was back inside before she’d straightened up.

  Ranulph laughed as he watched the ensuing battle. Cats were uncanny beasts who wandered freely between Faerie and the mortal world. This one had obviously been drawn by the scent of magic.

  A footman caught the cat, only to have it wiggle loose in the blink of an eye. After the beast was removed from the coach again, Leah and the maid were hastily shut inside before the cat could rejoin them. It countered with a magnificent leap onto the coach, landing on the seat next to the driver.

  Since the cat was clearly set on going to London, Leah wisely surrendered and opened the carriage door. The creature lightly sprang into the coach beside her and curled up daintily on the seat. Lady Marlowe suggested that if her daughter must take that feline, at least put it in a basket. Leah smiled and said that wouldn’t be necessary. Ranulph was pleased by her insight and flexibility; she’d do well when he brought her into Faerie.

  With a mighty lurch, the coach set off. The Marlowes and the servants who had come to send the little miss off returned to their normal activities. Only Ranulph was left to watch the coach disappear around the bend in the drive.

  He felt a surge of sadness, coupled with flashing impatience. Goddess, but he wanted her! But he must wait, give her time to become addicted to the power of her beauty, and to become infatuated with some mortal man. Then she’d be ripe for the plucking. To move too quickly would be to risk losing her. He’d realized the day before that she could not be rushed.

  Briefly he considered Lady Kamana. An odd creature, but amusing and quite attractive in her foreign way. Perhaps he could use her as a distraction for the next long weeks. But she’d left the wood; he’d felt the moment when she slipped away, as he sensed everything that happened in his territory. In her desire to explore her new land, Lady Kamana could be anywhere by now.

  He wondered what the other Folk would think of her. Sometimes the Folk could be cruel to those who were different, as he knew from hard experience.

  The idea struck when he was returning to the wood. Why not go to London himself? The place was a great sink of dead stone and teeming humankind, but there were parks with enough greenery for him to endure a visit. He would be able to see not only Leah, but other sights as well. It had been long since he’d traveled to London.

  He tried to remember just how long. That fellow Henry, the one with the six wives, had been king then. The city would be much changed. Probably not for the better, but still, a visit would be interesting, and would fill the empty hours.

  He’d wait a bit before going. Give Leah time to adjust. With luck, she might be ready for him sooner than he expected.

  Steps light, he glided into the welcoming depths of the wood.

  Chapter Two

  Shadow in her arms, Leah descended wearily from the coach in front of Lady Wheaton’s immense London townhouse. It was late afternoon, and two days of rattling around inside a badly sprung vehicle had left her exhausted and depressed. She was so far from home. Why had she willingly gone among strangers? She and her party had spent the previous night in a coaching inn, and the stares of the men there had been positively rude. Even with her maid and coachman near, she had felt nervous.

  Dispiritedly she followed her maid up the steps, then waited for admission to the house. When an elderly butler opened the door, she said, “I am Miss Marlowe. Lady Wheaton is expecting me.”

  The butler gaped at her before giving a little shake, like a dog after a bath. “This way, miss,” he said, in control again. “Her ladyship wishes to see you immediately.”

  Cat still in her arms, Leah followed the servant upstairs to a small, richly decorated boudoir. A tall woman of middle years reclined on a brocade-covered chaise longue, a letter in her hands and a small dog curled up at her feet. Solemnly the butler announced, “My lady, Miss Marlowe has arrived.”

  Lady Wheaton lowered the letter and looked up. Dressed in the height of fashion, she had strong, handsome features and an air of command.

  Leah curtsied as well as she could with a substantial cat draped over one shoulder. “Good day, Lady Wheaton. It is so kind of you to invite me here to London.”

  For a moment Lady Wheaton stared with the stunned expression Leah was becoming used to now that her appearance had changed. Then her ladyship rose and came forward, the small dog at her heels. “How lovely you are! Your mother was too modest in singing your praises.” She studied Leah with interest. “You shall be a great success. I guarantee it. But my dear child . . . a cat?”

  Leah, who had begun to revive under the admiration, blushed. “I’m sorry, my lady. Shadow would not be left behind.”

  Her godmother frowned. “Neither Rex nor I are at all fond of cats.”

  A sharp canine yip identified Rex. The dog bounded toward Leah, looking ready to chase or eat the feline invader.

  Shadow jumped from Leah’s arms and stared at Rex. The dog skidded to a stop. Then he whined and flattened his belly to the floor, all the fight gone out of him.

  The cat stalked forward, gaze locked with the dog’s, until their noses touched. After a moment of whimpering panic, Rex gave a kind of sigh and relaxed.

  Shadow turned to Lady Wheaton and began to strop her ankles, purring vociferously. Her ladyship’s first expression of distaste vanished almost immediately. “It’s quite a friendly creature, isn’t it?” She bent and patted the cat’s head, as if Shadow were a dog. “And rather pretty, for a cat.”

  Leah almost laughed as she watched Shadow charming her hostess.

  Lady Wheaton straightened. “Since Rex doesn’t seem to object, I suppose there’s no harm in having the creature here, but don’t allow it to scratch my furniture.”

  Clearly her ladyship knew nothing of cats, or she would not have the foolish idea that they could be trained to obedience. Still, Shadow hadn’t scratched anything yet, and she seemed to have a clear sense of which side her bread was buttered on. Meekly Leah said, “Yes, Lady Wheaton. She is a very good cat.”

  “Call me Aunt Andrea,” Lady Wheaton
said warmly. “You must be tired. You’ll want to take supper in your room. I shall have a tray sent up. Then you must get a good night’s sleep, for tomorrow we’ll be off to the modiste to order your wardrobe. I am giving my autumn ball next week. It will be the perfect occasion to present you.”

  She slowly circled Leah. “Wait until Lady Hill sees you,” she said with satisfaction. “The whole spring season she went on insufferably about how beautiful her daughter Mary is, but you quite put the girl in the shade. Presenting you will be a great triumph for me. You’ll be the belle of the season.”

  A little dismayed, Leah collected Shadow and withdrew. She hadn’t known that she would be used to score points for her godmother in what looked like a long-term rivalry. Still, she supposed it was harmless enough.

  As she settled into an airy, attractive bedchamber, she turned her thoughts to the far more pleasant prospect of a new wardrobe.

  The footman handed Leah into the carriage. She collapsed on the seat opposite her godmother with a sigh. “I had no idea how fatiguing it is to be fashionable. It’s been three days now of shopping and fittings, being pinched and pinned.” She glanced out the window as the carriage began to move. “May I remove the veil? It is not comfortable on such a warm day.”

  “Wait until we are away from Bond Street,” Lady Wheaton ordered. “I don’t want to risk anyone seeing you in public before the grand presentation at my ball.” She pursed her lips. “Instead of introducing you in the usual receiving line, I shall wait until most of the guests have arrived. Then we will make a grand entrance down the front staircase.”

  Leah suppressed a sigh, not sure she would like being so much the center of attention, but knowing it was her duty to cooperate with Lady Wheaton’s plans. Luckily, she was becoming quite fond of her tart-tongued but generous-hearted godmother. “Very well, Aunt Andrea.”