Dangerous Gifts Page 8

  Sorrowfully she lifted the cat for a last hug. As she did, the image of a kitten appeared in her mind. A playful black kitten who would dance into Leah’s heart, and soon. The knowledge was some comfort, though Leah knew there would never be another cat like Shadow.

  After setting Shadow on the bed, Leah opened the casement, though if the cat was of Faerie, she probably didn’t need an open window to leave. Then Leah headed toward the door. With black humor, she told herself that Duncan would be lucky to escape her, since clearly a woman who held imaginary conversations with her cat was half mad.

  As she left the room, she felt a comforting warmth in her mind, almost like a purr.

  Since the morning room faced east, it was dim this late in the day. Leah entered to find Duncan standing in front of the window, his broad-shouldered form a dark silhouette. Even when he turned, his features were too shadowed for her to read. That was a small mercy, she decided. “Good day, Duncan.”

  “Leah.” He bowed, but didn’t come to her.

  Her heart died a little when she saw the ominous rigidity in his figure. He must be shocked by her drab appearance. She halted in the middle of the room, reminding herself to keep her head high. She could not change her looks, but she could at least behave with dignity. “You’ve spoken with my father?”

  “Yes, and he gave his blessing willingly. But”—Duncan hesitated, then said in a rush of words—“before I make a formal offer, there is something I must say.”

  Suddenly desperate to speak first so that she needn’t hear his confused, embarrassed questions, she said lightly, as if it was a matter of no importance, “No need to say anything. It’s perfectly obvious that it was a mistake for us to consider marriage.” Her gaze slid away and she blinked back tears. “Farewell, Captain Townley. I enjoyed our . . . flirtation.”

  She glided toward the door and was on the verge of escape when Duncan darted across the room and caught her arm. This close, she could see his shocked expression as he said, “Please don’t go. At least, not yet. “He swallowed hard. “I . . . I understand that you do not wish to marry me. I’m sorr y, Leah. I warned you that I was not the man you thought. A woman as beautiful as you deserves so much more. But I, too, shall treasure our . . . flirtation.”

  She stared at him. “ ‘A woman as beautiful as me’? Duncan, look at me! I’m as plain as a fence post. People would laugh at you for taking such an ill-favored wife when you can have any woman in England.”

  His gaze ran over her. “You do look a little less spectacular than usual today, probably from worrying how to tell me that you prefer to end our understanding. I’m sorry this has been so difficult for you.” His voice roughened. “But even upset, you’re still the loveliest sight I’ve ever seen, Leah. I . . . I shall never forget you.”

  The sincerity in his voice shocked her. If he still thought she was beautiful, it was because the room was too blasted dim. Grimly accepting that she must reveal herself in all her plainness, she took a candle from the table and thrust it into the small coal fire, then ignited a whole branch of candles so that light blazed over her. She turned to Duncan. “You’re wondering what happened to the girl you wanted to marry,” she said flatly. “It’s quite an interesting tale, though hard to believe. At the end of the summer, I met a faery who offered to make me beautiful, for a price to be paid later.”

  She smiled without humor. “Not only was I made beautiful, but the thought was planted in Lady Wheaton’s head that she’d like to present me, and presto! I was in London. Excellent magic, wasn’t it?” She shrugged with elaborate unconcern. “But the faery and I couldn’t reach an agreement on the payment, so my beauty was revoked. It would be impossible to believe such a tale, except that the truth is written on my face.”

  He frowned. “Kamana came to you also?”

  “Kamana?” Leah said, perplexed.

  “The faery.” Wearily he raked a hand through his brown hair. “She told me at the beginning that the change in my appearance could only be temporary. I knew you and I could not become betrothed until you had seen me as I really am, so yesterday I asked Kamana to remove her spell. She did so with a snap of her fingers, then told me not to worry, that all would be well. I didn’t believe her, and rightly so. A woman with your beauty and charm deserves the very best, not an ordinary man like me.”

  Leah studied him, looking for changes in his appearance. Now that she looked, she could see that his eyes were no longer golden, but a pleasant hazel with flecks of green, and his hair had gone from near-black to medium brown. Though he was still broad-shouldered and fit, the dashing and dangerous aura that had drawn women like honeybees was gone. Yet he was still unmistakably Duncan.

  Perplexed, she said, “The faery who came to me was male, Ranulph of the Wood. He dwells right here, on my father’s land, I think. Could he have transformed himself into a female to speak to you?” Even as she said the words, she rejected them. Ranulph was too wholly masculine ever to take the form of a woman.

  Equally perplexed, Duncan said, “Kamana is from India. She came to England on the ship that carried my uncle and a hold full of plant specimens. After Waterloo, when I was recovering from my wounds, she appeared and said that my uncle had saved her life. In return, he’d asked that I be protected in battle.” Duncan gave a lopsided smile. “She apologized for not being able to turn aside all harm, but her spell surely preserved my life and caused me to heal quickly. You see why I should not be called a hero? Because of my uncle’s good deed, I was protected from the guns that killed my comrades. I deserve no credit for that.”

  So that was the source of his self-deprecation. “Nonsense,” Leah said vehemently. “Did you know during the battle that you were protected?”

  When he shook his head, she continued, “Then how does a faery spell diminish your deed? As far as you knew at the time, you could die at any instant, as your friends had. It wasn’t magic that rallied your regiment and stopped the French advance. It was your courage and skill. Your heroism, Duncan.”

  As she scanned his beloved face, trying to infuse him with her belief, she recognized that he had been wounded more gravely than she had known. She went to him and tenderly touched the rough scar that ran from his temple to the middle of his cheek. This was not the thin line that had seemed like an elegant accessory to the dramatic good looks of a drawing room hero, but the mark of a savage injury that might have taken his life. “To me, you will always be a hero,” she said quietly.

  He flinched away from her fingers. “Ugly, isn’t it? In hospital, I couldn’t even face myself in the shaving mirror. And there are a dozen more scars in less obvious places.” He swallowed hard. “When Kamana came to me, she insisted on granting me a season of faery glamour so that I would not hide from society. Perhaps it would have been better if I had not agreed to that, for her magic merely delayed the time when I must come to terms with my disfigurement.”

  His voice softened. “Yet if not for Kamana’s spell, I would never have met you, much less had the courage to speak, or . . . or to kiss. I cannot regret that.”

  “You’re not ugly,” Leah said vehemently. “Even without faery glamour, you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever known, Duncan. I love the way you look, just as I love your strength and kindness and conversation and a thousand other things about you.”

  A startling thought struck her. If she loved Duncan even though he was not the dashing, Byronic hero who had made half of London swoon, there was a chance that he might love her even though she was not beautiful.

  She took a deep breath, then asked the hardest question of her life. “Do . . . do you think you could care for me even though I am plain?”

  Amazed, he said, “How can you think yourself plain? Though you don’t glitter as you did, you are still enchantingly slim and graceful, with a smile that lights up the room and eyes as warm as winter fire. Beautiful—at least, you are beautiful to me.”

  He cupped her cheek tenderly. “As I told you once before, when we met I fel
t I had come home,” he said in a husky voice. “Now that we see each other truly, I love you even more than before.”

  Laughing with joy, she went into his arms. How foolish she had been to think that love was only about surfaces, and that no man could love her unless she matched some impossible ideal of perfection. “Duncan, Duncan, I love you so.”

  They came together in a fierce embrace. As Leah raised her face for his kiss, she gave passionate thanks for the miracle of having found the other half of herself.

  Chapter Eight

  Raging, Ranulph stalked about the glade until Kamana appeared before him in a blaze of light. Magnificent and terrible, she wore an Indian garment of scarlet silk that brilliantly emphasized her dark, sultry skin and the raven hair that swirled around her.

  “You summoned me, Lord Ranulph?” she said with cool composure.

  He scowled at her. “Time and again you interfered with my pursuit of Leah. Today she rejected me, despite your assurances that she would be mine.” His voice turned to ice. “You influenced her, didn’t you? Perhaps even bespelled her so that she could resist my magic. Why, damn you? What have I done that you take such pleasure in thwarting me?”

  “I never said that Leah would accept you, Ranulph. Only that your destined consort would soon be yours, and that is the truth.” Kamana glided toward him, her figure swaying provocatively and her bare feet scarcely bending the autumn grass. “Why do you think I came halfway around the world? Destiny, my lord.”

  She was taunting him again. Furiously he wrapped his hands around the warm flesh of her throat, wanting to see her fear, wanting her to plead for mercy.

  Kamana laughed at him, her slanting eyes glowing like new-minted coins. “Is the thought of me as your consort that dreadful, Ranulph? I thought our encounter in the park was rather pleasing.”

  “You mocked me then, and you mock me now,” he growled. His fingers tightened until he could feel the hammer beat of her pulse beneath his thumbs. “If we were really destined mates, why not simply say so?”

  “You’re a stubborn creature,” she replied calmly. “All your thoughts and dreams were centered on that mortal child. How would you have reacted if I’d announced that you and I were fated to be together?”

  She was right again, damn her. His hands dropped and he stepped back. “I’d have said I’d sooner mate with a hedgehog than share my life with you,” he growled.

  “You shall find me a much better companion than a hedgehog.” She tossed her head, her silken hair shimmering like an ebony veil. “You cannot fight fate, Ranulph. Come, I have something to show you.”

  Kamana crossed the clearing to where a rivulet of water formed a small pool before trickling away. She waved her hand, and an image of Leah and her young man appeared in the water. They were sitting side by side on a sofa. Townley said something and Leah laughed, turning to rest her forehead against his shoulder as she laid her hand lightly on his chest. His arm came around her, and he kissed her soft temple.

  Ranulph saw the tenderness, and ached inside. “Are you saying that mortals, with their short lives and eternal souls, are more fortunate than the long-lived, soulless Folk?”

  Kamana gave him a glance of mild exasperation. “All things that live are formed of spirit, Ranulph. The trees around us, the grass beneath us, all creatures great and small. That includes the Fair Folk, so I’ll hear no more talk of our lacking souls.”

  His gaze went back to the image of the two young mortals. They were kissing now, and Leah was beautiful. Beautiful in a quiet, far more profound way than the dazzling faery glamour that Ranulph had granted her.

  “Those two are soul twins, which is why their love could not be affected by faery spells,” Kamana said softly. “When Duncan’s uncle asked me to protect the boy, I traced the thread of his destiny, and found that without magical aid, he would die at Waterloo.”

  She shook her head with regret. “Despite my efforts, he was injured in body, and even more in spirit, on that terrible day. The physical wounds were not hard to heal, but an injured spirit is much harder. When I looked again at his destiny line, I realized that the best remedy would be to bring him to Leah. Ordinarily it would have taken them longer to come together, longer still to realize that they were true mates. But because you and I had touched them with faery magic, they both sensed their fate almost instantly.”

  “It sounds to me as if you interfered with their so-called destiny,” Ranulph said with heavy sarcasm.

  “I was merely an instrument of fate, a way of bringing them together. The same is true of these two.” She gestured and a new image showed in the pool. Lord Townley and Lady Wheaton were also on a sofa, but the activity they were involved in was nowhere near as innocent as mere kissing. Ranulph’s gaze sharpened with interest at the sight of the tumbled skirts and passionate movements, but before he could get a clear look, Kamana waved away the image.

  “Lord Townley asked nothing for himself, but I thought I would speed him toward the secret wish of his heart,” Kamana explained. “My aid was not essential. I merely helped him recognize his destiny sooner.”

  Exotic and beautiful, Kamana gazed at Ranulph with slanting eyes that had seen mysteries half a world away. She was so alluring that he almost reached out to draw her to him. Instead, he retreated, scowling. “So you went to London as a spy.”

  She grinned. “Indeed I did.” There was a shimmer of light, and the faery was replaced by a large black cat with long silky hair and golden eyes the same shade as Kamana’s. Purring, the beast rubbed against his ankles in sensual invitation.

  He had to smile. Scooping the cat up in his arms, he said, “You’re an excellent shapeshifter.” Still purring, the creature settled into the crook of his arm. Ranulph stroked the soft-furred belly, thinking that a cat might be a good companion in the lonely nights of winter.

  Suddenly Kamana returned to her own form and he was holding a glorious, half-naked female in his arms. She was warmly alive and scented with the rare perfumes of Araby, and his hand was on her full, silk-clad breast.

  Throatily she said, “Shapeshifting isn’t all that I’m good at.” Her hand slid down his body, arousing him with indecent ease.

  Furious at how cleverly she manipulated him, he dropped her like an armful of burning timber. As she gave an acrobatic twist that landed her on her feet, he snapped, “You said that I was carnally unskilled compared to the Folk of your land. Why would you want to mate such a clumsy creature as I?”

  “There is more to mating than mere technique.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “You’re quite arrogant enough already. I didn’t want to feed your vanity by saying that never had I known such passion, or such satisfaction.”

  “But why?” He caught her shoulders, trapping her so that she must look at him. “Why me? Why risk a journey halfway around the world to become the consort of a stranger?”

  She became utterly still, her gaze locking with his. “Because of who and what you are, Ranulph,” she said quietly. “Our people mate often, but seldom love. Few of the Folk desire the kind of bond you wanted to have with Leah.”

  She raised her hand to his face, her fingers light. “You were mistaken in your choice of mate, but not in the truth of your heart. You have a rare capacity to love, Ranulph, though it is a word the Folk never use.”

  Kamana closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she let him see into her soul, to the vulnerability and desperate yearning that she hid behind her teasing. “I wanted love, but could not find it in my own land. Like you, I was a solitary who yearned for my true mate. Finally I went through the door of dream-time to find if such a being even existed. The Great Mother gave me a vision of a wild and golden faery lord who lived in a far distant place. I knew then that my true mate existed, though to find you I would have to risk my very existence. But if I succeeded, the silver threads of our destinies would knot and become one forever.”

  Her eyes searched his, uncertainty and hope in the golden depths. “I thought I
recognized you the moment we first met. Was I wrong? Did . . . did I allow my yearning to distort my vision?”

  In the drowning pools of her eyes, he saw an end to loneliness, a craving for union that matched his own. He’d never found such longing among the Folk of his land, had not believed that it existed anywhere except among humankind. That was why he had become obsessed with Leah—because he’d known that the mortal girl had an immense capacity to love.

  With wonder and deep humility, he recognized the rare and precious gifts Kamana was offering. Companionship. Passion. A love for all eternity. This was what he had longed for, this shining creature from a far place who knew the shape of his spirit, and would complete it with her own.

  Huskily he said, “No, Kamana. You were not wrong.” Then, with a blossoming of joy, Ranulph drew her into his arms, and surrendered to his destiny.

  And they all lived happily ever after.

  Have you tried Mary Jo’s Lost Lords series? It starts with

  LOVING A LOST LORD . . .

  In the first of a dazzling series, Mary Jo Putney introduces the Lost Lords—maverick childhood friends with a flair for defying convention. Each is about to discover the woman who is his perfect match—but perfection doesn’t come easily, even for the noble Duke of Ashton . . .

  Battered by the sea, Adam remembers nothing of his past, his ducal rank, nor of the shipwreck that almost claimed his life. However, he’s delighted to hear that the golden-haired vision tending his wounds is his wife. Mariah’s name and face may not be familiar, but her touch, her warmth, feel deliciously right . . .

  When Mariah Clarke prayed for a way to deter a bullying suitor, she didn’t imagine she’d find the answer washed ashore on a desolate beach. Convincing Adam that he is her husband is surprisingly easy. Resisting the temptation to act his wife, in every way, will prove anything but. And now a passion begun in fantasy has become dangerously real—and completely irresistible . . .