The Demon's Daughter, page 30
“Don’t worry, Rodrigo, er, Tom,” he said. “We’ll work something out. I’ll run you back home tonight and talk to your father. Maybe he’ll let you spend summers with me, and you can catch all the good expeditions.” Giving the boy a last squeeze, he indicated the house. “Shall we?”
His hand settled between Roxie’s shoulder blades as they advanced down the shoveled path and up the steps of the porch. Her skin prickled strangely under the contact, as though her nerves had been thrown into confusion.
She didn’t want to let him take charge, and yet she couldn’t help but sympathize with his need to. She’d seen the man he was underneath his demon mask. She couldn’t claim to understand everything about him, or to approve, but she couldn’t deny they shared a similar loyalty to family. Knowing they’d both protect those they loved, even to the death, was oddly—and perhaps dangerously—comforting.
The house surrounded Adrian in warmth and light.
“They’ve put up the Solstice decorations,” he said, eyeing the garlands of holly and bay spiraling down the staircase. He inhaled deeply, then turned to help Roxie with her cloak. She fussed a bit with her gloves before handing them and her reticule over.
“Rum punch,” he confided, smiling as the smells and sounds of childhood celebrations washed over him. How different this homecoming was. How long it had been since he’d allowed himself to enjoy one. He was so caught up in remembering, it took him a moment to realize how nervous Roxie was.
“It’s crowded,” she said in a low, startled voice. “I thought you said only family was coming. These can’t all be your relatives.”
“I am,” piped the chestnut-haired girl who was struggling to heft Herrington’s bearskin coat over her shoulder.
“Hello, Amanda,” Adrian said, the smile coming as naturally as the name, though it had been years since he’d seen Alice’s oldest.
“Hello, Uncle Adrian.” She goggled at Roxie’s bright hair. “Your sweetheart is pretty.”
Herrington’s butler choked on a laugh. He covered the lapse by nudging Tommy forward to help Amanda with her burdens. Then he followed the young people to the back of the house.
Herrington turned a distinctly wistful eye on their disappearance. “Where’s the receiving line?”
Adrian bit back a grin. “I’m afraid my family doesn’t go in for receiving lines.”
Herrington leaned closer. “Are they really all related to you?”
“Mostly.” Adrian raised a hand to greet an aunt he’d been convinced was dead. “The rest are neighbors. This is Mother’s idea of giving the new baby a proper welcome.”
“A proper welcome,” Herrington repeated. Before he could investigate further cultural differences, Adrian’s sixteen-year-old sister, Beth, came barreling down the hallway.
“You’re here, you’re here,” she cried, flinging herself into Adrian’s arms. Going on tiptoe, she buried her nose in his neck. “And you smell heavenly! Oranges and ginger.”
Adrian’s face heated as he realized his scent and Roxie’s must have combined from stealing kisses in the cab. Charles and Max had taken their own hansom. The boys considered this a special treat and, although Roxie had ordered them not to ask the driver to race every vehicle they met, Adrian had no doubt they’d beaten his and Roxie’s cab by miles. Not that it mattered. His family was good at making rambunctious boys feel at home.
No slouch herself when it came to being rough-and-tumble, Beth let him go. “You must be Roxanne!” she chortled effusively.
“I am,” Roxie said unsurely. “Pleased to meet you, too.”
“Hah!” Beth barked, punching Adrian’s shoulder with enough friendly vigor to make him wince. He’d forgotten what a boisterous puppy she could be, though if her manners could put Roxie at ease, it would be worth it.
With a complete disregard for the honors due Herrington’s rank, his sister waved at him, grabbed Roxie’s hand, and started tugging her down the hall. “Come on, Roxie. I’ll take you to the tower. They’ve got the latest baby in Mother and Father’s room. Everyone’s dying to meet you. Do you know that divine blond boy of yours chased Mother out of her kitchen! Said she wasn’t basting the squabs properly. Mother near about popped.”
Adrian turned to an endearingly lost-looking Herrington. “Why don’t I introduce you to my grandfather? He’s always saying he’d love the chance to chat with a diplomat. Besides which, he’s got the key to Mother’s brandy store.”
“Ah, er, very good. Always ready to sample a home cordial.” The hesitation in Herrington’s voice told Adrian he suspected what he was in for but couldn’t think how to evade it.
The round master bedroom, where the new baby was purportedly being shielded from too much excitement, reminded Roxie of a lighthouse. Tall, deep windows ringed it, between which brass ship’s lanterns glowed. The air smelled pleasantly of baby talc. Despite its size, the room was crowded. Both Adrian’s parents were there, though Varya was chatting too busily to do more than wave. All four of Adrian’s sisters and their assorted husbands were ranged about the walls: the plain and placid Alice, the breathtaking but highly strung Marianne, Beth, of course, and Adrian’s oldest sister, Julie, the voluptuous new mother.
Appearing perfectly content with the attention, Julie sat cross-legged on the bed in the curve of her dapper husband’s arm, her baby cradled in her lap, her skirts spread across the counterpane. Though the styles of their dresses were different, and hers had a clean nappie thrown over one shoulder, hers was the same apple-green as Roxie’s. Julie laughed delightedly at the coincidence, her cheeks glowing milk and pink with motherhood.
“Here she is, Gaspar. Guardian of your most treasured new employee.”
“Hush,” the restaurateur scolded without the slightest ire. “That boy’s got a big enough head.”
Julie patted the bed in front of her and, before Roxie even had time to say hello, a bright-eyed, squirming baby was ladled carefully into her arms. She gasped at the feel of him. He was so warm, so little, but so strong in his kicks and wriggles. With no more shyness than if she’d been a lifelong member of the family, Gaspar’s hand came under hers to help support the baby’s head. Julie leaned forward to coo at her infant son.
Before she could adjust to this unexpectedly warm welcome, Gaspar was calling out a greeting to Adrian, apparently shed of the burden of entertaining her father.
Even here, in the midst of his family, Roxanne’s heart beat more forcefully at his approach. His smiling eyes locked with hers as he shouldered through the gathering, barely responding to his family’s greetings.
“Hello,” she said nervously as he stood beaming down at her, at the baby in her arms, at Gaspar’s hand curled so naturally beneath her own. She shouldn’t have been tense. Everyone was being extremely nice, but part of her couldn’t believe they’d really let her belong. Damn Adrian, anyway, for not telling them about the engagement ahead of time. She, for one, could do without the suspense.
“You look good with a babe in your lap,” he said, not helping matters at all. He sat behind her on the edge of the bed, close enough that his chest warmed her back. When he reached over her to brush the baby’s plump cheek, he noticed the omission on her right hand. Overcome by anxiety, she’d slipped his ring into her reticule.
“Ahem,” he said, tapping the offending finger.
“I couldn’t,” she whispered back pleadingly. “Not by myself!”
“Is something wrong?” Julie asked.
“No, no,” Adrian assured her, clearly amused. “Roxie’s just a little shy in this chattering horde. Gaspar, do you think you could do the honors and quiet the room?”
The honors turned out to be an earsplitting whistle.
“Thank you,” Adrian said as everyone settled. “You know I’m not much for speeches, but I have a few things to say. I’d appreciate if you’d refrain from rushing us until I’m done. First, and most important, this lovely woman has agreed to be my wife. Second—” He broke off laughing to let them exclaim while Roxie covered her blazing face.
“Second,” he continued with no sympathy whatsoever for her embarrassment, “since Roxie didn’t grow up in a big, noisy family, I ask that you treat her gently for a while. Give her a chance to get used to your insanity.”
“Adrian!” Roxie cried. “Don’t make them think I consider them insane!”
Though her protest went unheard, it didn’t seem to matter, because his relatives were indeed rushing them, surrounding them with too many hugs and kisses to tell who each belonged to. The effect was both alarming and wonderful. This was better than the family she’d dreamed of having as a child—messier, maybe, but a hundred times as warm.
“Well, that’s nice,” Adrian’s mother chirped through the hubbub. “A wedding. And here I thought he was only going to tell us she was with child.”
Judging she’d had enough of his relatives, Adrian helped Roxie escape to his old bedroom, now a sewing chamber. Though outwardly sentimental, his mother had made no shrines to her children. The moonlit room held few signs of its former use. He thought Roxie would find it peaceful enough to brace for the second wave. After all, the other half of his family—the cousins and aunts—still awaited downstairs.
“Whew,” she said now. “I thought they were going to follow us.”
He didn’t tell her they would have if they weren’t just a little intimidated by his sternness. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.”
She shook her head shyly. “Now it’s real,” she said. “Before it wasn’t, but now it is.”
“Hm,” he said. “Suddenly, I have the feeling my proposal should have been a bit more formal—not to mention romantic.”
He expected her to smile, but instead she worried her lip. “Are you certain about marrying me, Adrian? Your folks seem understanding, but you’ll never be respectable. And there’s Max and Charles to think about. You’re wonderful with them, but two boys are a lot of work. Plus, you might not know this, but I’ve got a good bit of money. You’d have to come to terms with that. If you marry me, the law will say it’s yours.”
Adrian was still smiling when she rattled to a halt. “There’s only one thing you have to ask yourself. Do you love me enough to share the rest of our lives?”
“Yes. More than anything.”
“Good.” He held her face for a serious perusal. “Because I want us to be together, you and me and Charles and Max. I want us to be a family. Maybe have a few of our own when we’re ready.”
She closed her eyes at the gruffness of his tone, but she didn’t tell him to stop. She wanted—no—needed all the words. Needed them to wash her clean of the last vestiges of doubt.
“As for the money, I plan to ask your father to undo whatever he did to get me dismissed from the Securité. I’m going to see if I can get reinstated on my own, now that the superintendent has had a chance to cool down.” His lips whispered across her brow. “Whatever happens, I promise you’ll never be sorry you accepted me. Given our history, our life is bound to be eventful, but we love each other. We can make a success of this.”
“I believe you,” she said just as earnestly. “Oh, Adrian. This is all the romance I need.” She tugged his hands down to her bosom. Her heart was pounding, and he smiled slowly, sleepily as he spread his fingertips across her soft flesh, drinking in the furious vibration of life and love.
When he laughed, she heard joy in the husky sound.
“Can’t back out now,” he warned. “I know your secrets.”
“As I know yours,” she reminded.
Fortunately, his kiss ensured her silence.
Charles guessed what had happened the moment he entered the cloakroom; didn’t even need to see the ring she was slipping on. They locked gazes, and then she smiled, her eyes crinkling, her mouth curving softly. She glowed with a new inner certitude. He’d never seen her look this beautiful except once, when she glared down at him on a dirty Avvar street, challenging him with her outthrust hand.
Take a chance, Charles. Take a chance.
Something sharp and hot stabbed the region of his heart, but he couldn’t hold out against her when she opened her arms. They embraced amid the smell of rock salt and damp wool, neither wanting to let go.
Charles thought of the position Herrington had offered him earlier this evening, to serve as cook on his next expedition to Sammerhorn. He’d been leery of working for a demon, but he knew now that he’d accept. No matter how much he admired Adrian and loved Roxie, it would be better for him if he weren’t around to witness their newly wedded bliss. He was almost a man now. He hadn’t wanted to face it, but sometimes it was hard to think of Roxie as a sister.
Happily, lots of things could happen in a summer. When he returned, he’d find a way to love more than her.
“He asked you then.” He pulled back, made a separation between them. “I’m glad.”
It was almost true.
Then Adrian was there with Max flopped in sleep over his shoulder. Max looked as if he belonged there, like Adrian’s son. Charles told himself he was grateful there’d be someone to care for Max when he was gone, but in truth, it seemed a betrayal of all he’d done for the boy.
He forced himself to face Roxie’s fiancé. It wasn’t easy. Adrian was smiling softly, his eyes filled with a terrible understanding, as if he’d looked into Charles’s soul and seen all its dark corners.
“She told you?” he said, rubbing a slow circle on Max’s back.
Charles nodded, jaw tight to keep his emotions checked. He moved to shake the man’s hand, but Adrian pulled him into his unoccupied shoulder and kissed his hair with surprising affection. No grown man had ever held him this way. Other ways, but not that. Adrian was tall. Charles only reached his shoulder. Something tensed and strained inside him as he suffered the embrace, clenching his throat and making him tremble, making him feel young.
“Don’t worry,” Adrian whispered fiercely. “I want to give you more, not take anything away. You’re as dear to me as Max.”
Charles pushed away from him, the confusion of strong emotion making him dizzy. He hardly heard the women flutter into the coatroom, too eager to wait for Adrian and Roxie to emerge. They filled the space between him and the couple, laughing and wishing them well.
He braced a hand on the coat-padded wall, too weak to leave, though he felt a tear rolling down his cheek.
“Lord!” said a disgusted female voice, breaking his solitude. “Don’t let them see you dripping like a faucet. Silly cows are liable to call the whole thing off. I’m counting on my mother being distracted for the next six months.”
It was the funny-looking girl they called Beth, the one who acted like a boy in a dress. She was shoving a handkerchief in his face as if it were his sacred duty to use it.
“Bugger off,” he said as soon as he’d blown his nose sufficiently to speak.
“Hah!” she said and punched his shoulder hard enough to hurt.
Charles surprised himself by laughing back. When he did, he knew he’d survive.
Epilogue
Since I have stated on numerous occasions that I abhor gossip, you may rely on what I tell you now. Yes, the unlamented Prince of Narikerr did meet his end in a woman’s arms. Yes, Adrian Philips rose to lead Securité’s Department of International Affairs. Roxanne McAllister bore four children by him—despite many bitter people’s claim that she would have none. It is also true that she was the first human artist to show her work in the Northland. I have it on good authority that every piece she brought past the border sold, though naturally none of the Yama would later admit to buying them.
More to the point, if my esteemed readers followed the responsible news outlets as they should, they would know Lord Herrington was awarded both the Distinguished Victoria Cross and the Yamish Order of Valor. The services that earned him these honors remain open to debate. Diplomacy is a tricky matter, and trickier still when royals are involved. One never knows when one will accidentally end up on the winning side of a family feud.
—The True and Irreverent History of Avvar
How about June?” Roxie asked dreamily, smoothing her hand down his sweat-slicked chest. Adrian was still breathing hard, and she loved the sound.
“I was thinking more along the lines of next weekend,” he replied, then jumped as her fingers swept past his navel. With the flat of her hand, she stretched his sated organ gently toward its head. He should have been exhausted, but he stirred.
“I couldn’t get a dress that soon,” she said reasonably, going up on one elbow to examine his progress. She repeated the stroke, incrementally increasing the pressure as her palm dragged toward his tip. A strange caress, it was nonetheless arousing.
Amused by his own susceptibility, he looked up at the absorbed expression on her face, still flushed from their last lovemaking. Her hair hung in streamers of red-gold satin across her breasts, her nipples peeping through the waves. He rolled closer to kiss one peak, coaxing it with lips and tongue until it took on the sharpness of a beginning rather than an end. He trailed his fingers down her arm, pleased when she shivered.
“I take it you want a real wedding,” he said. “A fancy dress and a veil? A wide gold band and a seaside chapel?”
“We-ell,” she admitted and blushed delightfully. The heat of it suffused her breasts. “Only if you wouldn’t mind.”
“The only thing I’d mind”—he snaked his arms around her back—“is waiting until June. I give you a month and permission to ask my interfering sisters for all the help they’re no doubt chomping on the bit to give.”
She laughed, then sighed as he tangled their legs together. Her insides fluttered with arousal, quickly dampening the thigh he’d wedged considerately against her mound.
“Greedy creature,” he said and jerked his hips closer.
She ignored the mock scolding. “We could ask your sister Alice to sing. And perhaps Linia Rahasanchez would agree to do the dance of the thousand veils, though that might make your mother nervous.” She laughed. “I can hear her now: ‘Oh, Isaac, please tell me she’s got something under that last scarf!’”
