Maybe This Time, page 31
“Of no consequence?” She whispered to soften the God-awful blow. “I have no property, no holdings, no dowry. I—I have nothing of value, Kevan.”
“Nothing of value?” He sounded shocked, but he looked angry. “I didn’t marry you for money, Alyssa. And, though you were sold, I won you from Innes. I knew how he’d acquired you. Everyone did.”
Alyssa’s scalp tingled, her body shuddered with icy shivers. “Everyone?”
“Everyone.”
Alyssa groaned and buried her face in his neck. “Oh God, Kevan. I’ll never be able to show my face in London again.”
“I don’t see why not.”
His throat vibrated against her cheek and she raised up. “For pity’s sake, Kevan Buchannan. I swear, I think you’re daft at times. I was sold. I have nothing. And all of London knows it.
“Darling, you know members of the ton often marry for money. I don’t see why—”
“But I didn’t. I was sold to one man and eloped with another—a rakehell demon who kidnapped me from a church, for pity’s sake.”
“Ah, I see.” Kevan cast her a wicked smile. “But you must admit, love. The intrigue proved very romantic. Even to the ton.”
“You want to see me humiliated,” she accused him. “That’s why you brought me here.”
“I would never wish to humiliate my wife,” he countered in a hard voice. “Your damnable pride stripped from you—by God, I would. But humiliated? Never.”
She gave him a good frown. “Do you know, milord, that my father intends to challenge you to a duel?”
“I do. Innes is said to be contemplating a challenge as well.”
Her fingertips dug into his shoulders and she drew in a sharp breath. “Why?”
“He wants you.”
“No.” Her flesh crawled. “He—he can’t.”
“He does,” Kevan insisted.
Her hands clenched into fists against his shoulders. “I cannot abide him.”
“That is good to know. I’d hate to have to kill him.”
His eyes glinted with a cold fury she’d never seen in them before, chilling her to the bone. She shivered. “You would kill him?”
Kevan didn’t answer.
The hair on her nape prickled. “I heard your vow at the church, but—but I thought you just said that so no one would follow.”
His voice grew hard as his eyes. “You are mine.”
The truth dawned on her then. “You meant it? You would truly kill any man who tried to take me from you?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her with those hard, steady eyes. He’d meant it, all right. And she didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him. A spurt of joy took hold in her heart. He really did care for her. But—but to kill a man . . . ?
She cupped his cheek; she’d held softer rocks. Still, she forced herself to smile, and, when his jaw softened under her hand, she felt a bit better. “Unless provoked, you won’t duel either of them, of course.”
He didn’t comment.
“Kevan,” she insisted. “Will you?”
“We’ll see.”
“Kevan Buchannan, we will not see.” She couldn’t withhold her panic. “You must not duel my father. He’s an excellent fence.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” he said in a stiff voice that made her wish she hadn’t yelled at him. Lord, the man did take exception to her raising her voice.
He gave her a lazy grin. “Your concern for my safety pleases me.”
How did the man switch emotions like that? She narrowed her eyes at him, letting him see her feelings about that. “Of course, I’m concerned. You’re my husband, for pity’s sake.”
Kevan kissed her temple. “I am. Blessing or curse.”
She gave his shoulder a smart whack, then snuggled against him. “It is a blessing and you know it.”
His arms around her grew tight, and she heard his satisfied sigh. “Yes, my dear lady, it is.”
A knot rose in her throat. Against his shoulder, she whispered. “I’m afraid, Kevan.”
“We’ll settle, love. Though my personal opinion is that your father deserves a sound thrashing, I won’t give it to him—unless provoked. I know it would distress you.” His breath was hot on her neck. “You’ve suffered enough distress at that man’s hands already.”
She kissed his shoulder. “Thank you, milord.” That issue resolved, Alyssa turned the subject to another of her fears. “Can we go back to Woodwind?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” he firmly insisted. “You can’t run, Alyssa. You must face society.”
That he knew why she wanted to leave didn’t surprise her. “You know that the ton will shun me, Kevan.”
“None would dare,” he scoffed. A muscle in his cheek twitched, then twitched again. “You are the wife of a powerful lord, Alyssa. Remember that.”
“I would remind you that you kidnapped me from my wedding to another man. And also that we wed at Gretna Green. The ton will feel we’re beneath polite society.”
“Thank you again, dear lady, for your protection against my faulty memory. I do hope our Creator isn’t growing weary from all the indulgences you’ve requested of Him. Perhaps you’d best request one more though—for yourself.”
Puzzled, she stiffened. “Whatever for, milord?”
“It seems you’ve forgotten a most important point.”
“Oh?”
He nodded. “We are polite society, darling. And together we’re much too clever to waste such valuable gossip.”
“Waste it?” She eyed him warily. “Kevan, have you gone daft?”
“Indulge me by listening, love. The ton is intrigued with romance, is it not?”
“I suppose,” she said uncertainly.
“Its dubbing Prinny as the prince of pleasure is adequate proof, don’t you agree?”
Thoughtful, Alyssa pursed her lips. “They do call the Prince Regent that, don’t they?”
“They do,” Kevan said. “Now, having proven that the ton is intrigued with romance, I ask you: What could be more romantic than a man stealing his lady from the arms of another?” Kevan smiled and leaned back. “Nothing, by God. Absolutely nothing.”
“What does this have to—”
He gave her a weary nod. “Alyssa, for a clever woman, you’re decidedly slow on matters of the heart.”
“I think I take that as an insult, milord. Use caution, else you’ll do irreparable damage to my tender feelings. And remember, if you please, that I haven’t had the benefit of your experience.”
“No, you haven’t.” He laughed at her.
She frowned. “Now I’m certain I’m insulted. You find me lacking.”
“Only in the nicest way.”
She lifted her chin. “Smirking at your wife is most rude, milord.”
“But, darling. I’m no gentleman.”
“No, you’re not. But you are mine, Kevan.” She let out a resigned sigh. “And I suppose that makes it my duty to make you into one.”
“Never, my dear lady,” he said in a voice of stone. “Though before we return to Woodwind, I’ve no doubt you’ll have even the most arrogant of Almack’s patronesses eating out of your beautiful hand.”
“That would be impossible.”
“It wouldn’t. Stop disputing me, darling. It is not only possible, but sinfully simple. All we must do is show our devotion, publicly flaunt the fact that we’re besotted with each other.” He smiled. “The ton will be enchanted.”
He pressed his lips to her palm. She smiled into his chest. He didn’t realize he’d done it. Surely he didn’t. But did his slip indicate the feelings in his heart? He’d called her his love, his dear lady, again and again, but to show, to flaunt, devotion and affection, one must feel devotion and affection. And, wonder of wonders, his cherished disclosures had come after she’d told him all that stood between them.
Well, almost all. She still hadn’t spoken of Hedwig, or of her father’s blood-stained clothes. But Kevan had heard—and accepted—enough for one night. “I think I like this speaking freely with you, Kevan.”
He crushed her to him. “Of course, you do, love. I’m your husband.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “Now. I think, first thing tomorrow, you must visit Bond Street, mmm? A new gown for court. Maybe something in green. I’ve developed a fondness for green. The particular shade of your eyes when you’re loving me.” His own eyes took on a dreamy look. “Yes.”
“You’re no gentleman, milord,” she reprimanded him. But her heart wasn’t in it, and, from the caressing smile on his sweet lips, her demon-knight knew it. “Besides, I do have gowns I’ve yet to wear.”
“Nonsense,” he argued. “Every woman being presented to court needs a gown of her own choosing.”
Alyssa smiled. “But I’ve been presented at court.”
“Not as my wife.”
Her reluctance refused to go unspoken, and she wondered if he had a secret power that forced her to reveal her thoughts. She lifted the amulet at his neck and rubbed it between her fingers. “Wasn’t once enough? It was awful, Kevan. Must I go through that crush of swooning women again?” She nuzzled his neck. “I’d rather return to Woodwind with you. We could swim.”
“Don’t tempt me, love. You must be presented. It’s even more important because of our circumstance. I abducted you from a church, I would remind you. The bishop could demand reparation. And, I do believe, my dear lady, you’ve forgotten the first rule of defense.”
Alyssa trapped her disappointment in a small sigh. “I know little of military matters, milord. What is the first rule of defense?”
Kevan nipped at her neck. “Attack.”
Twenty-one
THE CRYSTAL AMULET at his throat vibrated.
Pain seared Kevan’s chest. Memories flooded his mind. Alyssa. Angel!
He cupped the crystal in his palm, untangled himself from his wife’s limbs, and eased from her bed.
Next door, in his own chamber, he answered the summons of the Elder of the Council of Perfection. “Yes, your grace.”
The Elder appeared, a thick, silvery mist swirling around him. “Prophet,” he said in his familiar, husky rasp. “It is good to see you, my son.”
Prophet nodded. “It’s good to see you, too.”
The Elder inclined his head and slowly blinked. “Your woman is with you,” he said more than asked.
Kevan nodded. “As in Scotland, she is my wife.”
“How does she progress in overcoming the fault of pride?”
Prophet rubbed his neck. “She’s begun, but not yet mastered this level. Her confusion is great. Here, too, her father has made her tender years painful. But she is learning to trust and to risk embarrassment.”
“Still, she has not yet become universal.”
The Elder’s left eye reflected a glimmering light, though the right one remained flat. His movements were slow, measured, as though each motor skill utilized required Herculean strength. Prophet frowned. “Are you ill, your grace?”
“It is of no consequence.” The Elder repeated his observation, a strange sadness in his voice. “She has failed to become universal.”
Prophet contradicted him. “She has succeeded in revealing her discomforts to me. At cost to her self-respect, she revealed truths that embarrassed her greatly. It was difficult for her, your grace. Her distress—”
“Has an event occurred wherein she has felt compelled to sacrifice her pride for the benefit of another?”
“She nearly married Innes to protect her father.”
“But she didn’t?”
Prophet felt heat crawl up his neck. “She would have.”
“Then why—”
“I abducted her.”
The Elder stroked his beard. “I see.”
“The man is a scoundrel, your grace. I couldn’t let her fall victim to him. She’s but an infant at restructuring. She needs time to learn the value of sacrifice with specific regard to pride. Just as she learned the value of all deeds in Scotland.”
“She was quite a firebrand in those days.” The Elder stroked his beard and smiled. “Quite a firebrand.”
“She still is,” Kevan said. “But she is different, too. Much more gentle and aware of her emotions. She cries easily here, and seeks comfort in me.”
The Elder’s lips twitched as though this news pleased him. “I see that once again your woman has captured your heart.”
Prophet nodded. “She is my woman, my lady, and my—”
“Destiny?”
“Yes, your grace.” Prophet smiled. “My beloved destiny.”
The Elder turned to go. “The Council will be appeased with her progress for now.” He looked back over his shoulder, his glimmering eye a mirror of his inner pain. “But you must move more quickly. Time waits for no man. Pursue your destiny, Prophet. Master time. And remember the leaves.”
“They change without urging. In their own time,” Prophet said, repeating a message the Elder had given him long ago. “I remember, and I’ve not forced her—other than to wed me. But even then I gave her a choice.”
The Elder frowned. Prophet had seen that rare display of emotion only twice. And both times serious consequences had followed.
When he was seven, just after his father’s funeral, he had encountered the Elder for the first time—and been gifted with the visions that were natural to him, but frightened others.
Twenty years later, the Elder frowned again. The day Kevan had envisioned Alyssa’s funeral in New Orleans. And that frown had signaled the onset of their travels, their mission to alter history, to teach Alyssa to love, and the risking of his eternal peace, for without her his soul would surely die.
What would happen this time?
“The ton of this time is a superficial breed, Prophet. To them, appearance is everything. Proceed with caution, else all could be lost.”
“I’ll do my best, your grace. Losing Alyssa now, after so many trials . . .” Fear choked him. “We’ve come so far.”
“The leaves, Prophet. Remember the leaves.” The Elder’s silvery image faded.
Kevan found he was standing alone in his bedchamber. The room was dark and cold, no fire burned in the grate. Puzzled, he rubbed his neck. He’d been asleep in Alyssa’s bed, his wife nestled in his arms. When had he risen? And why in bloody Hell didn’t he recall rising?
AT THE SIDEBOARD, Parks pressed the spigot on the coffee urn and filled a cup. “Good morning, milord.”
“Good morning.” Kevan sat down at the head of the long mahogany table. “Has Meg arrived?”
“Yes, milord. She’s taking her ladyship a cup of chocolate at present. It should be a most interesting reunion.”
Kevan narrowed his eyes. “Was Meg briefed on what to tell my wife?”
“Of course, milord.” Parks placed the cup on the table. “Breakfast?”
Kevan grunted and unfolded his newspaper. He’d read no more than the front page when squeals of delight pealed out above stairs. Chuckling softly, he glanced up at the ceiling. Alyssa was pleased. Content, he returned to his paper.
Minutes later, he heard her hurried footfalls on the grand stairs. He dipped the paper and looked over the top. His heart swelled and damned near burst. She looked like a joyful sprite. Fresh and soft from sleep, her silver curls tangled about her face. Her nightgown clinging to her ankles, exposing her bare feet.
“Oh, Kevan!” She rushed to him and covered his face with tiny kisses.
“Madam, you’ve—” Parks fell silent, having intercepted Kevan’s meaningful nod.
Kevan cleared his throat and glared at the ogling footmen. They promptly turned to face the wall. That they were smiling did not please him.
“Not now, Parks,” Alyssa told his man between rapid-fire kisses. “I’m thanking my husband for being the most wonderful man in all of England—no, the whole world!”
“Alyssa,” Kevan protested between chuckles. “Alyssa, please! You’ll have poor Parks swooning.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’ve forgotten your robe, my love.”
Alyssa gasped. “Parks, tu—turn around at once.”
Kevan watched that worthy struggle to bury his smile and do as his lady bid. It pleased him, too, that Parks had kept a sharp eye on the backs of the footmen.
Alyssa lowered her voice, but far from mortified as she would have been a mere month ago, her eyes twinkled merry mischief. “I apologize, milord, but a wife’s gratitude cannot wait. Your coat, if you please.” She reached toward him and wiggled her fingers for him to hurry.
He arched a brow and gave her his best rakehell look. “I rather like your—”
“Kevan.” She stamped her foot. “Your coat.”
Grumbling false annoyance, Kevan stood, removed his coat, then held it open for his wife. When she slipped it on, the sleeves covered her hands and the tails brushed the back of her calves. She looked enchanting, like a child playing dress up. But she was no child. No. His spirited wife was all woman. He sat back down, certain that no man could be more content.
“I’m very pleased with you, milord.” Alyssa bent over and pecked his cheek. “That’s for rescuing young James. No, don’t deny it. And don’t badger Meg, either. I’m not slow-witted.” She kissed him more fully. “And that, you wonderful man, is for Meg. I can’t believe she’s really home! And this,” she kissed him breathless, “is because of all the women in England, you had the good sense to choose me.” She smiled down at him, then added, “You may turn back now, Parks.”
He did, and, Alyssa hesitated, then kissed Kevan again. Surprised, he looked up at her. “And what was that for?”
She slid him a wicked grin. “That was for me.”
With the grace and bearing of a queen, she turned and strode from the room.
Parks attempted to muffle his soft laughter with his hand. Kevan glared him into sobering.
The worthy cleared his throat. “I apologize, milord. It’s just that milady’s, er, lack of restraint is a delight to these old eyes.”
