whole time. "That would certainly answer the question of marriage once and for all."
She sighed and sank back in her chair, inordinately pleased with herself. Really, this thinking business was not so very difficult.
There was a buzz of magic in the air, of long-forgotten dreams resurrected and given life. Even nature felt it; the sea was a crashing wall of white, hurling itself against the shadowy barrier of distant stone. Overhead, the sky was endless and empty and black. A low blanket of fog caressed the ocean and slipped through the blackened forest. There was no reality anymore, no ground, no stars, no moon. Just an ethereal haze that curled around the house, lifted it above the earth like some magical Camelot in the woods.
Selena's heart was pounding so fast, she felt lightheaded. Anticipation was a thrumming, pulsing presence in her blood.
What should she do first? How did she go about this testing of her virginity?
She'd tried to find a glimmer of information about the night that lay ahead, the task she'd set for herself, but such information was impossible to find. She'd tried first the big book in Ian's study-the dictionary. It told her nothing at all, gave no hint or reference. Then she'd asked people, everyone she saw. Johann refused to answer her questions; Andrew's face had turned the color of geraniums and he'd bolted from the room; Lara hadn't understood the question any better than Selena herself; and Maeve had only smiled softly and told her to clean up her room.
She was on her own, that much was obvious.
She stared at her face in the mirror. She thought it was a pleasing face, in a pale, quiet kind of way. Idly she brought her hand up and began weaving the long mass of her hair into a braid, then tied it with a pink ribbon. A dozen flyaway strands curled along her fore-
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head and cheeks, but she didn't waste time in trying to pin them back-they'd only pop free in a moment or two.
Slowly she walked to her armoire and flipped the heavy mahogany door open. Maeve had filled the closet with dozens of colorful gowns. Silks, satins, velvets.
Selena frowned. None of the dresses felt right. And all of them required that torture device of a corset. She drew back, thinking. If she didn't wear girl clothes, that left only two choices: the breeches she'd seized from Andrew or her nightdress.
She turned back. Her nightdress lay across her bed, a filmy concoction of white silk and French lace that buttoned from the throat to the hem.
It was the most comfortable gown she owned, and now, in the darkened room on the white, white bed, the color made her think of starlight and moonlight and magic.
Smiling, she slipped out of her chemise and drawers and slid into the nightdress. The soft folds of silk caressed her bare breasts and legs.
Then she twirled and went to the door, wrenching it open. The black hallway, quiet and still, lay before her. She hurried through the darkness and up the narrow stairway to Ian's room. There, she paused to catch her breath. It was too ragged and frayed to be blamed on the climb. Her heart was beating hard. So hard.
She knocked sharply on the door. The sound was a gunshot in the silence, rap, rap.
"Come in," Ian's voice slid through the door. He sounded tired and cranky.
She flung t
he door open and surged inside. The room curled around her, shadows stacked on shadows. The only light came from a half-opened window.
Smiling, she peered into the gloom and stepped forward. "Ian?"
"I'm here." His voice, rich and melodious, came from the shadows near the armoire. She heard a move-
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ment, then the whoosh of a match lighting. Blue-yellow light flared in the darkness, brought with it the acrid scent of sulfur. Candlelight haloed his sad face. He was sitting in a heavy black chair, pressed deep in the shadows, drinking his whiskey. A white lawn shirt gaped across his chest, slid down the ball of one shoulder.
She moved toward him.
He straightened, drew back in his chair. She heard the familiar tinkle of fine crystal against wood, and knew that he was drinking.
"I thought you had stopped drinking."
His answering laugh was short and sharp. "More of a pause, actually. Now, you should go."
"I have come to ask for your help."
Another laugh, softer, harsher. "And what do you need from me?"