The Magic Between Us (Faerie 3)

“Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Thorne,” Wilkins said loudly and clearly. The crowd stopped, turning toward them as they cheered. They clapped hands and clinked their glasses and yelled salutations. Marcus linked his hands with Cecelia and held them high in the air.

The ocean of people parted and Cecelia walked into the throng with Marcus. They accepted well wishes, but then the quartet began to play a waltz.

“Come and dance with me, Mrs. Thorne,” he said, tugging her toward the dance floor. The floor cleared until it was just the two of them. He pulled Cecelia into his arms and looked down at her as he swept her around and around. She was beautiful in an emerald green gown, her hair piled high on her head and falling into ringlets to tickle her neck. He could look at her forever. And a day.

Eventua

lly, others filed onto the floor and Marcus had to look up from the pool of her eyes to survey the floor.

“Mayden is here,” he warned her.

She looked around without being obvious. “Where is he?”

“To your left with the blonde,” Marcus said quietly.

“Will he come to me to give me his salutations?” she asked. Her brow was knit with worry.

“Since the celebration is for us, probably.” He jostled her in his arms so she’d look up at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

She nodded.

“Promise you won’t do or say anything dangerous,” he said. He couldn’t lose her now. He’d just gotten her.

“What could possibly happen that’s dangerous?” she asked.

She had no idea what Mayden was capable of. The music stopped and everyone clapped. Marcus led his new wife off the dance floor and walked toward his family. “What did we miss?” he asked of his father.

“He came in as though nothing had ever happened,” his father said. “It was odd. And eerie. And not at all what I expected. He bowed over your mother’s hand and introduced his wife.”

Marcus looked over at him. “The blonde?”

“Yes, the American. A very sweet girl.”

“She won’t be for long,” Marcus warned. Mayden had a way of breaking a woman’s spirit.

Lord Phineas looked like he wanted to run across the room and thrash the man to within an inch of his life.

“Did he speak to you? Or to Claire?” Marcus asked.

Lord Phineas shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Let’s try the direct approach, shall we?” Marcus’s father asked.

“Meaning?” Marcus tried.

“I’d like to talk with him. We all would. I’ll invite him to my study in ten minutes.”

“Do you think he’ll go?”

“Only one way to find out,” his father said. He adjusted the fit of his coat, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away.

His father walked to the edge of the dance floor and put his hand on Mayden’s shoulder as he moved to walk past him. Mayden looked Marcus’s father in the eye, and he smiled. Marcus could read his lips from there. “Of course,” the man said. “Ten minutes. I’ll see you there.”

Then Mayden stepped forward and bowed before Claire. “Mrs. Trimble,” he said. “Would it be possible to claim a dance with you?” he asked. His eyes skittered across her face, not landing in any one place.

“I am not feeling very well. I believe I’ll have to decline,” Claire said. Her hand shook on Lord Phineas’s arm. Cecelia wanted to reach out and hug her, because Claire was the one person who knew exactly what the Earl of Mayden was like on the inside.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mayden said smoothly. “Perhaps later?”