Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

"I suspect my mother," said Grayson. "Nutty buns are her weakness. And she is sly."

Rosalind sighed. "Is it time for luncheon yet, Willicombe?"

"Actually, Miss Rosalind, I was on my way in to fetch the three of you. Cook has prepared ham slices so thin you can see through them." While Willicombe spoke, he looked at Sarimund's book. Rosalind could see his fingers twitching. He bowed once again, holding it a long moment so the full effect of his bald head could be appreciated.

Rosalind watched Grayson carefully tuck the Rules of the Pale into his jacket as they followed in Willicombe's wake.

Nicholas said, leaning close to her ear, "I could not ex­amine the flatness of your belly. Grayson would have surely run me through with that ceremonial sword over the mantel."

"Perhaps if we slip around behind those stairs, I can kiss you quickly even as I suck in my stomach for your inspec­tion," Rosalind said and raced down the hallway.

He laughed. "Come back, Rosalind. I will feed you a ham slice instead."

11

During luncheon, Grayson told his parents the plot of his new novel to distract them from the Rules of the Pale. His fond parents knew what he

was doing, but they loved him, and told him they adored the idea of a young Oxford student dueling with a demon who held the heart of his beloved in­side a magic gem, rumored to have been ripped out of Sa­tan's crown. It wasn't bad, Rosalind thought, particularly since Grayson was making it up as he spoke.

The moment Aunt Sophie rose from the table, Rosalind pulled Nicholas into the small room that the Countess of Northcliffe had designed for ladies some two decades before.

"No," Nicholas said as he lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. "We mustn't say anything yet to anyone, particu­larly your aunt and uncle. We've known each other such a short time. Give them another day at least to witness how dazzled I am with you. So soft, you are, Rosalind."

"I don't wish to admit it, but you're right. Uncle Ryder would believe we'd hath lost our wits. He might have you kidnapped and shipped back to Macau. You really think I'm soft?"

He touched the tip of his finger to her nose. "Your Uncle Ryder would not consider lost wits; he would believe lust rules us. Your Aunt Sophie would have stars in her eyes at the romance of it, but upon brief reflection she could agree with Uncle Ryder—nothing more than rampant lust, all on my part since you are such an innocent. I am a man of the world, they would say, and one must always beware a man of the world when it comes to a young girl who looks like you do. You're softer than a butterfly's wing."

"I will have you know I am not that innocent." She fid­geted a bit. "The fact is, Nicholas, I don't look like anything much."

"Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you aren't much at all."

She crossed her arms across her chest. Her foot tapped, tapped, tapped. He was enchanted. She said behind her teeth, "You needn't go that far. Now, this lust business—what a very strange word that is. I've never even thought about lust before. If it is lust that makes me want to leap on you and kiss you until you crumple to the carpet, then it is a powerful thing. I think I quite like it. Is that why you asked me to marry you so quickly, Nicholas? You've gone over the edge with lust for me?"

He hadn't wanted to consider lust with her, it wasn't what was important, but—he drew in a deep breath. Truth was truth, and it had to be faced. He said, "Lust is a fine thing, but I don't believe it is lust that rules us." Well, most of the truth was important.

She stared at him in amazement. "Never say so!"

He held back his laughter. She had to recognize it was more. "Well, it doesn't rule us entirely. I am not completely mad with lust for you. You realize that, don't you?"

She said slowly, her eyes going yet again to his mouth, "I honestly don't know what I realize, Nicholas. All I know is that it is right for me—you are right for me, no one else, just you. When you kissed my hand this morning, something deep inside me recognized that you were for me."

So quickly, and she knew? He knew he was the one too, of course he was the one, but he wouldn't tell her that until he had the vows from her, not until she was legally his. He said lightly, "Not even one of the three dukes?"

"Into the fire with the dukes."

He laughed again. He believed he'd laughed more in the past two days than in the past five years. "You have a wit that pleases me," he said.

And she said then, flooring him, "But there is more to this, Nicholas, and I suspect you are well aware of it. For me, it is these overwhelming feelings, this recognition of you, but I think—well, it sounds absurd, I know, but I feel you were perhaps looking for me, as I, perhaps, was looking for you."

"Looking for you? Actively searching for you? And you looking for me? You mean Fate guided our boats to the same shore?"

"I think our boats docked next to each other with our bows knocking together makes more sense than this place called the Pale with its Tibers and Dragons."

"Perhaps the Pale isn't real—perhaps it's a metaphor, as Grayson said."

"You believe it is real, Nicholas. I ask you, how is this book—the Rules of the Pale —possible? It was Grayson who found it, who was led to find it. Was this Fate or something stronger? And you say your grandfather had a copy of the book. This book boggles the mind. You know it is too much. And when I begin asking these sorts of questions, I become afraid."

The whole thing would frighten him too if he weren't so long used to it. He wanted to bring her against him, reassure her, but knew he'd be a fool to do it. He couldn't ruin things now. Even this conversation, conducted only a room away from her guardian, was madness.