Calypso Magic (Magic Trilogy 2)

—PERSIAN PROVERB

"Your face," Lyon said, glaring down at her, "is as red as a poppy. What was that ass saying to you?"

"Good evening, my lord. Which ass? The one over there or the one now speaking to me?"

"Push me, Diana, and you will feel my hand on your bottom again, I swear it."

"Push you, my lord? I am merely trying to make my way to Aunt Lucia. What is it you want?"

"I want you to stay away from that fool, Plummer, and his wet mouth. My God, why did you let him kiss your wrist? The inside of your w

rist?"

Because I knew you were watching and I wanted to enrage you.

"His mouth isn't at all wet."

Lyon briefly saw red. "As for your gown, you are in danger of falling out of it. I can't imagine that Lucia would let you out of the house looking like that."

His eyes were on her bosom and Diana drew herself even straighter, even though it hurt to do so. She ached all over. Oddly, there were two of Lyon standing in front of her, each blurred. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision, but now aware of a growing pain over her left ear. She shivered. What the devil was wrong with her? She'd never been ill a day in her life, save for that brief fever she'd had as a child. She remembered now the awful chills and how heavy she had felt, how helpless.

"So much of you is on display," Lyonel continued, warming to his subject, "you will surely take a cold."

"Will you keep me here in the middle of the dance floor, my lord? Displaying myself?"

"Damn you," he said, grasped her wrist, the one that Plummer had kissed, and led her in a waltz.

Diana admitted now that she was ill. She was feeling very hot now, but she knew that soon she would feel so cold her teeth would chatter. Her head hurt, her throat felt scratchy. And her body felt so very heavy, just as it had felt when she'd had that fever as a child.

Lyon looked down into her glittering, overbright eyes and was suspicious. "You do know that you cannot knee me in the middle of a waltz," he said.

"No, I shan't do that." She must find Lucia and leave before she disgraced herself.

He whirled her about at that moment, and Diana felt the room spin. It didn't right itself and she fell against Lyon. "What the devil is the matter with you? Are you trying to start the tongues wagging again?"

She heard his voice as if from a great distance. "Lyon," she said, "please, I don't feel well."

For the first time in her life, Diana fainted.

Lyon stood in the middle of the ballroom floor, holding her against his chest, his face a picture of chagrin.

Oh, God.

He hauled her into his arms, all too aware of the surprise and growing consternation surrounding them. He saw Julian St. Clair and called to him. "Tell Lucia that Diana is ill. Have her carriage fetched immediately."

Lady Marchpane was aghast and titillated that such a dramatic event took place in her ballroom. She fluttered about Lord Saint Leven, offering no assistance, just disjointed comments on Miss Savarol's pallor.

"Lady Cranston and I will see to her," he said over his shoulder. He was acutely aware of her limp body in his arms, of the poppy-red cheeks that now he realized meant a fever, not conquettish behavior. God, it was his fault. All of it. He was frightened and could feel himself shaking.

"She told me she fell into a stream," Lucia said. "Dear God, I thought she was all right. She was so excited about the ball, so insistent that we come. Quickly, Lyon, let's get her home."

Lyon didn't release her once in Lucia's carriage. He held her close, instructing Lucia to throw the carriage blanket over her. He tucked it firmly around her.

Diana moaned and he froze, his eyes meeting Lucia's.

"I should never have let her talk me into this ball," Lucia said. She swore like a trooper but Lyonel wasn't even tempted to laugh. "It was that fall into a stream. How did it happen, Lyonel?"

"She is burning up," said Lyon, his hand pressing against her cheek.