Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

“Yes, certainly,” she said as she quickly climbed up into the carriage, not waiting for either Tom Merrifield or Rafael to assist her.

Rafael stuck his head in the open window. “Feel free to call a halt whenever you wish to. All right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, Rafael, does Damien know that we are arriving in two days at Drago Hall?”

Rafael studied his York tan gloves for a moment, then said, “Of course. I wrote to him. I’m certain he’ll welcome us as politely as a vicar.”

“I just bet he will,” she retorted. “As for Elaine, she will doubtless give a ball in our honor.”

“Not a bad idea,” Rafael said thoughtfully. Indeed it wasn’t. He needed to reacquaint himself with all the hot-blooded young gentry who abounded in the area. He needed to discover the identity of the Ram. A ball seemed the perfect start. “I’ll speak to Damien about it very soon.”

She shook her head at him. “I was jesting, but I see that you aren’t.” She wondered what he was up to. Something, of that she was certain. He had a purpose for returning to Drago Hall, one that involved more than a simple pilgrimage to his ancestral home. How would she pry it out of him? She was fast learning that when he wasn’t busy charming her and others, he could be as closemouthed as a clam.

“We will leave Tom Merrifield at Axmouth. Do you remember my telling you about Flash Savory?”

“Yes, the fastest pickpocket in all of London.”

“He’s the one. He will meet us at Axmouth, at the Sir Francis Drake Inn. We will keep Mr. Mouls’s carriage and horses until we reach Drago Hall.”

“Flash will stay with us at Drago Hall?”

“Yes. I believe he will be of value to me.”

He was up to something, Victoria thought again as she watched him mount his stallion. Why else would he have this young man, Flash, at Drago Hall?

Flash was a young man of many talents, Rafael was thinking as he rode easily, his body swaying in harmony with Gadfly’s canter, his thoughts roving outward to plans of attack once they reached Drago Hall. He would probably simply have to become one of them, he decided. Become a member of their ridiculous Hellfire Club. It seemed to him at the moment to be the only way.

And keep the peace, somehow, at Drago Hall. And protect Victoria.

They reached Drago Hall early Sunday afternoon. Rafael hadn’t intended to feel anything at the sight of his boyhood home, but he did, deep stirring feelings that made him want to cry with the loss of it. Nothing had changed, he thought, gazing about him.

The main hall was early Elizabethan, built by the first Baron Drago, Arkley Carstairs, in 1564 or thereabouts. Successive barons had added three wings to the central hall. It could have looked a rambling monstrosity, but Drago Hall didn’t. It did go on, but in a compact, reasonable way, at least that was how Rafael’s father had described it. Thank God, Rafael thought as he looked wistfully at a grooved and nicked maple tree he had carved on as a boy, the barons had all used the same soft red stone quarried in Stenalees.

Rafael’s father had been content to widen the portico and the drive that curved in front of the Hall. He’d spared the oak and maple trees—indeed, Rafael recalled his being quite adamant about that, and the resulting drive wasn’t at all the same width from beginning to end. It curved in here and there to protect a tree, and the effect was odd but charming.

Rafael’s mother had believed Drago Hall to be too stark, too forbidding, and had planted every flower known to the southern coast of Cornwall. It had been a successful endeavor. Color abounded, softening the lines of the Hall, casting a welcoming aura over its rather severe facade.

“This is what I call a rich cove’s dish,” said Flash, gazing about him.

Rafael smiled. “We should be comfortable enough for the short time we’ll be here.”

Flash just looked at him, wondering what the captain was up to this time. He supposed he’d be told soon enough. The captain did things his way and there was no use prying at him until he was ready. Now, the captain taking a bride, that was something else. Flash looked over his shoulder for just a moment, and sure enough, there was Mrs. Carstairs leaning out the window, taking everything in. Pretty girl, and saucy, giving the captain his gravy when it suited her. When he’d first met her the day before in Axmouth, he wondered if she thought he’d steal the silverware at Drago Hall, her greeting was so wary. Then Captain Carstairs had said, a wicked gleam in his eyes, “Now, Victoria, Flash here has promised me that he won’t knobble a thing. Drago Hall is quite safe, I promise you.”

She was embarrassed to have her thought so baldly set on the table, Flash thought, but she’d quickly recovered and sauced the captain up quick as any general. “And what will he lift? Perhaps my valise?”

“He means ‘steal,’ ma’am,” Flash said.

“I know what he means, Flash. It’s just that he’s a wicked tease. I’m glad to know you.” She thrust out her hand and he took it. “I look to you for information about him. I haven’t known him all that long and I begin to believe there is a very perverse streak running the length of him.”

“Aye, that’s a fact,” Flash said comfortably. “Maybe I can do me a spot of blackmail, eh, Captain?”

“Flash, my boy, you do a spot of anything, and I’ll nail your hide to the stable door.”

A fine good laugh that had brought, once Mrs. Carstairs had realized it was a jest.

“Let’s go right to the stables,” Rafael said now to Flash. “Over there, to the east.”

The stableboy who was in the yard, a boy Rafael hadn’t ever seen before, instantly called him Baron, and Rafael grinned. “Make that Captain, boy. What is your name?”