Stronger Than Magic

Chapter 1

Sussex, February 1816

He’s back, Allura, Otherworld Chancellor of Affairs of the Heart, announced, staring solemnly at the woman before her.

He? Alys echoed, though she knew without asking exactly who he was. She’d been waiting for him for almost five hundred years, eagerly anticipating his return and the chance for freedom that came with it.

The fairy frowned slightly at her obtuse query. Lucan de Thistlewood, of course, she replied.

After all these centuries of hoping, wishing, and praying for this moment, Alys should have felt joy at the news, euphoria even. Oddly enough, she felt only a sick sort of dread. What if she wasn’t equal to the task ahead of her? What if she failed?

No. She wouldn’t fail … she couldn’t afford to. Alys drew in a shuddering breath, battling to vanquish her suffocating anxiety. The air was damp and musty … underground air … prison air. That air served as a potent reminder of what she stood to lose should she fail in her task, increasing rather than diminishing her apprehension.

Exhaling in a hissing sigh, she asked, When?

Allura picked up the gossamer-thin sheet of parchment and peered at writing too whisper-fine for Alys’s mortal eyes to discern. She frowned as she scanned the page, as if she were having difficulty finding what she sought. Then she crowed a victorious A-ha! and replied, Aengus says here that he was reborn in 1783, the twenty-fifth of June to be exact.

1783? Alys raised her upturned palms in a gesture of helpless confusion. What year is it now? One of the first things she’d learned about the otherworld was that time passed at a different rate than it did in the mortal world. Sometimes it passed more quickly, with ten mortal years equaling one fairy day. Other times it worked just the opposite, with what seemed like ten years in fairy time turning out to be just one day in the world above. It was so confusing that she’d stopped trying to keep track long ago.

It’s the sixteenth of February, 1816, Allura replied, sliding a slim volume across the desk and thumping the date with her long, white index finger.

Alys’s eyes widened in surprise as she stared down at the ornately etched calendar. The last time she’d been above ground was in 1753, when she’d been assigned to make a match between the high-and-mighty Countess of Mountbury and Frederick Coddington, a poor but pure-hearted cooper. Why, that meant that it had been over sixty years since she’d last been up in the mortal world.

That troubling thought furrowed her brow. When Prince, now King, Aengus had condemned her to other-world captivity, he’d turned her over to Allura, commanding that she be set to matchmaking in the mortal world. Hopefully, he’d said, she would become skilled enough in the vocation to successfully assist Lucan in finding true love when he was reborn.

Always conscientious of the duties of her office, Allura had assigned Alys to a dozen or more matches a century, and after each she sent her to report to Aengus. Upon hearing her account, he always asked her the same question: And what has your experience taught you about love? To which she’d stare at him blankly, not quite certain what he meant. Though she’d never once failed to bring her designated couple to the altar, to her bewilderment Aengus would then sigh and shake his head, murmuring, Ah, well. Perhaps you’ll be successful next time.

When she’d asked Allura what he meant, she too had shaken her head and cryptically replied, Listen to your heart. Only it knows the true answer.

As Alys stared unseeing at the calendar, a hideous thought crept into her mind. Had Aengus and Allura given up on her learning whatever it was she was supposed to have learned during her matchmaking junkets? Was that why she hadn’t been sent to the mortal world for so long? Was it the reason she hadn’t been called upon to help Lucan’s reborn soul find true love?

Alys swallowed dryly. It was apparent that she had been passed over for the assignment, for the reborn Lucan was what … thirty-two years old? Long past the age when most mortal men sought love and marriage.

With panic crawling up her spine, she raised her gaze from the calendar to meet Allura’s glittering green fairy one. If it was true, then she’d lost her chance to right the wrong she’d done him all those centuries ago … which meant that she would lose her immortal soul.

The panic shot the rest of the distance up her spine and grabbed at her throat. When Aengus had sentenced her to otherworld captivity, he had promised her that if she could find the reborn Lucan the love she’d robbed him of during his first life, thus making atonement to his mortal soul, then she would be released and restored to the mortal world with her physical being exactly as it was when she’d left. If she failed, she’d spend the rest of her existence locked in her underground prison, where she’d eventually become one with the fairies and lose her soul.

As if reading her mind, and indeed sometimes Alys suspected that the powerful fairy could do just that, Allura said, I know it’s been a goodly while since you’ve been to the mortal world, but Aengus had a vision that Lucan would be reborn near the end erf the last century, and he ordered me to let you rest so you’d be equal to the task of finding him love when he reached manhood.

Alys sagged with relief. Then I wasn’t—

—passed over for the assignment? Allura cut in and finished. She released a laugh like the tinkling of tiny bells. No. Of course not. He couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to.

At Alys’s querying look, she elaborated. You see, Alys, every mortal, even a half mortal, is born with a certain preordained destiny … a chain of life events, if you will, which his soul is compelled to follow. When that chain is broken by himself or by someone else, it must be mended and then completed before the person can be considered for heaven. Now, when a person breaks it himself through willfulness or wicked deeds, then it is up to him to repair it. When someone else is responsible, such as was the case with Lucan, then the guilty person, you, must do the mending. So you see? Aengus has no choice but to trust you.

Alys’s troubled brow didn’t smooth, though she did nod her comprehension. Glancing back down at the calendar, she murmured, While I understand the reason why I must find Lucan love, I don’t see why Aengus had me wait so long to do so. I mean, wouldn’t Luc— She shot Allura a questioning look. I don’t know what to call Lucan now. Who is he?

Lucian James Warre, the seventh Marquess of Thistlewood, the fairy replied with a significant lift of her brow. At Alys’s gasp, she nodded. Yes. As most often happens with half souls, he has been reborn back into his own family.

Alys’s spirits lifted a notch at that bit of news. She’d encountered several generations of Warres during her matchmaking missions. Back in 1547, she’d even had to discourage one, a Philip Warre, from wooing a maid meant for another. Turning the poor lovesick girl’s head away from him and back to her intended had been her biggest challenge yet as a matchmaker. For the Warre males, without any exception that she’d seen, were a charming and handsome lot, each the sort of man any woman would be thrilled to call her own.

You were about to ask a question, I believe? Allura prompted, though she wore that all-knowing look again.

Alys shrugged, suddenly far less worried than she’d been only moments earlier. I was just wondering why Aengus had waited until this Lucian Warre was thirty-two years old to find him love. Love comes so much more easily to the young.

Perhaps. But true mortal love, the kind that Lucian needs to complete his soul, must be purer and stronger than the kind usually bonding the young. It’s harder to find, yes, and sometimes almost impossible to recognize when it comes, but those difficulties make it all the more precious and rare. It’s the sort of love that lasts an eternity.

And who is the paragon who’s going to grace him with such a love? Alys asked, doubtful that such a powerful form of the emotion existed.

Allura shook her head. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. Finding his true love is a part of your atonement.

But I haven’t even met the man! How am I supposed to know what sort of a woman will suit him? she protested, her anxiety rushing back with gut-quivering force.

Surely after all your matchmaking experience, you recognize the signs of love when you see them?

Are you telling me that there’s a woman who already fancies him, and that I have only to look for the signs? Alys asked, praying that it was so.

With his reputation and title, there are plenty of women who look upon him with favor. Not, the fairy quickly amended, that most of those women have actually met him. He was out of the country until recently, fighting at General Wellington’s right hand. The women’s infatuation is due mostly to the much romanticized tales of his battlefield exploits printed in the newspapers. He’s become somewhat of a hero to London society. Her eyes narrowed then and she shot Alys a querying look. You do know about the war with France, don’t you?

Alys nodded. Fairies loved war almost as much as they did music and dancing. So much so that the males often assumed mortal guise and joined the soldiers on the battlefield during the bloodiest skirmishes. The fairy warriors had found the most recent war particularly stimulating, and had brought more stories back to the underground than she cared to remember.

Good. Allura nodded back. Undoubtedly the war and Lucian’s exploits shall be a much discussed topic among society. She paused thoughtfully for a moment, then exhaled in a loud sigh. Too bad Bryan Fitzsimmons isn’t still alive. He could have given you the details of Lucian’s heroics, as well as some insight into the sort of man he is.

Bryan is dead? Alys gasped, remembering the darkly handsome knight who had slain Lucan. How? I thought he was enslaved in the Surrey kingdom.

He was up until the war started. Then Aengus sent him into battle with Lucian Warre with strict orders to safeguard his life. That was his atonement for killing him when he was Lucan. The fairy looked almost regretful. He died at Waterloo taking a bayonet that was meant for Lucian.

Was he … I mean … do you know if he was under Aengus’s enchantment when he died? Alys asked, her voice little more than a strangled whisper. Some said that if a mortal died while under an otherworld spell, then his enchanted soul would be unfit for heaven and that he must walk the earth as a ghost until judgment day. The thought of Bryan, whom she’d once liked and now blamed herself for driving to murder, condemned to such a fate was enough to make her eyes well up with tears.

Alys looked up at the feel of a hand lightly squeezing her shoulder, her vision blurred by sorrow. Though she hadn’t seen or heard the fairy move, she wasn’t surprised to see Allura standing at her side. Like all fairies, Allura had the ability to move quicker than the human eye and quieter than the human ear could discern.

She knelt next to Alys’s chair, her sea-green skirts pooling around her in a way that made her look like a mermaid rising from the sea. Taking Alys’s hand in hers, she reassured her, The enchantment was broken the second Bryan made the unselfish decision to sacrifice his life for Lucian’s. I’m certain he’s in heaven even as we speak.

Nonetheless, Alys said a silent prayer on his behalf.

Now back to your matchmaking problem. Allura rose in one graceful motion and began to pace the length of the room.

Decorated in Allura’s favorite colors, purple, green, and gold, the room could easily have been the office of a mortal solicitor or banker. Not that that came as any surprise to Alys. Everything in the otherworld imitated the human one above. The reason for this mimicry, she had discovered, was because the fairies envied the humans their immortal souls, and it soothed that envy somewhat to pretend to be one of them.

Still walking the floor in an agitated manner, Allura said, Lucian has been back in England for three months, and in London for two of them. Yet, he hasn’t bothered to attend a single affair where he might meet an eligible lady.

The fairy stopped abruptly and pivoted on her heels to face Alys, annoyance lying heavy on her features. The problem is, he doesn’t believe in love, nor is he interested in having anyone prove its existence to him. He’s not going to willingly place himself in a position where he’ll have to spend more than two minutes with a marriage-minded miss, who not only believes in love, but expects it from a man. She shook her head. The only women he’ll tolerate are the kind he can buy for a night … or a week, or a month, or for however long they keep him amused in bed.

Alys’s spirits sank to a new low. What do you expect me to do then? Tie him up and drag him to wherever the marriageable women assemble?

A slow, enigmatic smile curved the fairy’s lips. Yes. Though the kind of tying I have in mind doesn’t require rope, and he’ll do the dragging himself.

I doubt even Aengus has the power to make him do that if he’s as unwilling as you say, Alys scoffed. Besides, you said yourself that it’s against the rules to use any sort of fairy glamour to influence matters of the mortal heart.

Allura slanted her a sly look. There’s no magic required for what I have in mind. Just you.

Me? Alys mouthed in surprise, pointing to her chest.

The fairy nodded. Yes, you. Alys Faire, sister of Bevis Faire, Baron of Fairfax.

Sister? Of Bevis Faire? Alys repeated, thoroughly perplexed. She knew that her family name, le Fayre, had become anglicized to Faire over the centuries, and that a barony had been granted to a William Faire a hundred years earlier. Yet this was the first mention she’d heard of a Bevis Faire.

When we sent Bryan back up to the mortal world, we changed him with Bevis Faire, a descendant of your brother, Edwin, Allura clarified. He—

What did you do with the real Bevis, Alys cut in, feeling it only proper to inquire, though what she’d seen of her brother’s descendants had done much to diminish her family pride.

Oh, don’t worry about him. He was perfectly content to be changed, Allura replied with a snort of disgust. At the time we kidnapped him, his father had just bought him a commission in the cavalry and he was looking for a way to escape his duty. The elder Faire, I heard, was hoping that the experience would make a man of him. Being the coward he is, Bevis was more than happy to change places with Bryan and live in the otherworld where it’s safe. Indeed, he’s requested to stay down here, though he knows he’ll lose his immortal soul.

Her grimace perfectly expressed her opinion of the man’s foolishness. Anyway, with the aid of a little glamour to alter his appearance, Bryan became Bevis Faire. Too bad Bevis’s father died shortly thereafter, he’d have been proud of the name his son made on the battlefield.

Alys shook her head. I don’t see what any of that has to do with getting Lucian out into society.

What we intended to do was to have Bevis, or Bryan as you please, save Lucian’s life in battle a few times. When the war ended, Bevis was to write to Lucian begging his help in finding his sister, who was to be you, a suitable husband. The mighty Marquess of Thistlewood might not believe in love, but he’s a man of honor, and that honor would have forced him to grant such a favor to the man who saved his life. She made a broad sweeping motion with her hand. Voila! Lucian would have had no choice but to accompany Bevis and his sister into society so he could make the appropriate introductions.

You were going to change the Faire daughter as well? Alys asked, appalled at the unheard of notion of changing two members of the same family.

There is no daughter. We were going to create one. Allura shrugged nonchalantly. It’s simple enough. We send the wind fairies to whisper of the girl in the ears of the Faire’s friends and neighbors. By the time they’re finished, everyone is convinced that they’ve known the Faire daughter since birth, and there is no question as to her identity.

That was a good plan, Alys admitted, impressed, as usual, by the fairy’s cunning. Too bad we won’t be able to use it.

One of Allura’s slanted eyebrows lifted. Won’t we?

I don’t see how. Not with Bryan dead.

The fairy looked positively smug. Instead of Bevis sending a letter to Lucian, we sent one from his solicitor informing him that Bevis Faire, Baron of Fairfax, has left the wardship of his young sister to him. It also stated that it was Bevis’s wish that he find the girl a husband as soon as possible. She released a peal of her tinkling laughter. As I’ve pointed out, Lucian Warre is a man of honor. As much as he’ll dislike squiring a young miss, he won’t shirk his duty.

Alys clapped her hands in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. Oh, perfect! Then I have only to accompany him into society, decide which woman loves him the most, and see them to the altar. Things were beginning to brighten considerably.

You’re forgetting an important part in all this, Allura reminded her quietly.

Oh?

He has to love the woman in return. That’s where you’re going to run into some difficulty.

The fairy resumed her pacing as she explained. When Lucan died, his half soul went to a place somewhere between heaven and hell. While we’re not certain what this place is like, we suspect that it is much closer to hell than heaven in character, for the half souls always return from there shriveled and scarred. The longer they’re there, the worse the damage. Lucan’s, or Lucian, as I suppose we should get used to calling him, was there for over four hundred years, the longest any of us can remember. The sad result is that his soul has become so withered that there’s not enough of it left to feel much emotion. The ones he does feel aren’t new, but merely echoes of the ones he once felt when he was Lucan.

If Lucian Warre hasn’t the ability to feel emotion, how in the world do you expect me to make him fall in love? Alys inquired, feeling her own imperiled soul slipping away at the impossibility of her task. You know as well as I that true love is the most difficult emotion for a mortal to form.

Yes. But with coaxing, his soul will heal and renew itself. Then he can be taught how to feel.

And I suppose it’s my job to teach him? Alys muttered.

The first few lessons shall be yours, yes. However, once his soul experiences a few emotions, it will crave more and prompt him to seek them out himself. When he reaches that point, he’ll be ready to receive love.

But how do I teach him to feel? Alys asked, a note of hysteria rising in her voice.

Allura ceased her pacing to smile at her. You’ll teach him by simply being yourself.

At Alys’s skeptical frown, she elaborated, Lucian Warre has spent most of his life isolating himself from other people, avoiding situations that might make him feel unfamiliar emotions. You have to understand, Alys, that feeling is a terrifying sensation for those not accustomed to it. That fear is the reason Lucian purchased a commission in the cavalry the moment he finished Oxford. War, and all the emotions that go with it, is the one thing he truly understands. Lucan’s warrior instinct was very strong when he died, and it is now the dominate force in what’s left of his soul.

She paused to nod at Alys. Anyway, you, being a miss who he’s honor-bound to introduce into society, shall show him the side of life he’s managed to avoid thus far. He can’t help but to derive new feelings from the experience. Pleasant or painful, each one of these shall serve to revive and in turn expand his soul. Before you know it, he’ll be ready and able to love.

But— she began to argue.

But, the fairy interjected, Lucian’s fairy essence expires at midnight on Midsummer’s night, so you haven’t much time to accomplish all this. As you know, if he loses his essence without his soul being complete enough to fill its place, he’ll die and be lost forever. So it’s crucial that you find him his true love and make it whole before then.

But you’ve always told me that fairy essence lasts a full thousand years, Alys protested, feeling more overwhelmed by the second. And Lucan’s … um … Lucian’s being was created less than five hundred years ago.

Four hundred ninety-nine years and two hundred and thirty-five days ago, to be exact. Which means that you have only one hundred and thirty days to accomplish your task.

Alys made a quick calculation. But that adds up to only five hundred years! How can that be?

Allura was back sitting behind her desk in a twinkling. Lucian, as a half fairy, has only half the amount of essence as a full-fledged fairy. That’s five hundred years worth. And his being turns five hundred years old as June twenty-fourth slips into the twenty-fifth, Lucian’s thirty-third birthday … and Lucan’s five hundredth one.

Alys’s pulse drummed in her throat as she considered Allura’s words. If she didn’t find Lucian Warre true love in four months time, she’d be responsible not only for him losing his life twice, but his immortal soul as well. Her shoulders sagged. The burden was more than she could bear.

Obviously she looked as downhearted as she felt, for Allura reached out and gave her cheek a comforting pat. There, there, now, Alys. Don’t look so glum. You’ll do just fine. Aengus and I have all the confidence in the world that you’ll find Lucian’s destined lady.

Instead of feeling better, the fairy’s words made her feel worse. His destined lady? What if she found him love, but with the wrong woman?

That all-knowing look was back on Allura’s face. Don’t worry about him loving the wrong woman, the fairy reassured her. He can’t. His heart won’t let him.

That made Alys feel better, but only slightly.

As Allura opened her mouth to add something, a swirl of sparklike flashes materialized at her elbow. Slowly the tights flared and merged until they formed a male figure perhaps three inches high. It was a wind fairy, or whisperer as the otherworld minions called them, the messengers of the fairy world.

Yes, Etain? Allura queried as the whisperer sketched a courtly bow before her.

With one flutter of his iridescent wings, he was at her ear, whispering. Allura nodded at whatever he said, then dismissed him. He dissolved back into beads of light, which in turn melted into nothingness.

Allura sat in silence for several moments, studying Alys thoughtfully. It seems that Lucian Warre has sent for you sooner than we expected, she finally said. Etain told me that Bevis’s solicitor received a message from him today saying that he’s sending his coach to Fairfax tomorrow to take you to his London house. Fortunately for us, the whisperer had the foresight to induce the household to think that you, Alys Faire, heiress to the Fairfax estate, which I might add is exactly who you’ll earn the right to be if you succeed in this task, are visiting a friend in Exeter and are due home this very evening. I’ll arrange for you to arrive there sometime around eight o’clock.

Alys nodded once, her throat suddenly too tight to speak. Everything was happening too fast.

Apparently it was happening too quickly for Allura as well, for she murmured, I’d hoped to have time to instruct you in the strange new ways of society. She sighed. Ah, well. Hedley’s been aboveground these last three months spying on Lucian for us. I’m certain he’ll be able to guide you.

Hedley?

Hedley Bragg.

You’re sending Hedley Bragg with me? Alys choked out, disgusted by the mere mention of the filthy hob. When she was sent up to the mortal world to make a match, she was always given a fairy helper to assist her and to serve as her contact to the otherworld should the need arise. Surely Allura didn’t intend to assign Hedley to the task?

Apparently she did, because she nodded.

But why! The words practically exploded from

Alys’s lips. I mean—her hands made a fluttering motion—he’s a hob. What do hobs know about matchmaking?

Nothing, unfortunately, the fairy admitted. And if I had my choice, I’d send someone with several centuries of matchmaking experience, like Elfwine or Hertha. However, Aengus insists on sending Hedley. It seems that he too owes a debt to Lucan’s soul.

I can’t imagine what business a smelly hob like Hedley could have had with a magnificent knight like Lucan, Alys retorted scornfully.

Don’t be fooled by his unkempt appearance. He was once, and I daresay could be again if he wished, the otherworld’s greatest warrior. When Lucan was—the fairy waved her hand dismissively—well, Lucan, it was Hedley’s duty to follow him into battle and keep him safe. That responsibility included protecting him during tourneys and jousts and such. Unfortunately, he’s a bit overfond of the mortal’s wine, and he’d imbibed too freely of it the day Lucan was killed. He was lying drunk on the floor of the armory when it happened. Aengus blames him almost as much as you and Bryan for Lucan’s death.

That being the case, why didn’t Aengus let him atone by guarding Lucian during the recent war? Alys asked.

The fairy stared down at her quill-wiper as if suddenly fascinated. He’s grown rather unpredictable and … mmm … more irresponsible over the centuries, and Aengus was afraid to trust him with the task.

Alys gaped at Allura, too appalled by her words to speak. Oh, perfect! She had to find an emotionless man true love in four months time with only a harum-scarum hob to assist her.

She was doomed for certain.

Chapter 2

London

Are you asleep, Luc? the woman whispered, running her hand down the muscular back of the man lying beside her.

His eyelids lifted, revealing eyes as cold and gray as the stone walls of Newgate prison. He lay unmoving for several seconds staring at her in his odd, unreadable way, then released a soft snort and flopped over onto his back. What the hell do you take me for, Reina? Some beef-witted cub who spills himself and then promptly falls asleep?

No! No! Of course not. As always your lordship’s lovemaking was—she made a fluttering motion with her hand as she scrambled for a fitting word—magnificent! And it was. For all that he was the most passionless man she’d ever met, Lucian Warre truly was a magnificent lover. Not for the first time in the month she’d been his mistress, she found herself wondering how that could be.

He emitted another snort at her compliment, this one liberally laced with scorn. Even an impotent old roué is counted as splendid by his mistress if he’s flush in the pockets.

Reina opened her mouth to indignantly contest his words, but something in his narrowed gaze changed her mind and she instead murmured, You mentioned earlier that you must leave me at seven to be at home for the arrival of a guest. It must be someone very important indeed for you, the mighty Marquess of Thistlewood, to be at their beck and call like that.

Not a guest, he corrected her coolly. My new ward. A chit of nineteen or twenty, I believe.

Ward? You? she gasped, unable to hide her amazement. Why someone would leave a young miss in the care of a stern, somber bachelor like Lucian was beyond her scope of imagination.

Ward. Me, he echoed, tossing aside the sheet and slipping from the bed. She’s the sister of an officer who died at Waterloo taking a bayonet for me. He paused a beat to stretch his spine. That being the case, I could hardly say no when his solicitor approached me about the matter.

Reina let her appreciative gaze follow him as he sauntered across the room to retrieve his clothes. Powerful muscles flexed and rippled beneath skin as lustrous as tawny silk, emphasizing the athletic grace of his every move. Never in all her years as a demi-rep had she seen a man so devilishly perfect in both face and form. Indeed, if it wasn’t for his chilly demeanor, he would have been the most devastatingly desirable man in England.

Raising herself up on her elbows, she watched as he bent over to draw up his trousers, thoroughly enjoying the view of his tight buttocks and long muscular legs. When he’d pulled them up, thus occluding the tantalizing sight, she murmured breathlessly, So, my lord. What are your plans for your new ward?

He picked up his snowy shirt and drew it over his sculpted chest. I intend to find her a husband, and soon, he replied, tucking his shirttail into his trousers with military precision. The last thing I need or want is the millstone of a milk-and-water miss hanging around my neck. A pained grimace crossed his face. I just pray that she doesn’t resemble her brother.

That bad?

Blonde, he announced in much the same tone one used to discuss harelips and crossed eyes.

Reina laughed. That’s hardly what I’d call a ruinous fault. At his scowl, she argued, Believe me, Luc, there are plenty of men who prefer fair women, though, lucky for me, you find them unappetizing.

He grunted his disbelief as he turned to the mirror to tie his cravat. Considering that her marriage portion consists of an indebted estate and a mismanaged wool mill, a man will have to find her bloody exquisite to want to marry her.

Reina remained silent for several moments reflecting on his problem, while Lucian tugged and cursed at his wayward neckcloth. Finally he expelled a frustrated snort and turned from the mirror, his usually immaculate cravat crookedly knotted and crushed. As he shrugged on his biscuit-colored waistcoat, she pointed out, You’re a wealthy man. If your new ward proves to be as ill-favored as you fear, you can always fatten her dowry yourself and buy your freedom. Lord Dunhurst did just that a few years back. He got stuck with a ward who had a squint, a mustache, and next to no dowry. Not a single man spared her so much as a glance until his lordship flushed her portion by a few thousand pounds. As soon as word of her newly increased settlement got out, she received not one but four offers. Granted, they were all from rakes in Dun territory, not exactly the sort of men a father would hope for for his daughter, but she did well enough considering her shortcomings.

Lucian ran his hand through his hair as he weighed her suggestion, his tanned flesh appearing almost pale against the raven-wing darkness of his tousled locks. It might work at that, he mused, almost to himself. He sighed then and dropped his hand back to his side. Unlike Lord Dunhurst, however, I feel obligated to make certain that the man she marries is the sort her brother would approve of. I owe him at least that much for saving my life.

Reina shrugged as she rose from the bed and donned a scarlet wool dressing gown. In that case, you must invest some blunt in improving her. She strolled over to where he stood buttoning his chocolate-brown coat, reciting, A wardrobe by Madame Fanchon is a must, as are a clever abigail and tutors in deportment and dancing. If she turns out to be a goosecap, you’ll need to hire Monsieur Boucher to teach her the art of witty repartee.

Standing on her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and concluded between kisses, Add all that to her newly fattened dowry, and I don’t doubt that half the gallants in London will be cutting a path to your door.

Remind me on Friday, my dear, Lucian said, disengaging himself from her embrace, to take you to Rundel & Bridge’s and buy you that bracelet you’ve been trying to wheedle from me.

It was all Reina could do not to squeal her delight and throw her arms around him again. Knowing his distaste for such displays, however, she settled for smiling and murmuring, You’re most generous, my lord.

He shook his head. Not generous. Merely conscious of rewarding those who render me service.

Which you do quite handsomely, she rejoined softly. By the by, cook baked one of those apricot tarts you so enjoy. Perhaps you’d care to join me for dinner before you leave? A hopeful note crept into her voice.

The last time I stayed for dinner we ended up back in bed, and I completely missed the reception my sister held in my honor. He made a wry face. She still hasn’t stopped scolding me on that account.

What if I promise not to seduce you? she purred, remembering the night in question with heated fondness.

His gaze met hers then, his eyes so frigid that she shivered. "Don’t flatter