Forbidden Magic by Jo Beverley

Author:Jo Beverley [Beverley, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Romance, Historical, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), Regency
ISBN: 9780451232182
Publisher: Topaz
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Forbidden Magic

Chapter 12

Meg put that aside—it would be easily sorted out—and bustled Laura into her own boudoir.

“Why are you doing this?” Laura asked, wide-eyed. “What’s the matter?”

“Sir Arthur.”

“Sir Arthur?”

Meg made herself concentrate on this one thing, then she could make all right with her husband. “When I was your age, Sir Arthur started to behave strangely with me. Touch me in ways I didn’t like. Say things that weren’t quite proper.”

Laura colored, and looked down. “Yes.”

Meg pulled her into a hug. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I just want to be sure that you will never, ever let yourself be alone with him. No matter what he promises, or threatens…”

“Threatens?”

To truly warn her sister, she’d have to tell her the truth. “Laura, he has the sheelagh.”

Laura put a hand over her mouth. “How?”

“I couldn’t see how to take it out of the house with the servants there. And Saxonhurst stuck to me like a teasel. So I thought I’d sneak back later. In fact, early yesterday—”

“Oh. Was that why you were so tired? Not…”

“Not. Yet. Not yet. Never mind.” Meg stopped gibbering. “Sir Arthur said something in the theater that makes me think he’s going to try to use the sheelagh to get something from me. I don’t know what. I just want to be sure he can’t trick you into meeting with him, or going anywhere with him. Promise.”

Laura looked at her, a surprising maturity in her steady gaze. “What could he threaten that would be so bad?”

“I don’t know. He might guess…” She’d have to tell all. “He might guess what I did. About this marriage.”

Laura’s lips parted. “You didn’t?”

“I was desperate! I had to. But the earl must never know how this marriage came to be, Laura. Never. He would hate it…”

Sax quietly reclosed the door.

He’d not intended to eavesdrop. He’d gone to his room, then decided not to let his wife’s strange nervousness interfere again. He’d passed through her bedroom and opened her boudoir door, intent on getting rid of her sister and picking up his seduction. He knew by now she was not seriously unwilling.

It hadn’t occurred to him to knock. He hadn’t tried to be quiet. His house, however, was damnably well made and well run. Nothing rattled or squeaked.

He stood, staring almost sightlessly at her bed, the bed that had been his destination this night.

Had been.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the tone.

Desperate.

He moved on, back to his own rooms, going over what he’d just heard.

What I did. About this marriage.

The earl must never know how this marriage came to be.

He would hate it.

Physical desire still thrummed in him, quite uncomfortably in fact, but mental desire—the important part— was sheathed in ice.

Surely not.

It couldn’t be.

He sought refuge in brandy, his shaking hand causing the decanter to bell-chime against crystal as he poured. The burn of fine spirits cleared his head a little.

His wife’s words had to be innocent. Of course, she’d been desperate to marry. He knew that. Desperate because of poverty.

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