The Magic of I Do Read online

  Copyright © 2013 by Tammy Falkner

  Cover and internal design © 2013 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Aleta Rafton

  Photography by Jon Zychowski

  Typeset by Joanna Metzger

  Models: Danielle Day and Dylan Solon/Agency Galatea

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  FAX: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title page

  Copyright

  Unpardonable Errors

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For Jane Charles—this book wouldn’t exist without you. And for my parents, Glenn and Rebecca Switzer, who are at the root of every love story I’ve ever written.

  Unpardonable Errors

  1. Never let a human adult see you in faerie form.

  2. Never let your dust fall into the hands of the untrained.

  3. Never share the existence of the fae.

  4. Never use your magic to cause harm.

  5. Never, ever fall in love with a human.

  One

  Autumn 1817

  A faerie without magic was about as useless as a carriage without a horse. If Claire Thorne had known that this would be her reward for trying to save her sister from the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth, she never would have gotten involved in her sister’s mission. She would have stayed at home. The land of the fae was so much more comfortable than the land where others resided.

  Claire refused to look at her abductor. She refused to acknowledge his presence, although he did have her magic dust. It was in his pocket at that very moment. Despite the fact that she’d warned him it could explode in untrained hands, he’d taken it with no hint of hesitation. And now he refused to give it back. Claire lifted her chin and stared out the coach window. If anyone had told her a sennight ago that Lord Phineas would take her hostage, she would have laughed in his face. Yet here she was, at his mercy.

  “Oh, blissful silence,” he said. He must have said it to himself, because he certainly couldn’t be talking to her.

  “You really should return my dust to me before it does you harm.” She didn’t look at him as she talked. She continued to stare at the changing landscape. They’d left behind the bustle of Mayfair and were headed toward… nowhere, it appeared.

  “And just what kind of harm might a little bottle of shimmer do to me?” He looked much too composed.

  “It could explode and blow off an arm.” She finally turned to look toward him and found him grinning at her unrepentantly. That man had a smile that could stop a lady’s heart. Though it had no effect on hers. Well, almost no effect. His sparkling blue eyes made him look impertinent enough to annoy her to no end.

  He held out his hand and appraised his arm with a critical eye. “I can live without an arm.” Lord Phineas swiped a lock of hair from his forehead and lowered his arm back to his side. He arched a golden brow at her as though taunting her to continue her threats. He hadn’t seen threats yet. Just wait until she turned him into a toad. Or a pig so that his outside could reflect his inside.

  Claire let her gaze roam up and down his body slowly. “It might blow off something you use on occasion.” Her eyes stopped at his lap. He fidgeted in his seat. “It’s really quite volatile in the hands of the untrained.”

  That wasn’t true. Not in the least little bit. But he didn’t need to know that. In his hands, the dust was useless. Just shimmery flecks of shiny things he didn’t understand. In her hands, however, it was quite useful. If she wasn’t afraid to commit one of the Unpardonable Errors—never use your magic to do harm—she would take a chance and wrest it from his possession. But if she had the dust in her hands right at that moment, she would use it to harm him. In a most satisfying way.

  She forced herself into a casual shrug. “Take a chance. Blow off an appendage. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and it’ll be the smallest one. One you probably don’t get to use much.”

  His smile vanished. “I can assure you there’s nothing small about my appendage.”

  She grinned. “That’s not what she said…” She left the taunt dangling in the air. His face flushed. She must have touched a sore spot. But since he was holding her hostage, he deserved to be just as uncomfortable as she was.

  ***

  How the devil could a faerie be aware of his problems with his mistress? Katherine had only left him a few weeks before. It wasn’t his fault that she’d spread a bit of a rumor about his prowess in the bedroom. One that was completely unfounded upon reality. He narrowed his eyes at Miss Thorne. “Are your people omniscient?”

  She didn’t answer. She simply turned to look out the window again. Blast and damn. The woman was already driving him toward Bedlam and he’d only had her in his possession for a few hours. His brother, Robin, would owe him dearly for this. Very dearly.

  The carriage hit a rut in the road and she bounced in her seat. She uttered a most unladylike oath as her head bumped the roof of the carriage. “Beg your pardon?” he asked. He cupped a hand around his ear. “I didn’t quite hear that.”

  “If I’d meant for you to hear it, you would have heard it.” She adjusted her skirts, settling back more heavily against the squabs. The bounce had left her looking a bit disheveled, with a strawberry blond curl hanging across her forehead. She blew the lock of hair with an upturned breath.

  She really was quite pretty if one could get over the shrewish behavior. Her body was tall and willowy, her limbs long and graceful. Her heart-shaped face would probably be beautiful if she ever graced it with a smile.

  “Just where are we going?” she asked. She still didn’t look at
him. She gazed out the window with the countenance of someone who had the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

  “My house in Bedfordshire.”

  Her shoulders stiffened and then she exhaled deeply.

  “And just what recommends such a place?”

  “It has bars on the windows and heavy locks on the doors.” It didn’t. But she didn’t have to know that.

  “It will take more than bars and windows to keep a faerie under lock and key.” She sniffed and raised her nose in the air.

  “Then thank God there are ropes aplenty. I will tie you to my side if I must. I did promise Robin I’d take care of you.” That was a bit of a long and sordid tale, and he still didn’t understand the half of it. “Pray tell me how you people came to exist.”

  She arched a delicate brow at him. “The same way you did.” Her face flushed scarlet. “Do you really need me to tell you about reproduction?”

  Damn her hide. He didn’t need her to explain anything about reproduction. This lady knew how to jab him where it hurt, though. He would have to take great care with her. He grinned slowly and leaned forward. “Please do. If you’re lacking anything in the telling of how babes are made, I’ll fill in the blanks for you. Certainly, you have questions about it.”

  “Should any pressing questions arise, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She looked back out the window. Damn, he hoped that Robin finished up his business soon so he could free the harpy.

  “How long do you plan to keep me there?”

  “As long as it takes for Robin to finish his business.” The sooner, the better.

  “I’m certain he’s done by now. So we can turn around and go back to the city.” She looked quite pleased by that idea. A smile tipped her lips and the beauty of it nearly took Finn’s breath away.

  “He’ll send word when he’s done. I’ll set you free not a moment before.”

  She laughed lightly, and the sound raked over his skin like silky fingertips in the night. “Only an idiot would think he can keep a faerie confined.” She snorted lightly. It was a most unladylike noise, but he found himself biting back a grin at the sound.

  Finn leaned over and looked out the window at the cloud-filled sky. If he couldn’t keep her confined, the inclement weather would. Unless he was mistaken, the snow would begin to fall before they reached their destination. Then she would be as confined by the elements as she was by him. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to tie her to him. He’d have to wait and see.

  Two

  Robin had sent a messenger to the house to ready it for company before he’d left for… wherever it was he’d gone. But that didn’t help Finn at the moment. Evidently, they’d arrived before the messenger did. None of the staff greeted them at the door. Where the devil were they? Mr. Ross should at least be nearby. He never left his post. And Mrs. Ross, the cook-housekeeper, should have been there to greet them as well. Blast and damn. Finn moved to pull off his gloves but changed his mind. It was damn cold in the house. And dark. And empty.

  “Hullo,” he called. His voice echoed around the empty foyer.

  “Looks like no one is home. Let’s head back to London,” Miss Thorne chirped. She started back toward the door.

  “Something is wrong,” Finn murmured to himself. “Wait here,” he muttered as he started toward the kitchen. Certainly someone would be in the kitchen. But that room was empty as well. “Where the devil is everyone?”

  “It appears as though your house isn’t quite ready for company,” Miss Thorne said, a satisfied smile on her face. “I believe we should make the trip back before the weather gets any worse.”

  Just then, the back door opened and a tall man stepped through it. He had an apple clenched between his teeth and bit into it viciously. He stopped short when he saw Finn and Miss Thorne standing there. “Beg your pardon,” he said around the mouthful of apple. He held up one finger as he chewed and swallowed so hard that Finn could hear the gulp across the room. “My lord,” he finally croaked out. He bent at the waist, and that was when Finn finally recognized him.

  “Benny?” Finn asked. That man with shoulders as broad as the doorway couldn’t possibly be Benny Ross, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Ross. The last time he’d seen Benny… He couldn’t remember the last time.

  “Yes, my lord,” the young man said. “It’s a brisk day, isn’t it?”

  If brisk meant cold enough to freeze a man in his tracks, yes, it was. “Where are your parents?” Finn asked. “Did you receive the notice that I would be arriving?”

  “Yes, my lord. We received it. That’s why I’m here. Papa took a fall down a flight of stairs a few days ago.” He held up a hand when Finn began to protest. “Don’t worry. He’s going to recover. Just got a nasty bump on the head and a sprained ankle. He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  “And Mrs. Ross?” Finn asked. Certainly she was on the premises.

  “She has refused to leave Papa’s side.”

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He had a house with no servants. An offended faerie and a house with no servants.

  “That settles it,” Miss Thorne chirped. “We’ll be going back to London.” She waved at Benny and said, “It was nice meeting you.”

  Benny looked to Finn for confirmation. “You’ll be leaving, then?”

  Benny looked much too happy about that. “No,” Finn sighed. “We’ll be staying.”

  “I was about to say, you don’t want to get caught in this storm.” Benny parted the kitchen curtains to look out. “It looks to be a nice one.”

  “Is there anyone else who can come and take care of the house? One of your sisters, perhaps?” If Finn wasn’t mistaken, Benny had five sisters, all of whom were older than he was.

  Benny flushed. “Oh no, my lord. Papa suggested that, and Mama said it wasn’t a good idea. What with you being a bachelor and all.”

  Mrs. Ross thought he would defile one of their daughters? He shrugged. One of them was quite attractive.

  “But I’ll be here for you. Mama sent a cold lunch. And I’ll go back and get the evening meal before the storm sets in fully.” He looked quite pleased with himself. He pointed toward the front door. “Shall I go and take care of the horses?”

  “Build a fire, first, will you?” It was growing colder by the second. Even the kitchen, which was always hot as blazes, was cold enough to make his face numb. “In the sitting room, the library, and the bedchamber.”

  Benny’s brow rose. “One bedchamber, my lord?”

  Finn nodded. “Yes, just one.”

  ***

  One bedchamber? Was the man daft? There was no possible way Claire was going to share a bedchamber with him. “Have you lost your senses?” she hissed as Benny stalked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. “I will not share a bedchamber with you.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Miss Thorne,” Lord Phineas drawled. “Trust me, the idea of it doesn’t settle well with me, either.”

  He didn’t like the idea of sharing a bedchamber? She highly doubted that. A small part of her was momentarily offended by his comment. She’d been told she had striking features. “Why don’t you want to share a bedchamber with me?” she asked impulsively. She wanted to bite the words back as soon as they left her mouth.

  “I tend to favor a warm bed partner, Miss Thorne. Not a cold one.” He stalked past her and into the corridor.

  Her offense at his lack of interest was absolutely absurd. But it niggled at her more than a little. She shoved the thought aside and forced her attention back to the facts at hand. “I think we should go elsewhere. At least an inn would have staff.”

  “They have staff where you come from, Miss Thorne?” He continued down the corridor toward… Where was he going? “In your land, Miss Thorne?” he prompted.

  Of course. Her land was structured much like his, except hers was prettier. And
in hers, things tended to be a little more fanciful. “My grandfather is one of the Trusted Few, my lord. Do not doubt my origins.”

  “Trusted Few?” he parroted, his brow quirked at her. A grin tugged at his lips. Why was that amusing?

  “The governing body in our world. Much like your aristocracy. The House of Lords.”

  “Only you have a house with a trusted few?” He chuckled. “Certainly, you do.” He finally came to a grand room lined with books, which must have been his library. Claire gazed at the overstuffed shelves. One of her favorite pastimes was reading, and she nearly salivated at the thought of looking through all the books. She forced her attention back to him. “When will we be leaving?”

  “When Robin sends words that his business is concluded.” He dropped into a chair behind his desk and began to sort through a stack of correspondence. “Is Ramsdale really your father?”

  “No.” She didn’t say more than that. Just the single word.

  “Robin says differently.”

  “We were raised by our grandparents.” She turned and pretended to peruse the shelves. Talking of her parents still hurt a little. She had never met them. She’d been raised with the fae, along with her brother Marcus and her sister Sophia. There were never any parents in their lives until Sophia stumbled across the Ramsdales. They’d lived in London all her life, right where she could have found them, if she’d only known they existed. Claire still hadn’t met them. Nor did she plan to. Nor did she plan to meet her human brother and sisters. The children her parents had kept.

  “Would you prefer that I call you Miss Thorne? Or shall we throw out all social constraints and call one another by our first names, Claire?” he asked, a crooked grin lifting the corners of his lips.

  “Miss Thorne will do nicely.” she corrected.

  “You may call me, Finn, Claire.” He was taunting her. She was well aware of it. And he was enjoying it.

  Benny bustled into the room with an armful of wood. “My lord?” he asked quickly. Lord Phineas motioned with an impatient hand toward the hearth. Benny began to stack wood in the grate and lit it with a quick flick of his flint.