The Magic Between Us Read online

  Milly kicked at the oak floor with the toe of her slipper. “Something came up.”

  “You mean Ronald?” Cecelia asked playfully.

  “Ronald has a way of stealing my attention.” A blush colored the garden gnome’s cheeks. “Even after all these years.”

  “Do you know where they are?” Cecelia asked.

  “Things didn’t go very well in court,” Milly confessed. “They were detained for a bit.”

  “What didn’t go well?”

  “They wanted to put your father in gaol,” she said. “But he made restitution to Mr. Randall, and the man was finally satisfied, so he asked for leniency.”

  “So all of that is resolved?”

  “Every bit of it. Your future husband is a brilliant speaker. He had the Trusted Few believing that your father has turned over a new leaf. That he has changed. He went on and on about how your father hasn’t had a drop of spirits in a month.”

  Marcus had written to her about it, but he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details.

  “My father is coming here with Marcus, right?”

  Cecelia was a little bit scared to see her father. She’d left him with a group of men he didn’t know to dry out. It was his family-to-be, but he still could hold a grudge. He might be upset that she’d abandoned him a month ago. Although it was really he who abandoned her. He might not see it that way. “He’s well now, right?”

  Milly smiled. “He’s well.” She patted Cecelia’s hand. “I would worry more about that man who is dead set on marrying you.” She grinned.

  “If we marry here, he’ll have to wait for the reading of the banns.”

  “Not if he asked his father to secure a special license,” Milly sang.

  “He didn’t!” Cecelia cried. But her heart leaped at the same time.

  “Rumor has it that he did.” Milly clucked her tongue. “They might send for the vicar this very evening.”

  Nothing would make Cecelia happier. It had been more than a month since she’d seen the man she loved more than life itself.

  Claire had gone into the painting more than an hour before to bring them back. Cecelia expected them to return right away. But it wasn’t to be, apparently.

  Cecelia flopped down on the settee to wait. After another hour, her eyelids grew heavy. She laid her head down on the arm of the settee and waited. She tried to stay awake, but it was simply too difficult. Certainly, she would wake when Marcus came through the painting.

  She let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Marcus had never seen a sight more beautiful. Part of him didn’t want to wake her, but she was waiting there for him. She’d fallen asleep waiting, apparently, and he loved her even more for it.

  Good God, she was beautiful. Her hair spilled over the side of her face, and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. She stirred, reaching for his hand. He took it in his and looked at her face.

  Suddenly, her eyes shot open and she sat up. “Marcus?” she squealed. And she launched herself into his arms. He picked her up, spinning her around until he was certain he would make them both dizzy. “I missed you so much,” she admitted when he finally set her down and looked into her face.

  “Not as much as I missed you,” he said. He’d missed her like he would miss his right arm if someone took it. Every day, he’d debated about going through the painting to see her. He’d considered it so many times. But there were days in the beginning when his presence was needed. And there were days at the end of his stay with her father when he didn’t want to miss the healing process. He wanted to witness it all so he could recount it to her. So he could tell their children about their grandfather’s triumphs. So he could tell them how strong he was and how much he’d overcome.

  There was also some truth to the fact that he wanted to see the man punished. But they’d spent hours and days and weeks talking. They’d talked about Mrs. Hewitt’s death and the utter devotion Mr. Hewitt felt for her. They’d talked about how he felt when Cecelia was born. How he’d never been disappointed he had a daughter and no sons, because his daughter was bloody perfect.

  Mr. Hewitt told him about the day of her birth, and how frightened he’d been the day she went on her first mission and how angry he was at himself for hurting her. It wasn’t until Mr. Hewitt learned to forgive himself that he could heal. So, Marcus stayed to help him with that.

  Cecelia jerked him from his reverie when she reached up and pulled him down so that his lips could meet hers. In that moment, he felt like he’d come home. She kissed him, her lips soft and welcoming, and her arms were strong and open. And he’d never loved her more.

  “Where’s my father?” she asked when he finally let her breathe for a moment.

  “He’ll be along in a moment,” Marcus said. “I wanted to see you first. Your father will arrive with Claire momentarily.”

  She nodded.

  “Cece, I love you so much,” Marcus said.

  “I love you, too,” she repeated. “I thought I would die if you didn’t come to me soon.”

  Marcus pulled her down to sit beside him on the couch. He took her face in his hands and said, “I want to be inside you so badly.” His voice shook with the strain of his words.

  “Marcus,” she scolded. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

  “But it’s true,” he said. And he took her hand and placed it on his trousers where he was rigid for her already. A blush crept up her cheeks.

  “Will you come to me tonight?” she whispered.

  He would love nothing more. “I thought you would never ask.”

  Claire walked through the painting, and Marcus looked at Cecelia and said, “Your father will shoot me if he catches us like this.” A grin tugged at his lips.

  “I doubt he could care.”

  After her father had sobered up, he’d threatened Marcus’s very life over his daughter. And Marcus had a healthy fear of the man. Or at least of the father of the woman he planned to marry.

  “Your father is coming through,” he warned. He kissed her quickly and left the room.

  ***

  “Thank you, Claire,” Cecelia said, as her father entered the room. His appearance was that of the man she used to know when her mother was alive. His face was clean shaven, and his hair was combed and slicked back with pomade. He was dressed for dinner, and he’d never looked more handsome. “Papa,” she acknowledged hesitantly. She probably sounded more than a bit cold, but she couldn’t help it. He’d done some terrible things. And they couldn’t be taken back.

  “Cecelia,” he said. He smiled at her, but he didn’t rush across the room to come to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Claire leave the room quietly.

  “You can’t even look me in the eye, can you?” he asked. “Do you hate me?”

  Did she? Maybe a little. She didn’t answer.

  He rushed on to say, “It’s all right if you do. I wouldn’t blame you. You have every reason.”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip between her teeth.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “God, you look so much like your mother it hurts.”

  Tears threatened to spill over Cecelia’s lashes. “I can’t help that.”

  He rushed to shush her. “I wouldn’t change it for anything.” He took a deep breath. “I was angry at her for leaving. And I was angry at myself for not protecting her.”

  “And me? Why were you angry at me, Papa?”

  “I was angry at you because you wouldn’t let me fall into a hole and die, Cecelia. You gave me a shadow of a reason to live. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to die. I wanted to go with your mother. I wanted to leave.”

  “You wanted to leave me?” she asked.

  “You’re the only thing that kept me here, Cece,” he adm
itted. “You’re the only thing.”

  He touched her hand tenderly, cautiously, as though he was afraid she would jerk away. She still might. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust that he would stay away from spirits for the rest of his life. She didn’t trust that he would be the father she’d once known.

  “I love you, Cecelia,” he said. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I hope you’ll let me be a part of your life and let me share in it.”

  “Marcus wants to marry me,” she said cautiously.

  He nodded. “He’s not good enough for you,” her father said.

  It was almost as though a hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. “You can’t possibly say no.”

  He chuckled. “I would never keep you from that lad,” he said. The pressure in her chest eased. “But I stand by my comment. He’s not good enough for you, because no one will ever be good enough for you. Ever.” He chuckled again. “But as sons-in-law go, I suppose I could do worse.”

  She smiled a watery smile at him. He was feeling protective of her, was he? He hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.

  He took her chin in his hand and tipped it up. “I don’t expect forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it. All I want is a chance. Give me a chance to be your father.”

  “You’ll always be my father.”

  “I’ve always been your father. Now I want to be a good father.” He coughed into his fist, as though he needed to clear his throat. “For the first time in a very long time, I have something to live for. Let me live for you.”

  She pressed a hand to his heart. “Live for you,” she said.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Cecelia looked over to see Marcus with his head stuck through the door. “Everything all right in here?” he asked.

  Her father looked down at her and asked, “Is it? Is it all right if I stay for a bit?”

  She nodded.

  “Thank God,” Marcus teased. “Because we were just about to call for the vicar. And I’d like to marry your daughter, Mr. Hewitt, if I have your blessing.”

  Her father sobered. He looked down at Cecelia. “Would you consider waiting for a month?”

  “A month? Why?” Marcus said calmly.

  “I just got my daughter back,” her father said. “Give me some time with her.”

  Marcus looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Is that what you want, Cecelia?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said.

  “A fortnight?” her father said. “A proper courtship?”

  Apparently, her father wanted things done the proper way. Marcus scowled. She asked hesitantly, “Would you mind waiting? Just a fortnight?”

  Marcus bit his lips together, but then he said in a big rush, “If it’s what you want.” He threw his hands up in surrender.

  “It’s not what I want,” she said quietly. “But I fear it’s what we need.”

  Marcus crossed the room to her and took her face in his hands. “I’ll provide for your every need from now on.”

  Her father coughed into his closed fist. “I’m still providing for her needs for the next fortnight. But you can court her.”

  Marcus grinned. “Courting in this world means rides in the park and dancing at balls.”

  She looked up at her father.

  He scowled down at her. “It means riding in the park with a chaperone. And dancing at balls with a chaperone.”

  “Bloody hell,” Marcus bit out.

  Her father laughed. “You’ll survive it, Marcus.”

  Marcus nodded. “I’ll do anything for her.”

  “I know you will. That’s why I asked.” Her father laughed. And he sounded so much like the man she used to know that she wanted to grant his request.

  Nineteen

  Cecelia’s father was determined to keep her away from Marcus, and he was doing everything he could to prevent them from spending any time alone. If he knew what they’d done at the cabin in the land of the fae, he wouldn’t be so set on his mission to keep them apart. Or perhaps he would. But he would also feel the need to choke the life from Marcus if he knew, so she supposed this was for the best.

  Her father had walked her to her chamber after supper the night before, and she could have sworn she heard him pacing the corridor during the night. She’d never wanted anything more than to hold Marcus in her arms. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted to hold him between her thighs.

  “If your face gets any rosier,” Lady Ramsdale chided from across the breakfast table, “we’ll have to douse you with water to cool you off.” She arched a brow at Cecelia. Luckily, they were the only two people in the room. Cecelia had risen early, hoping to see Marcus before anyone else got up. Or rather, before her father rose from bed. No one else seemed to mind the way they pined for one another. But her father had lost time to make up for, she supposed.

  “Woolgathering,” Cecelia muttered at Lady Ramsdale.

  “Must be some rather warm wool,” Lady Ramsdale shot back.

  Cecelia choked on her tea.

  “Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you choke!” Marcus’s mother said.

  Cecelia held up her hand. “It’s all right,” she sputtered. “You just surprised me.”

  “Darling, I’m not so old that I don’t know what you’re feeling.” She looked at Cecelia over the rim of her teacup. “It certainly won’t hurt Marcus to wait for a fortnight.”

  But what if it hurt Cecelia? “Yes, Lady Ramsdale,” she said. “I know.”

  “Are you nervous at all about the wedding?” Lady Ramsdale asked.

  Cecelia shook her head. “I am not at all anxious about that. I’m more anxious about our life after that.”

  “What about it worries you, dear?” Marcus’s mother asked, putting her teacup down.

  Cecelia shrugged. “Sometimes I worry about going from one world to another all the time. I almost think it would be better for me to give up my wings and come here. We could live a quiet life.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Marcus said as he barreled into the room. He walked over and kissed Cecelia on the forehead. His lips were soft, and he ran a hand down her hair before he crossed to the sideboard and began to fill a plate with his breakfast. “In fact,” he went on to say, “I would give up the title before I would allow you to do something that ridiculous.”

  “You would do that for me?” Cecelia asked.

  “That and more,” he said, and he pulled his chair as close to hers as it could go. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. His knee touched hers, the heat of it seeping through his trousers to warm her leg.

  His mother sniffled across the table and dabbed at her eyes.

  “I can’t imagine you without wings,” Marcus said. “Preposterous.”

  “We already have enough magic between us, Marcus,” Cecelia said with a laugh.

  “As long as we don’t have magic between us,” Marcus clarified. He motioned from her to him and back. “As in keeping us apart. I would give up this world in order for you to keep your magic.”

  “You mean more to me.”

  “Oh, I can almost see it now,” his mother said. “For his birthday, you’ll give him your wings in a box. And for your birthday, he’ll give you his ring.”

  Cecelia looked down at the ring that his father had given him. The family crest. “That wouldn’t do either of us any good, would it?” she said with a laugh.

  “So I suggest you adapt to going back and forth. Particularly now that you’re both going to be seated on the bench.”

  “I still can’t get over that,” Cecelia said with a sigh.

  “Does it intimidate you at all?” Lady Ramsdale asked.

  Cecelia shook her head. “Not really. Maybe
we can do some good. I don’t think anyone young has ever been in leadership. Not that I can remember.”

  “You two will do wonderfully. Perhaps someday, humans who marry fae will be able to go back and forth at will. Even without sneaking into a painting.”

  “Marriage equality is the first thing on my agenda. I aim to rewrite the Unpardonable Errors.”

  Marcus looked deep into her eyes. “I plan to help you.”

  “We’ll do it together.”

  Marcus certainly hoped so. “Where is your father?” Marcus asked.

  Cecelia shrugged. “I suppose he hasn’t risen yet. I’m not certain.”

  “I thought I would wake up to find you tethered to his side for the next fortnight.”

  Cecelia giggled. “So did I, honestly.”

  Beneath the table, Marcus laid a hand on her knee, and she looked up at him, scolding him with her glance. But he didn’t even look at her. He continued to eat with his right hand, while the tip of his left index finger drew circles on her knee.

  Cecelia worried she would grow as bright as an overripe tomato. She laid a hand on his and squeezed. But when she did, he looked down at her. His eyes held a promise. One she dearly hoped he would fulfill. Soon.

  His mother jerked her from his gaze when she cleared her throat and said, “The two of you do know where babes come from, correct?”

  Marcus choked on his eggs. “Mother!” he cried.

  She held her hands up as though in surrender. “I’m just asking.” She laughed to herself. “Do I need to remind you that babes typically take nine months to grow before they’re born, and that the ton counts those months the way they count the money under their mattresses?”

  Marcus didn’t say anything. But his cheeks were rosy, and his neck and the tips of his ears were just as colorful.

  “Although, I will admit,” she said, “that you were special, Marcus. You only took seven months and then there you were.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Marcus grumbled as he looked down at the table.

  Cecelia clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.

  “I should go get your father and let him have this talk with you,” Lady Ramsdale said. She started to get to her feet.