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  Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Not to forget Rhinelandish wine. Have you brought a box for Christmas?”

  The admiral chuckled. “I hear they call you the Fox in London.”

  Oh yes, that lovely nickname of his she had heard mentioned in the ballrooms and drawing rooms of the bon ton. Though of course, Amy had never heard anybody calling him that to his face. Whom did he consider a close enough acquaintance to allow them such an intimacy? she wondered. How extraordinary vexing when she yearned to know him inside out, to learn all his secrets, great and small, be his confidante, his best friend. After all, he was her fiancé.

  Her fiancé… At the mere thought, a warm glow filled Amy. Mine. Mine to love and cherish. How utterly wonderful it would be to finally bear his name, be his wife and companion!

  Sebastian’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Some do indeed.”

  “I wonder why, eh?” the Admiral said mildly.

  At this Sebastian laughed out loud. “I haven’t got the foggiest.”

  “My dear Miss Bourne.” Admiral Pickering turned to Amy. “You have to keep an eye on this gentleman. He is a rather sly young fellow indeed.”

  “Indeed. And one who may tell Ramtop that we are now ready for the luncheon,” the dowager countess cut in.

  Sebastian grinned. “Yes, Mother.” Softly whistling, he went to ring for the butler.

  His mother stared after him, shaking her head. “Insolent cub,” she muttered before she turned to Amy, smiling. “Miss Bourne, you must sit with me during the meal. I want to know everything about this young woman who has so enchanted my son.”

  “It would be my pleasure, my lady.” Yet dismay sliced through Amy as she replied. She can’t want to know everything, Amy thought. No, surely not everything.

  Her gaze was drawn to Sebastian, and her stomach lurched. What would he say, what would his family say when they finally found out about the magic? She had been so happy these past few weeks, that for the most part she had simply forgotten—

  The butler arrived. Sebastian spoke to him, then a smile creased his face. Oh, dear heavens, he was the handsomest of men when he smiled! Her moment of apprehension passed. All would be fine. How could it not when she was incandescently in love with him?

  He turned and announced, “It seems that we can proceed to the dining room if we so wish.”

  As luncheon was a much less formal affair than dinner, they went to the dining room in a hurly-burly fashion as a cheerful, chattering cluster. It allowed Amy to sidle up to Sebastian.

  His eyes lit, and he offered her his arm. “How do you like the Stapleton brood so far?” he whispered. “Have they already frightened you witless?”

  Amy had to bite her lip to smother a giggle. “Have you just called your family a brood? Admiral Pickering was right: you are a sly fellow.” She couldn’t believe that only moments ago she had been pestered by worries. Worries? What fudge!

  He arched a brow. “You mean, you didn’t know about my slyness before?”

  “I had an inkling.” Her heart light, she pressed his arm a little closer against her. The brush of it against the side of her breast sent a secret thrill through her. A little breathless, she looked up at him. “Tell me about that nickname of yours.”

  “Fox?”

  “Who calls you that?” Bergamot, she thought inconsequentially. He smells of bergamot. The realization momentarily distracted her.

  He shrugged. “My friends do.”

  A speck of cinnamon dust… Her eyes flicked back to his. Fox. With such vibrantly colored hair, the name fitted him most perfectly. Better Fox than… what? A memory teased. Amy shook her head. She really must ask him about being the only redhead in the family, but that would wait for later. Her lips curved. “The name suits you,” she said softly. And, “May I call you that, too?”

  “You?” The tender expression that came over his face was almost too much to bear. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t you know? You may call me anything you like.”

  Her breath caught, and her glance slid from his, while she valiantly tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Oh, how much she loved him! So much that it pierced her heart.

  She pressed Sebastian’s—Fox’s arm. Blinking rapidly, she fought against the tears that welled up in her eyes. Happy tears.

  Oh yes, she thought. All would be fine. For how could it not be? They would share their secrets and laugh about them together. Only—she couldn’t yet tell him of the magic. Not just now. How strange this would be, to reveal the secret of her family to an outsider when it had been so well guarded as long as she could remember. But soon, soon she would tell him. He would be intrigued, and she would be so extraordinarily pleased to show him all the wonders and marvels of the magic. Explain to him everything about this special talent, how the magic flowed inside you and you had to learn how to harness it in order to use it. Learn spells and perfect rituals—and duck your head if a spell went awry. The thought made her smile. Yes, all would be fine. Better than fine, even: a dream come true.

  ~*~

  Later in the afternoon, the mist lifted and Fox took Amy on a walk in the park. Autumn had rendered the gardens a world of brown and gray. Gray, the sky. Gray, the gravel that crunched under their feet. Shades of brownish gray, the bare branches of trees whispering softly among themselves. And in between, the graceful, stony curves of statues—lion and griffin, the head of a unicorn in a maiden’s lap, and the chubby charm of putti peeking through the bushes or frolicking around on small pedestals.

  He wanted to show her all of it, all the places of his boyhood and youth. How strange it was: as a boy he had never seemed to fit. It was Richard who had been born with an understanding of the land—and small wonder: he had been born and bred to it. Blood will always show, Fox heard the voice of the old earl. In contrast to his brother, Fox had never felt comfortable under the wide, wide arch of the Fenland sky, which would turn into a dense expanse of blackness in winter nights, so heavy you feared it might crush you while you slept. And the fog—oh, that was surely the most awful thing about the Fens. Slithering across the land, the fog turned everything insubstantial. Even the sturdiest buildings became as ephemeral as shadows. It settled on the land like a shroud, oppressing all living things, weighing down a man’s mind.

  In all the years Fox had lived in Town, the yellow London fog had never felt as menacing. But then it didn’t have such vast spaces to fill as the fog in the Fens. Here it seemed to swallow up the dark ground, while the distant gurgle of water served as a sharp reminder of the times when the sea and the rivers conspired to flood the land. They had drowned plant and animal and man before, and would do so again, despite all efforts to tame the waters.

  No, Fox had always felt like an intruder here, whereas Richard—heavens, sometimes Fox believed Richard must surely have the legendary webbed feet of the Fenmen. Indeed, at times it almost seemed as if he could see all the seasons, weathers, the very land itself reflected in Richard’s eyes. It was most disconcerting, and made Fox feel insufficient. And wasn’t this what the old earl had called him often enough? Insufficient in more ways than one. Bad blood will always show. But now that the old man was dead, it did not seem such a hardship to return to Rawdon Park from time to time. Especially not this year when his Amelia accompanied him!

  Sweet, sweet Amy. He darted a look at her and pressed her arm. How he hoped she would enjoy her stay at Rawdon Park and find the house and gardens to her liking! He surely wouldn’t be able to bear it should anything mar her happiness! Therefore he would never burden her with dark memories, would never mar her loveliness with … with things she needn’t know. But so far, she appeared to enjoy herself. And his family clearly loved her; there could be no doubt about it. The acceptance had been there in the satisfied smile of his mother and in the glances Richard had exchanged with his wife. For years it had been their secret wish that he would settle down, find a place to put down permanent roots. However, he had never had the faintest inkling to do so—until now. It
seemed to him he had waited for Amy all his life.

  Fox took a deep breath, smelled the scent of the damp leaves and the perfume of the woman walking beside him—just the barest hint of lily of the valley.

  He glanced down at her. The crown of her head hardly reached his shoulder. As always, her smallness and vulnerability fascinated him and made him want to protect her from the world forevermore. He swallowed.

  She didn’t wear a bonnet, and it seemed to him that her pale hair gleamed like spun gold. “Does Rawdon Park appeal to you?” he asked, eager to hear her voice once more. Riding next to the carriage for one and a half days, so near to her and yet so far away, had been torture.

  She raised her face to his, her cheeks rosy, her pansy blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, I adore it! Despite its size Rawdon Park is as comfortable as a family home can be. And the park and gardens are lovely—even now.” She cast a look around. Her lips curved. “I love the little putti. They lend the gardens such a gay appearance.”

  “I am glad.” All at once his tongue seemed tied in knots while his feelings for her expanded his chest until he felt he would simply burst with the joy of it.

  But Amy glanced at him and looked away, biting her lips. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “What about?” It came out harsher than he had intended. Suddenly his heart thundered in his ears, and something like fear constricted his throat. She stopped walking, and her hand slipped from his arm as she turned fully toward him. How he would have liked to snatch her hand back! The loss of contact seemed horribly significant.

  Her face serious, she studied him. “I was thinking about your family.”

  Pain flared in his chest. Fox closed his eyes. Now, now she would ask the question he feared, the question that might make him lose her because surely somebody as pure and innocent as her would find it abhorrent that—

  A fine tremor passed through his body.

  “Fox—Sebastian?”

  Heavens, only a few short hours ago she had inquired about the nickname, and how he had loved the sound of it on her lips! But now it was back to Sebastian, and soon, soon, it might be back to Mr. Stapleton.

  “Sebastian?”

  “Yes?” He forced himself to open his eyes and look at her. Take it like a man.

  She regarded him solemnly, her head cocked to the side. The crisp air made her cheeks glow. God, how much he wanted to take her into his arms and make sure nothing would ever take her away from him. However, he also knew he would not be able to lie to her. His heart hammered almost painfully against his ribs.

  “Yes?”

  Get it over and done with. He would have to learn how to live with it.

  Without her.

  It did not seem possible.

  He forced his lips to lift into a smile.

  “I have wondered…” she said, her voice sweet.

  “Yes?”

  Her clear blue gaze drew him in. If only he could drown in that blue.

  “Everybody in your family is dark-haired—”

  “Yes.” Sweat tickled down his back and dampened his armpits. “The Earls of Rawdon—all brown as nuts.”

  “Except you.”

  “Except me.” He took a deep breath, wanting to tell her, but his tongue seemed paralyzed.

  Take it like a man.

  Her gaze did not waver, though a little frown appeared to mar the smoothness of her forehead and the clear line of her eyebrows. “Why? It’s curious, isn’t it?”

  Surely it felt like this to be stretched on the rack. “Not at all.” Another deep breath. Let me get through this… “I resemble my father.”

  Surprise registered in her eyes. Her brows rose. “But on the way upstairs, the housekeeper showed us his portrait—”

  “My real father.” The thuds of his heart were tolling doom as he watched her face and saw understanding dawn.

  Everything in her seemed to still.

  “Ah.” Such a soft sound.

  It pierced his heart.

  He swallowed hard. “The earl accepted me as his own, but in truth I’m another man’s by-blow.” And the old earl had never let him forget it, either.

  A breeze picked up and played with her hair. “Your mother—”

  “Yes.” He turned his head, not wanting to wait for the condemnation to appear on her face. “It’s none too bad, really.” He talked rapidly, so the sounds would fill the awful silence. “He left me a small fortune of my own, enough to let me live in comfort. Why, it’s even enough that I can buy a small estate somewhere, later, when…” He swallowed. “If…” I marry. If you still want me.

  “I understand.”

  More darts to his heart. He bowed his head, defeated. “I was sure you would,” he murmured. Bad blood will always show.

  Something touched his cheek. His head jerked back. He stared at her. God, when had she come so near?

  When she reached up to put her gloved hand against his cheek once more, his knees nearly buckled. “It must have been hard to grow up with this knowledge,” she whispered.

  “No. I… I…” Her thumb rubbed against his skin in tiny, shy circles. He couldn’t believe what he saw in her eyes. “I…” He put his hand over hers, held it still against his face. “You don’t mind?”

  Her eyes widened. “Mind?” An expression of extraordinary tenderness washed over her face and dumbfounded him. “Mind? Oh, Fox. Surely you didn’t think—”

  “I did,” he said, rawly. His voice was so hoarse it sounded like a stranger’s even to his own ears.

  Her eyes softened. “Then let me show you how much I mind.” And with that she rose on tiptoe, her free hand sneaking around his neck to draw his head down. Her lips touched his, sweetly, innocently.

  It was a spark that ignited a fire. His arms closed around her, hauled her against him, tighter, tighter, so tightly their bodies would melt and become one. His hand buried in her hair, he opened his mouth and, not so sweetly, not so innocently, deepened the kiss, tasted her, devoured her.

  And she—

  —let him.

  He felt her arms around his shoulders and her fingers kneading his neck as if to spur him on. On and on, until she moaned in his arms and his body was on fire for her.

  He came up gasping for air, her face so near to his that he could see the fine, soft hair on her cheeks. Her eyes opened, languid and drugged with pleasure one moment, then sparkling with laughter the next. Her breaths were little puffs on his face.

  “Extraordinary.”

  He gave a wry laugh. His ears burned. “I had meant our first kiss to be a little less wild.”

  “No.” Her lips curved mischievously. “I liked it exactly as it was.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth. “Exactly as it was…” she purred and ran her tongue over the seam of his lips.

  Helpless, his fingers spasmed. He groaned, making her chuckle with delight.

  “Witch.”

  Her expression sobered. “Yes.” Once again, she rubbed her hand over his cheek. He wished she would shed her gloves. “You can’t have thought…” Her eyes seemed to glow when she looked at him. “Fox, I love you. Nothing will make this love go away.”

  And with that, the last constrictions around his heart fell away. He had not lost her. She knew his deepest, darkest secret and still he had not lost her. Warmth filled his whole being, made his chest swell and his eyes burn. He kissed her again, so she wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I always will—whatever may happen.”

  Chapter Seven

  By morning the mists had returned to smother Rawdon Park in thick layers of grayish white. From the breakfast parlor the trees beyond the pleasure green appeared as blurred, bulky, dark shapes. The gloomy weather made the room with its fuchsia curtains and the Chinese wallpaper, where exotic birds disported themselves among stalks of green grass, doubly cheerful. The tones of red were repeated in the chimneypiece, which had been contracted to fit a Rumford grate. As a result, the fire filled
the room with comfortable warmth instead of acrid smoke. After the draft in the hallways this was very welcome, indeed.

  When Amy entered the room, she found only Lady Rawdon present. “Good morning, Miss Bourne. I see you are an early riser, too? Excellent.” The countess bestowed upon her a sparkling smile. “Let John give you some tea or coffee.” Her brow wrinkled. “Or would you prefer hot chocolate?” She sounded a little worried. “I am sure our cook must have a block of cocoa somewhere in her pantry.”

  Touched and slightly embarrassed by this obvious eagerness to please her, Amy hastily assured her that tea was perfectly fine, so the footman hurried to fill a cup of tea for her under the critical eye of the butler.

  “Thank you.” Amy smiled at the lanky young man, who promptly blushed to the tips of his ears. A discreet cough from the butler made his color deepen until it competed with the curtains in brilliancy. Hastily he reached for a plate, which he handed her instead of the cup.

  “Thank you,” Amy said again, trying not to smile. In all likelihood this was the first time the poor man was serving at the table, and for his faux pas the butler would later box his ears for sure.

  She continued to walk along the sideboard, where the breakfast dishes had been set up. Amy chose some toast, black butter, and a pastry, let the downcast footman hand over her cup of tea, and then went to the table, where she took the seat opposite the countess.

  “Did you sleep well?” Lady Rawdon asked.

  “How could I not? I have the loveliest room.” Stirring her tea, Amy was distracted by the sight of even more exotic birds on the delicate, gold- and fuchsia-rimmed cup. Inadvertently, her gaze was drawn to the curtains and wallpaper, then back.

  At her flabbergasted look, the countess laughed. “My mother-in-law so wished for a room that matched the china that we couldn’t help choosing this decor when we redecorated the breakfast parlor a few years ago.”