Lust

“Who is it?” he growled as his palm skimmed his wife’s rounded rump.

“He refused to give his name, Your Grace. He said to tell you that the time has come to pay up.”

Lennox lost his grip on his wife. All thoughts of nymphs and pixies rousing him to a sexual peak flew out of his head. Bloody hell, he did not wish for Salisbury to say another word. Thankfully, the butler correctly interpreted his hard stare.

“Probably Arawn,” he murmured as he patted his wife’s thigh. “Always a prankster, that Arawn. He’ll be wanting to take Prue on a ride or some such thing.”

“I shall leave you alone then, as you hammer out the details of Arawn’s courtship of Prudence,” his dutiful wife replied, slipping from his lap and straightening her hooped skirts. “By the by, do inform Lord Arawn that it will not ingratiate him at all to me if I hear of any of my girls being talked of in such a fashion. Paying up refers to commodities, Your Grace. Our daughters are not things to be traded.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, ushering her along with a wave of his hand. “Wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” And he wouldn’t. By God, he loved his daughters, and only wanted the best for them.

Lennox’s gaze followed his wife out of the room before fixing on his butler. Damn it, he knew it wasn’t Arawn come to pay a call. He had an idea who the intruder was, and needed a second or two to formulate his plan. His girls, he thought, thinking of them upstairs giggling and laughing as they pored over the boxes of new clothes and petticoats, stockings and ribbons. He must protect them at all costs.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “What manner of man is he, Salisbury?”

The butler frowned. “Rather odd, Your Grace. I’ve never seen him before. He’s tall, fair.a most regal, yet intimidating fellow.”

Lennox felt his throat dry up, from relief or apprehension he knew not. “Send him in,” he commanded, “and allow no one to disturb us.”

As if by magic, the stranger appeared behind the butler, startling the retainer. But Salisbury recovered with aplomb. “His Grace will see you now.”

The man breezed in and slammed the library door shut. For long seconds, his penetrating violet eyes stared him down, and Lennox refused to give in to the urge to loosen his jabot.

“George Jasper Buckman, the fifth Duke of Lennox?” the stranger inquired as he took the tapestry chair in front of the wide desk.

“Yes,” Lennox replied as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Queen Aine has sent me.”

He felt his face drain of blood. The man smiled, then reached for the goblet of brandy that Lennox had just poured. Raising the crystal to his lips, he took a sip, his eyes scrutinizing his discomfort.

“Queen Aine?” Lennox asked vaguely.

“You received a gift from my mother, did you not?”

“Did I?” he asked, feigning boredom. “I’m afraid I don’t recall being introduced to a Queen Aine.”

The man sat forward, his strange eyes darkening. “She found you weeping over the cradle of a deformed, lame little wretch. Your heir, I believe.”

Robert. His son. His heir. Aye, he had sired a twisted little thing. Lame, broken. He had wandered into the nursery one night, the night of his son’s first birthday and wept as he watched him sleep. The queen had appeared then. The lovely faery queen. She had offered him his greatest wish, a whole son. An heir that could take his rightful place as duke once he departed this world. And she had asked for nothing but a tithe to be paid later on.

It had been twenty-five years since that visit. He had never seen or heard from her again. He had produced the four daughters she had spoken of. They were virtuous girls, just as she had said they would be. He had done everything, and the queen had made Robert strong and handsome—and whole.

“Your heir enjoys a rather rich and healthy life, does he not?” the man asked as he settled into the chair. “I hear he has recently married.”

Lennox didn’t care for the tone in the man’s voice. Hackles raised, he met the stranger’s gaze. “State your business.”

“It is time the tithe was paid.”

“How much?” he asked, reaching into his desk drawer for a bank draft.

The man laughed and crossed his long leg over his knee. “The queen has no need of your mortal money. What she desires are your daughters.”

“All of them?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“All four of them.”

Reaching for the brandy, Lennox swallowed the contents of the goblet in one swig. Bloody hell, this was going from bad to worse. Never had he thought the queen would demand his daughters. Damn it. He’d already bargained with another of their kind for one of his daughters. That was where his wealth had come from. He wanted the best for his daughters, and before the fey had come, his purse was light, the debts heavy. So, he had made another bargain—one for gold, and his daughter’s happiness and comfort.

Christ, he was a man who had been visited by the fey not once, but twice in his lifetime. And both times the blasted creatures had known what he had wanted.

“The queen demands that you take the girls to London. They are not safe here.”

“Now, see here,” Lennox roared, “I take very good care of my daughters and there is nothing on this green earth that I would allow to harm them.”

“You, Your Grace, will have no power to stop the ones who are coming for them.”

“Bah,” he grumbled, waving off the concern. “There is nothing that wealth and influence cannot buy. My girls are safe here under my protection.”

“Others are coming for them. I assure you, they will not be bought off. Your wealth and influence will mean nothing to them. You must take your daughters and leave. At once. Your son and his wife are hosting a ball tonight, are they not?”

Lennox narrowed his eyes, unnerved that this stranger—this … creature could know something so mundane, yet personal, about his son and the masked ball he was giving.

“I am correct, am I not? Your son is having a grand party.”

“Now, see here. I’m not packing up the house and leaving for London today. Besides, we won’t make it to the ball in time.”

“Do you know who I am?” the stranger asked. He appeared bored, but his voice was sharp, full of warning.

“One of them,” Lennox found himself grumbling as he searched for a way out of this tangle. “Like her.”

The stranger smiled. “Indeed. I am Crom, the queen’s son.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you. Salisbury will see you out.”

Two large palms slammed down atop the shiny rosewood, making Lennox nearly jump out of his skin. “Your Grace, you do not amuse me. I am at the length of my patience. You will take your daughters, and you will leave Glastonbury. Today.”

“We won’t make it in time for the ball,” he repeated, “and I am not having my family on the roads in the dark of night. Thieves come out when the moon rises in the night sky. Infidels, sir. Highwaymen with whom I do not wish to cross paths. Imagine what the bastards will do if they discover my daughters and wife in the carriage.”

“You would risk my temper and my considerable powers to a weak roadside thief?”

Lennox bristled at the dangerous tone. “It cannot be done. Not today.”

“I have many powers, and getting you to London before the ball will be no great trial.”

“And what do you expect me to tell my wife?”

“Tell her whatever you need to. I don’t care. Just take the girls away from here. The others have discovered the presence of your daughters. They will stop at nothing to possess them. They are ruthless. Embittered. Dangerous.”