Lust

“The others, you say? “ he asked, looking once more upon the golden faery that loomed over his desk.

“The Dark Fey.”

Lennox felt his face drain of blood for the second time in minutes. Christ, what had he done?

“Pack your things and leave the rest to me. The queen will meet with you four mornings from now in the woods of Richmond Park. Do not fail to arrive, or her gift to your son shall be broken.”

“Wait,” he called as Crom prepared to leave. “What does she want with my girls?”

“It is none of your concern now. You accepted the gift and now it is time to pay the tithe.”

“I … I won’t have them hurt, you blackguard. They’re innocent young women. Good girls.”

“Allow me to allay your fears, Your Grace. They shall be treated like queens. One in particular. Chastity,” he said with a sly smile. “She is to be my bride.”

“And all my daughters? Are they to be wed?”

“Yes.”

“To your kind?”

“Of course.”

Lennox swallowed hard. Bloody hell! “All of them?” he asked in a choked voice. His wife would castrate him if she ever discovered that her daughters were wed to the fey as part of a bargain he had made. There had to be a way out.

Crom’s eyes took on a cruel expression as if he could read Lennox’s mind. “Yes. All of them are to wed and to reside in the Seelie Court. So you had better find a way to break the vow you gave to my mother’s enemy. For no daughter of yours shall be wed to anyone but the men of my court.”

“And these Dark Fey, they’re coming?” he asked in a strangled whisper.

Crom smiled, a show of cruel mirth. “Even now one approaches. I’ll leave you to settle your business with him. I suggest you put an end to your dealings with him. After that, you will depart for London.”

Nodding, Lennox fell back against the leather squabs of his chair. His bloody greed was catching up with him now. He had no alternative but to tuck in his tail and run. Perhaps the faery queen would protect his daughters from the damnable bargain he had made three years ago.

Crom vanished, his figure only to be replaced by that of Salisbury. “Your Grace, a Prince Rinion is here. He claims to be well-known to you.”

Indeed he was. “Send him in, Salisbury.”

The tall, imposing Dark Fey sauntered into the study. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, and his long dark brown hair was worn loose, down to his impressive shoulders. With a smug smile he looked about the room. “How very nicely appointed this library is, Lennox. Much more comfortable than the last time I saw it. I am so glad to see you are enjoying my little gift.”

He couldn’t speak. God help him, his normally calculating mind was blank. What if this Dark Fey discovered his deceit?

“Do you recall that night we struck our bargain? Riches beyond belief, all in return for the hand of your firstborn daughter.”

Lennox swallowed thickly. “Aye. I remember.” Three years ago the wretch had presented himself in the back garden, appearing like a fabled magus as he rose from a vapor of fog. His daughters had been dining alfresco beneath a tree, and the beast had not been able to take his eyes off Mary. Darling Mary.

They had been approaching that tender age, when a come-out season and balls were most important. They were already well past the age that most young ladies made their debut, but he hadn’t the blunt to provide a season for them. He had wanted to, but he was so heavily in debt. And to give all four of them a season at once was beyond what his pocketbook could allow.

The wretched faery had known his weak spot. His daughters. And coin.

“'Tis Beltane, Lennox. Your daughter is now three and twenty. I want my bride.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he murmured as he tried to put aside the memory of their meeting, and the fact that despite his love, he had given one of his daughters away for coin. Of course, he hadn’t known what Rinion was then. He’d thought him one of those kind, benevolent faeries, not a member of the Unseelie Court. He’d never have made the bargain if he’d known the bastard was a Dark Fey.

“Tonight. At the end of the Great Hunt. I will claim her then. She is to wear this,” he said, waving his hand toward the settee beneath the window. Magically, a sheer gown made of white faery silk and trimmed in silver appeared. Atop it, a silver and crystal mask glittered in the sunlight. “Make certain she is ready to become my bride.”

Lennox found himself nodding like a fool. Thankfully the arrogant bastard took no notice of his agitated state before leaving the room.

“Midnight, Lennox,” the fey reminded him as he departed, “or I will be forced to come after you.”

The library door shut, and Lennox dropped his head into his hands. Christ, what a mess he was in. But there was nothing to be changed now. He’d been crafty in his dealing with the fey, and once the bastard discovered the truth of their bargain, there would be hell to pay.

His mind, which had been blank, suddenly began calculating and figuring. He thought of a way out of this debacle, and knew it would work, for at least as long as it would take him to remove his family to the capital.

“Salisbury!” he roared as he slammed shut a drawer in his desk. “We’re leaving for London.”

“London, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Within half an hour. Inform my daughters’ maids that the girls are to be ready. And take this.” He thrust a folded missive into the butler’s white gloves. “Have a footman bring this and the clothing on the settee to the seamstress in the village.”

God help him, he thought as he gazed out the window, if he and his girls were not long departed before the Dark Fey discovered his deceit.

“I don’t know why Papa was in such a hurry to leave Glastonbury,” Prue muttered, her mouth pursed with distaste. “It’s most unseemly. People will talk. And poor Mama—” she sighed “—she was fit to be tied.”

“Hmm, he did act as though the devil were on his heels, didn’t he?” Mary said as she looked around the crowded ballroom, watching the masked dancers glide through a minuet. “But Mama is a forgiving soul, she has doubtless forgotten all about it by now. Look …” Mary nodded to the corner where her mother was busily chatting with friends. “She seems rather happy, don’t you think?”

“I was worried the coachman was going to kill the horses,” Mercy added. “I don’t think we’ve ever made it to London so quickly.”

“It all seems very indecorous,” Prue admonished. “Poor Robert and his wife were astonished to find the entire family standing on their doorstep, hours before their ball. It sent the whole house into a flurry.”

“Robert didn’t mind,” Mercy murmured. “He loves us and was quite happy to see us in the threshold, rumpled from our hasty journey.”

With one ear to the conversation, Chastity listened to her sisters chatter on as they stood beside the table housing the punch bowl and champagne. She caught Mary smiling at a masked stranger who had caught her eye. A delicate pink blush painted Mary’s already lovely cheeks.

Quizzically, Chastity wondered what it was that caused such a reaction in her sister. Certainly the stranger was handsome, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would make her blush.

“What do you think? “ Mary whispered to her. “He’s fascinating, isn’t he?”

With a delicate shrug, Chastity studied the man who had started to make his way most diligently to where she and her sisters stood. “How can you tell? His face is covered with a mask. In fact,” she said, looking around at the opulent setting of the ballroom, “everyone is masked.”

“Yes,” Mary said, her voice breathy. “It makes it that much more exciting, does it not? Can you not feel it, Chastity, the excitement heating your blood when your gaze locks on a man?”

Chastity studied the pearl trim on the lace cuff of her sleeve. “No, I cannot.”

Her voice was intended to be firm, censoring, but instead Chastity detected a note of bitterness. No, she felt nothing when her gaze skated over the numerous gentlemen who were at the ball. She did not feel warm, or excited, or—

“Look for someone,” Mary instructed, “when you find a man that is pleasing to your eye, let your gaze linger. Imagine pulling the mask from his face, slowly revealing his identity. Imagine that you are the only two in the room. Two strangers, eyes locked, skin burning to be touched, lips aching to be kissed.”

Mary’s voice had dropped to a seductive purr, clearly entranced by the provocative words she used to paint her sensual image. Yet, Chastity had not fallen victim to any warmth or feeling, most especially the awakening of anything amorous.