Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(37)

He grinned at that. “Says who?”

She ignored the question. “And while I’m certain that at least half the rumors about you couldn’t possibly be true—”

“They are,” Gideon said without a trace of shame.

“You’re a rake, then.”

“The worst kind.”

She pulled away from him with a laugh. “At least you’re honest about it. However, it is probably best if I go now. Thank you for the dance…it was lovely.”

“Don’t go,” Gideon said, his voice soft and urgent. “Wait. Tell me who you are.”

“You’re allowed three guesses,” she said.

“Are you a servant?”

“No.”

“You can’t be one of the Marsdens—you look nothing like them. Are you from the village?”

“No.”

Gideon scowled at a sudden thought. “You’re not the earl’s mistress, are you?”

“No,” she said sweetly, smiling. “That was your third guess. Goodbye, Mr. Shaw.”

“Wait—”

“And no dancing with fairies on the lawn,” she admonished. “It’s wet, and you’ll ruin your shoes.”

She left him swiftly, leaving only the empty wineglass on the fountain, and the bemused smile on Gideon’s lips, as evidence that she had been there.

“He said what?” Livia demanded, nearly toppling from her cross-legged seat on the edge of Aline’s bed. As was their habit, she had come to Aline’s room after the ball to hear the latest gossip.

Aline sunk deeper into the steaming, oily water of her bath in the center of the room. Hot as the water was, it was not entirely responsible for the flush that rose inher face. She looked from her younger sister’s incredulous face to Mrs. Faircloth’s openmouthed astonishment. Despite her own turmoil, Aline couldn’t help but be amused. “He said that if he is allowed to stay at Stony Cross, he is going to bed me.”

“Did McKenna also say that he still loves you?” Livia asked.

“Good Lord, no,” Aline said wryly, stretching her sore legs and wiggling her toes beneath the water. “McKenna’s intentions toward me have nothing to do with love—that is quite clear.”

“But…but a man doesn’t just come out and say he’s going to…to…”

“Apparently McKenna does.”

Livia shook her head in bemusement. “I’ve never heard of such arrogance!”

A wisp of a smile came to Aline’s lips. “One could call it flattering, I suppose, if one chose to view it in that light.” A stray lock of her hair fell from her topknot, and she reached up to reanchor it.

Livia laughed suddenly. “Even sporting, really, to warn you of his intentions.”

“I call it grossly insolent,” Mrs. Faircloth said, approaching the side of the tub with a folded towel, “and I will waste no opportunity in telling him so.”

“No, no, don’t mention it to him,” Aline said hastily. “You mustn’t. It’s only a game. I want to enjoy it, just for a little while…”

The housekeeper stared at her in astonishment. “My lady, have you taken leave of your senses? This is very far from a game, in light of your history with McKenna. The emotions on both sides are too deep, and have been buried too long. Don’t start on this path with him, my lady, if you aren’t prepared to follow it to the end.”

Remaining mutinously silent, Aline stood to be enfolded in the depths of the thick cotton towel that Mrs. Faircloth held up. She stepped from the tub and stood still as Mrs. Faircloth bent to dry her legs. Glancing at Livia, she saw that her younger sister had suddenly averted her gaze, staring into the hearth as if occupied in thought. She did not blame Livia for not wanting to look. Even after all these years, the sight of her own legs never failed to surprise even Aline.

Twelve years had passed since the accident, very little of which she remembered. She was well aware, however, that it was only because of Mrs. Faircloth that she had survived. When the doctors summoned from London had said that nothing could be done for Aline, the housekeeper had sent one of the footmen to fetch a healer from the neighboring county. A white witch, actually, who was regarded with both reverence and fear by the local villagers, who swore to the efficacy of her healing gifts.

Marcus, being a hard-bitten realist, had protested violently at the appearance of the witch, who turned out to be a middle-aged woman of unassuming appearance, carrying a small copper cauldron in one hand and a bulging sack filled with herbs in the other. Since Aline had been near death at the time, she had no memory of the witch, but she had been greatly entertained by Livia’s account of the episode.

“I thought Marcus would drag her away bodily,” Livia had told Aline with relish. “He planted himself in front of your bedroom door, having decided that he would protect you in your last hours. And this woman walked right up to him without any fear—she wasn’t even half his weight—and demanded that she be allowed to see you. Mrs. Faircloth and I had begged Marcus all morning to let her do what she could for you, as we thought it could do no harm at that point. But he was being especially mulish, and he made some dreadfully obscene comment to her about broomsticks.”

“And the witch wasn’t frightened of him?” Aline had asked, knowing how intimidating their older brother could be.