Wizards Daughter

"Yes, my lord." The carriage rolled forward.

"Grace and Leopold?"

"My grays. They're proud and know their own worth. If they feel someone has slighted them, they bite. Now, can you really read the Rules of the Pale?"

"You needn't play more games, my lord. You know I can read that wretched book. You knew all along. Or at least you very much hoped I could. My question to you is, why?"

There was a pause before he said, "Of course I am surprised. How could I possibly know? As for a plan, why, I have none except to provide whatever assistance I am able to you and Grayson when I return you home from the park. This ride I invited you for this morning, did I indicate any specific time?"

"A medium sort of time, if I remember aright. Don't change the subject. And you think I lie fluently. I am not near to your equal, my lord. I know you will hang over my shoulder to hear each word from the Rules of the Pale. I wish you would tell both Grayson and me what you know about it, Nicholas."

He gave her a lovely shrug with his powerful shoulders, but she had no intention of admiring him. "Certainly the book is of some interest to me, since even as a young boy, I knew it was a passion with my grandfather. Perhaps I'll learn why it was his passion from the text itself."

Her gloved fingers drummed on her reticule. "You are quite adroit, aren't you, my lord?"

"My name is Nicholas. Adroit? I surely hope so or I doubt I would have survived to adult years."

When she looked at his mouth again, she forgot about his secrets, forgot about the Rules of the Pale, forgot that she didn't want to admire his shoulders. She didn't understand any of this, only knew she wanted him to touch her again, to feel him kiss her hand again, perhaps kiss the inside of her elbow, even her ear. She shuddered when she thought of his kissing her on the mouth, kissing her until she was stupid with it. That would be wicked, surely, but she imagined that a life without wickedness couldn't be much fun, could it?

She looked out the carriage window to see that they were passing by the entrance to the park. She didn't care a whit. It was overcast today, cooler, but she felt comfortably warm. There weren't that many people wandering about, not at this unfashionable hour, only a few children with their hoops, yelling to each other in sight of na

"The air smells different there."

"Well, yes, of course it does. It is a foreign clime."

He laughed, shook his head. "And just what do you know of foreign climes?"

"Actually, London was a foreign clime to me until two weeks ago. I'll admit it, I'm a provincial. Do you despise me for it?"

"I don't think so. Should I?"

"Probably. When you are angry with me you will doubtless think of several reasons." Then she found herself once again staring at his mouth. She cleared her throat. What were they talking about? Oh, yes. "I'm sure the blue of the sky is different as well as the smell of the air in Macau. Tell me, how did you live?"

He stared at her, all of his dangerous suave self suddenly nonplussed. Until now, no one had shown the slightest interest in the life he had before London. "What do you mean?"

"Come now, Nicholas, I'm sure you were very prosperous. All these nonsensical rumors about your not having a sou because your father purposefully beggared you, I don't believe it for an instant."

"But it is true," he said slowly. "My father's intention was to beggar me. He left me only the entailed family estate in Sussex with its three thousand acres of dying land."

"What he did doesn't matter to you. You have the funds to fix everything. Indeed, I imagine you have already begun setting things to right. I am willing to wager my next allowance that you have no need at all of an heiress."

"No, you're quite right I have no need of an heiress."

"I knew it. I am equally sure you moved easily in Portuguese society in Macau. Tell me about your life there."

He gave her a brooding look. "Your eyes are the most incredible shade of blue. I was thinking of a soft blue blanket a Portuguese woman wove for me."

"A blanket? That sort of flattery could shatter a girl's heart. As for your eyes, Nicholas, they are black as any tar pit I have ever seen."

"Have you ever seen a tar pit?"

She shook her head, never looking away from his face. "Your eyes do not, thankfully, look like wet tar. They're simply black and deep and there are answers inside that you hide very well. You're a man brimming with secrets, Nicholas. I have secrets myself, only I don't know what they are."

A very strange thing to say, he thought, but said, "Shall I tell you about how beautiful I think your hair is? The shades of it-hair your color graces Titian's paintings."

He leaned toward her and lightly touched his fingertips to the curls over her ears. "I must adjust my opinion. The color of the stuff is richer than any red Titian ever produced. It is glorious hair you have, Rosalind."

"Why do you pay me such an extravagant compliment? Are you trying to atone for the blue blanket?"

"When I saw you at the ball Thursday night, I knew, I simply knew, that you were-"

"Were what?"

He frowned a moment out the window, and shrugged as he turned back to her. "You dance well," he said.

"Thank you. You're quite right about that. Uncle Ryder taught me himself. Stop avoiding the subject, Nicholas. I wish to hear about how you lived in Macau. I want to know how you dealt with daily life in a strange land."

"Ah," he said absently, "listen to all the noise outside the carriage window. And all the people moving about- black-frocked clerks, ladies with their maids, gentlemen of leisure strolling to their clubs, swinging their canes, solicitors muttering to themselves, vendors hawking pies, flower girls surrounded with splendid color. It was the same in Macau, only you wouldn't understand what anyone was saying."

"You are extraordinarily eloquent."

"Thank you. Now-"

"Now nothing. What did you do, Nicholas? Where did you live? How did you live?" Did you love a woman? Many women?

And out of his mouth came, "I will tell you when you agree to marry me."

She stared at him for an instant, then laughed so hard she hiccupped and fell sideways.

Then she straightened up, hiccupped again, and looked over at him-stiff, silent, wary. By everything that was glorious and splendid, he was serious. Her body hummed. She felt the leap of excitement, the feeling that very suddenly, so very unexpectedly, everything was right. It didn't matter that she'd seen him for the first time the night before last. She laughed again, joyously, and said, "Yes, I should like to marry you, Nicholas Vail."

He looked suddenly panicked. "But I-"

She leaned toward him and lightly laid her finger against his mouth. Then she kissed him.