The Arrangement (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 10) Read online

  “Then why ask me here? Why not let me get on the train and go away forever?”

  “Because….” He stopped there before glancing away, as if almost ashamed of what he intended to say next. “Because I spoke with Emma, and she told me something of what happened to you. And I realized we might have a chance, you and I. Lorena, I cannot begin to understand what you have suffered, and yet…and yet we might have some hope, merely because you cannot bear a child. Do you see?”

  For an instant, she didn’t want to. She wanted to tell herself that she was valuable only because she was barren. A cruel twist of fate, and yet…

  …and yet, he had been attracted to her, wished to spend time in her company, long before he knew of the secret she had been carrying for so many years. He would have stayed away, if doing otherwise might mean her untimely death.

  Now, though, it seemed as if he had found a loophole in this “curse” — if such a thing truly existed. No, it had to. If such a thing as witches and warlocks could exist, then curses could as well.

  All they could do was hope that her own peculiar circumstances might be enough to thwart the edicts of this particular curse.

  And if not…well, there had been enough times over the past few years that she had wished herself dead. If this curse was to make her its victim as well, then at least she would die happy, knowing it was Jeremiah’s love which had brought her to such a fate.

  “I see,” she whispered. “So please, kiss me, Jeremiah.”

  8

  He hadn’t dared to hope that such a thing might be possible. But there was Lorena, dark eyes shining up into his, as she asked him to kiss her. She knew everything — about the curse, that he was not an ordinary man — and yet she did not shrink from him. Rather the opposite.

  His fingers tightened on hers as he rose to his feet, bringing her with him. And then his mouth was on hers, and he was tasting the richness of the claret on her lips, and something more, her own divine flavor, just as the scent of roses surrounded him, coming from the glossy coils of her hair and the folds of her gown.

  Their last kiss had been a hasty enough thing, quickly broken off. This time, he allowed it to continue, let them become lost in one another, even as his body told him that it would not be satisfied with merely a kiss this evening.

  If, of course, Lorena agreed. He would never force her, would never ask her for more than she wished to give. In that moment, however, he could not help but think that she certainly appeared as if she wished to share far more than just this kiss.

  Eventually, the embrace did end. She stared up at him, cheeks flushed, lips equally rosy red. Part of him wanted to think that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, although he did not want to be disrespectful to Nizhoni, whose beauty had been of an entirely different sort.

  “You were very sure of me, weren’t you?” Lorena asked then, sounding almost amused.

  Was that really what she thought? “I assure you, I most decidedly was not.”

  “Then why no servants? Why make sure your son was staying at your sister’s?”

  Good questions. Yes, he had told himself that he had taken such measures to ensure their privacy, but there was rather more to it than that. Underneath it all — below the doubt and worry — he had hoped they might come to this, that he might entice her to stay the night.

  “I was hopeful,” he replied. “Which is certainly not the same thing as being sure of you, or of myself. I told you I would not lie, Lorena, and so I will not lie to you now. I do want you to stay here with me. But only if you wish for such a thing.”

  She hesitated, her gaze shifting from him to the front windows, which faced out on the street, even though the curtains had been closed for the evening. “I fear that would be rather conspicuous, don’t you think?”

  He wanted to chuckle with relief. “For some, I suppose. But I am a warlock, my dear, and so have resources that other men do not. You would have noticed nothing, of course, but I made sure to cast an illusion so that when you approached this house, you would appear to any onlookers as my sister Emma. She stops by often, and so her presence here would not be cause for comment.”

  Lorena’s eyes widened. “You can do such a thing?”

  “It is not that difficult an illusion. You and Emma are of a height, and possess similar coloring. Your features are different, true, but this sort of illusion is infinitely easier than trying to disguise you as one of my brothers…or my son.” Jeremiah stopped there. He did not want to think of Jacob. Bad enough that he had sent his son off to Emma’s house so he might have some privacy. But he’d also noticed how Jacob’s eyes went narrow lately when his father left the house, whether to go walking with Lorena or on some utterly innocent errand. The boy suspected something, even if he didn’t know for sure. Jeremiah and his son were very close — they had to be, since they both knew that it would only be the two of them from here on out.

  How would Jacob react if he found out about Lorena, that she hadn’t left town on the Tuesday train after all…?

  He would never learn anything of it. Jeremiah would make sure of that. Thank God for Emma, who was sympathetic and who would watch the boy, make sure he stayed out of the way when necessary.

  Lorena nodded. “A very handy talent. So I suppose you will do the same thing when I leave in the morning?”

  For a second, Jeremiah wasn’t sure how he should react. He had not expected her to state the matter so baldly. Clearly, though, she had made up her mind…especially now that she knew her reputation wouldn’t necessarily be in tatters because of what was about to occur between them.

  “More or less,” he said. “You will look like Emma as you leave here, but then I will change the illusion so your appearance is instead that of your maid. I assume she is often out and about in the morning, running errands for you.”

  “A good deal,” Lorena said. “Certainly no one will think it strange for her to be entering the hotel at that hour. But what am I to say to her? For of course she will notice that I never returned this evening. I gave her no explanations, and she did not attempt to get any from me, but it is one thing to disappear for an hour or two around suppertime and quite another to be gone overnight.”

  Jeremiah hesitated then, weighing how much he should say to her. For although Lorena appeared to be quite level-headed about the entire situation, up to and including spells of illusion, he was not entirely sure how she would react if he divulged some of the less savory aspects of his powers.

  Since he had already said that he would tell her the truth, he realized he did not have that many options. Going back on his word was unthinkable. He would just have to hope for the best, had to hope she would understand that he would not use his gifts in such a way if it meant actively hurting someone.

  “She will never notice that you were gone at all.”

  Lorena’s dark eyes widened. The fringe of lashes around them was quite extraordinary, so thick and lush that, had he not known better, Jeremiah would have thought she’d resorted to some sort of artifice to make them look that way.

  “And how is that possible?” she asked. “Another spell?”

  “Yes, a more subtle one. She will believe that you slept there all night, and she will not ask why you are returning to your hotel room at that hour of the morning.”

  A long silence then, as Lorena stared up at him, a certain tension to her full lips telling him that she was not quite as pleased by this aspect of his powers as she had been by his gift with illusions, or even the simple spell that had sent her floating up toward the ceiling, quite ignoring the laws of gravity. When she spoke, she gave a small chuckle first, one that did not fool Jeremiah in the least. “That is…rather terrifying.”

  “Not at all,” he said quickly, then ran what he hoped was a reassuring hand down her silk-clad arm. “If you are thinking that I would use such a power to coerce others into doing my bidding, or to make you do anything you did not wish to do — I can assure you that I would never stoop
to such an abuse of my abilities.”

  “Fine words,” she returned, eyes narrowing slightly. “But since you do possess such a power, how am I to ever know whether or not you are using it on me?”

  Quite the conundrum. However, he did not regret telling her the truth. He had spent his entire life keeping secrets; it would be pleasant to have a lover from whom he did not have to hide anything. Neither Letty nor Charlotte had ever known that he was not precisely an ordinary man. “Because I told you I would not. My word is my bond, Lorena. I will not lie and say I have never used my powers when perhaps I shouldn’t, especially when it came to a choice between doing so and protecting my family. But” — he paused and touched her cheek gently, marveling at the rose-petal softness of her skin — “I think we both have recognized the connection between us. I had no need of using such coercion on you.”

  Her eyes shut for a moment, lashes startlingly dark against the porcelain pallor of her skin. When she opened them again, her gaze met his directly. “No, you most certainly did not. In a way, that might have been easier. At least I could have blamed this attraction on something other than my own weakness.”

  “Why is it a weakness? You are alone, as am I. One would think it was only natural that we might seek out one another.”

  “Because….” She hesitated there, as if sorting through the words she wanted to say and discarding the ones that did not suit her purpose. “Because I knew I was only passing through. I knew it was foolish to seek a connection that could not last.”

  “But in our case, that may be the only thing which saves us.” He brought her hands to his lips, so he might kiss first the back of one, and then the other. “I want to be with you, Lorena. But it cannot be forever. Not with this curse hanging over my head…and yours, if you linger with me for too long. Do you understand?”

  A long silence. She did not attempt to pull her fingers from his, but he could feel the tremor that went through her, could sense the tension in her slender frame. This might be the moment when she broke free, when she decided she could not compromise her honor for what might turn out to be only a single stolen night, and nothing more.

  “I understand,” she whispered. “Better a few hours with you, than another lonely night in a lonely bed. So will you take me to yours?”

  “Yes,” he said, heat rushing through him at the thought of what lay ahead. “Oh, yes, my darling.”

  Could this really be happening? Could she really be holding Jeremiah’s hand as he led her upstairs, and down a long hallway to a door made of heavy oak? Beyond that door lay a bedroom, darkly elegant, with furniture of carved mahogany, including a giant four-poster bed.

  She had been about to make some sort of lighthearted comment about the furniture, of how he must have had it sent here from New York, since she doubted the local artisans could create anything so fine. Anything to break the thick tension in the room, the way the air felt heavy with their need for one another.

  However, Jeremiah gave her no time to do so, his mouth on hers as he kissed her over and over, stoking the fire in her veins until it seemed almost like a live thing, hungry, needy, like a forest fire looking for new brush to consume. His strong, clever fingers worked the buttons on the bodice of her gown, until at last it was loose and he could pull it away from her, leaving her clad still in her heavy skirts and bustle cage, but with only her chemise and stays to afford any pretense of modesty.

  Not that she cared about modesty in that moment. Good thing, because then he had found the hooks on her skirts and bustle and petticoat, and they all collapsed to the floor as if they were a single entity. Now she was practically naked in front of him, even though several garments still separated them. He began to reach for the metal clasps on the front of her stays, but she placed her hands on his fingers.

  “It’s only fair that I should see a little more of you before you continue,” she told him, and deftly began to unbutton his waistcoat, taking care to slide the watch chain free so it wouldn’t get caught.

  He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that only made her knees go a little weaker. “It would appear that you have some practice with this sort of thing.”

  “Of course I do,” she replied, sending a wicked glance up at him. “I am not some inexperienced girl of seventeen, after all.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said with a grin.

  She wondered then how young wives number three and number four had been, whether they were shy and shocked by the sometimes messy aspects of marriage. But no, she didn’t want to think about them right then, didn’t want to think about their sad fates. All she wanted was to pull away the cravat Jeremiah wore, to unbutton his shirt and see the strong muscles of his chest, the dusting of dark hair across his smooth skin. She ran her hands down his body, feeling its contours beneath her fingers, and he groaned, even as he grasped his shirt and waistcoat and pulled them away, then tossed them onto the trunk that sat at the foot of the bed.

  “I think the Navajo have the right idea,” he growled. “Just a simple shirt and trousers. None of these layers and layers of clothes.”

  “You seem to have managed all right.” Lorena attempted to keep her tone casual, but it was difficult now that she could see his magnificent torso in the warm lamplight, the heavy musculature of his arms and shoulders. How had he gotten to look like that? Did he sometimes work with his men in the lumberyard or out on his ranches? She had thought Walter tall and well-built, but he would have looked almost scrawny next to Jeremiah Wilcox.

  Soon there was no time for such musings, though, because he stepped toward her and unhooked the fasteners of her corset’s busk, then dropped the stays to the floor. Now all she wore was her chemise and pantalets, thin garments of cotton that did little to shield her from the cool air in the room, even though a fire had been left burning in the hearth. A shiver passed over her, one that had very little to do with the icy drafts that made their way past the window casements.

  Jeremiah must have seen, because he scooped her up in his arms and took her over to the bed, using one hand to pull back the heavy velvet coverlet and the sheet and blankets. Before she could even blink, he had set her down there, had covered his body with hers so she could feel his warmth coursing into her, the heat of his limbs working to dispel the chill in the chamber.

  And oh, his mouth against the sensitive skin of her throat, working down past her collarbone, moving lower as he unbuttoned her chemise, baring her to him so his lips might close on her breast, suckling, his tongue so deft, even as almost-forgotten waves of welcome, throbbing warmth awakened between her legs. Clearly, he knew exactly what he was doing — and how could he not, after so many women had shared his name?

  No, don’t think about that. Think about his hand pulling at the drawstring to your pantalets, about his finger slipping into you, stroking, finding the core of your pleasure, moving deeper, every sensation telling you that it would be fine, it was good, that at least this part of you hadn’t been damaged forever, that you could still wake to a man’s touch.

  Lorena cried out, unable to stop herself as the climax flooded through her, bringing all of her so amazingly, wonderfully alive. Then Jeremiah was kissing her, tasting her mouth again, even as she found the buttons of his wool trousers and undid them, slipping them down along with the long knitted underwear he wore. For just a second, he paused so he could help her pull them off, and then he grasped her pantalets as well, tugging them away, followed by her chemise. Then at last they were naked together, nothing separating them, skin to skin, heat to heat.

  Her fingers closed on his shaft, and he moaned. So big — bigger than Walter, but Lorena wouldn’t let herself worry about the mechanics of what was about to follow. She pushed herself against him, wanting this final act, this desperately needed joining.

  And he slipped into her, filling her. Once again a cry escaped her lips, and she clung to him as he moved in and out, gently at first, as if he wanted to make sure he was not hurting her. Then faster, and faster, as if h
e had been gripped by a passion that would not release him, that held him in its thrall until they both found their way to the inevitable release.

  Even then he did not let her go, but held her close, his heartbeat thundering in her ears as she laid her head against his chest. Astonished, Lorena realized she wept then, her tears wetting his flesh as she clung to him. All those empty barren years, wondering if she could ever be with a man again, wondering if that part of her had been damaged as well, only to find passion and release in the arms of a man she barely knew.

  No, that wasn’t precisely true. She knew Jeremiah, knew him as perhaps no one in the world except his family did. He had told her his secret, trusted her to keep it. And she would. She would go to her grave without telling anyone about what made Jeremiah Wilcox different from all other men — or at least all other men who weren’t also warlocks.

  “You’re weeping,” he said softly.

  “I know,” she replied. “But they’re happy tears.”

  “Ah.” With one hand, he reached up to touch the coil of hair she wore at the back of her neck — now close to falling down altogether because of their exertions. No doubt they’d be sleeping on hairpins tonight, unless they managed to locate them first. The heavy braid dropped into his hand, and he began to undo the plait so her hair might fall free. “I’ve been dreaming of what your hair would look like, loose and wild.”

  “You’re about to find out,” Lorena said. Of course she would never be seen in public with her hair like this, falling past her shoulders and all the way to her waist. But it made her feel quite wicked to know that Jeremiah would.

  “It’s glorious,” he said, running a hand over the heavy tresses, rippling because of the braid they’d been confined in.