The singing melted Celeste’s heart and brought her such joy—she had never known such sweetness existed. She clung to Erran, the man who made the songs resonate with chords deep inside her. Until now, she’d never understood the physical attraction between man and woman. Yes, she admired his intelligence, enjoyed watching him at work, and craved his company. But until this moment, she hadn’t understood how she needed him to complete what was missing inside her.
And suddenly, it was marvelously clear. She heard the command in his voice urging her to stop. She heard the lonely hunger behind the command telling her he needed her. And the songs blended the conflict into one whole—he cared for her more than his own needs. He wanted to stop for her sake, not his own.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having someone to care for her, to think of her needs above his own, so she must return the favor.
Her heart was no longer lonely. She nearly wept with joy as she ran her hands through his thick curls and returned his fervent kisses. When he caressed her there, she surged into him, needing more. She felt his need as her own, and the pressure to join with him was so strong, she could not deny him.
She bit her lip in frustration when he stopped to remove her shift, pulling it over her head as he lifted her more fully onto the bed. She grabbed his linen in retaliation, demanding the same. He obliged, and she savored the hard ridges of his torso, exploring the dark male nipples so different from her own.
She desperately needed to learn everything about him because not to do so would be devastating. It would be like not knowing her arms existed.
“Celeste . . .” he said in that warning tone that sent warm shivers down her spine.
“Erran,” she replied mockingly, lifting herself to lick at his nipple as he had done hers.
Tomorrow simply did not matter. The joyous song told her so.
He groaned as she nibbled at his chest, and she heard his desire in that sound. She had never thought to experience a man’s need, and it was delicious. He worshipped at her meager breasts, treating them with tenderness and respect while driving her to new heights of hunger. She parted her legs and lifted her hips and begged for what must surely follow.
He still wore his trousers, but they’d come undone. She could feel his raw maleness rubbing at her thighs, and she went a little mad not being able to touch.
“Please,” she whispered as seductively as she knew how, even knowing he didn’t hear her magic. Magic. The air was filled with it. Her womb stirred with the need for it.
He pressed his thumb to that magic place between her thighs, and she cried out her need. Her blood thrummed and pulsed, and when he inserted a broad finger and rubbed, she surrendered to the rhythm of the night, shuddering with shock and joy.
Her womb convulsed and liquefied, leaving her completely open and vulnerable. “Now,” she whispered, without any need of using her charm.
Erran slid into her, filling her with the heavy maleness she craved. Ecstatic, she felt the pressure build again. She raised her hips, taking him deeper, crying out as his hard thickness thrust past a barrier and entered her completely.
The joining was so immense, that she may have lost consciousness for a moment. Her head spun with the high-pitched song wrapping around them. The phrases of the music mixed with words she’d heard and words that urgently demanded to be said.
“I vow to love, honor, and take thee in equality,” she heard and chanted with the rhythm of her body and the night.
And the brilliant man who had saved her family’s future joined her as thoroughly as it was possible for two people to join.
She couldn’t hold back anything. All her life she’d been reserved, calm, in control of her passion. But tonight— she was a force of nature.
She cried out her ecstasy as her muscles convulsed and stole away his control as well as hers. Above her, Erran uttered a guttural growl of pleasure and thrust high to spill deep inside her, where her womb needed him. She wept again with the pleasure and felt as if she’d melt into the down of the mattress.
She shivered as a shadow slid between them and entered her womb, where his seed still burned. The music of the night exploded in triumph, followed by the wail of a newborn babe.
Awed by the moment, Celeste wrapped her arms around Erran’s broad chest, kissed his muscled shoulder, and wouldn’t let him go as he tried to take his weight off her. “This,” she murmured senselessly. “This is why we’re here.”
He rolled over, carrying her with him, his strong arm capturing her waist and holding her close. “This is why they lock witches in towers,” he said in amusement. “Both male and female, it seems. We enthrall each other and lose our minds.”
“Minds can only take us so far,” she agreed, mindlessly. She was too satiated and happy to actually think about what he was saying. In the morning, maybe, she’d have time for regrets.
“Live in the moment,” he said thickly, drifting off to slumber—as if he’d heard her thoughts.
She wanted him again, but she could wait a few hours.
***
With a beautiful, eager woman in his arms, Erran didn’t need haunting songs to wake up aroused and ready in the middle of the night. It had been too long since he’d been with any woman, and Celeste . . . Celeste was far from any woman. She was made to fit in his arms, to respond to his caresses, and to blend with him in such harmony that it was as if they were really and truly one person as they climaxed together.
Magic, he thought again, as he cuddled her close and slept as he hadn’t slept in months.
It was still dark when he finally woke and realized the room had no windows to let in daylight. Celeste stirred in his arms, and he wanted to see her more clearly. He had to satisfy himself with loosening her silken braid and watching those gorgeous almond-shaped eyes open to study him back.
“It wasn’t a dream then,” she said in wonderment. “You’re really here.”
“And willing to linger longer if I did not fear I’ve made you sore. Shall I call for another bath?” He waited for recriminations, accusations, and tears.
He had only one honorable choice. He simply feared it was the wrong one for her—she wanted to return to a distant island that held no place for him.
His cock grew harder as his eyes adjusted to the dim light enough to watch her run her hand unselfconsciously down her breasts and belly.
“I’m . . . I’m not sure what to say,” she whispered, still sounding amazed. “I’ve never . . . I’m not . . .”
He kissed her brow. “I know. But you were miraculous, and I thank you from the bottom of my stuffy heart. I hope you will not regret the beauty of this past night when you are living in my cramped rooms without servants and fancy gowns while I traipse up and down the countryside, doing my brother’s work.”
Her long lashes flapped in dismay, and then she rolled from his arms to climb from the bed and stir the coals. “I’ll heat some water.”
Erran bit his tongue. He’d said too much already. He wanted her to know that he was more than willing to marry her, but he wouldn’t force the decision—or give her delusions of grandeur in a life with him. Once they had the will in hand, her family would be wealthy again, and all society would be open to her. He couldn’t take that away, if it was what she wanted.
Although he had a notion it might kill him if she chose to marry another. How had he come to this?
Aster had warned them . . . . And that notion was patently ridiculous.
He would not consider her admonition that his grandfather had been conceived here. Babies happened. They were the reason so many Ives were bastards.
Celeste covered her glorious brown beauty in a robe as Erran rolled out of the bed, naked. He couldn’t resist tipping up her chin and kissing her. She flushed but didn’t pull away. That was a good sign. She glanced down at his arousal as he reached for his own robe, and he felt the tug of desire as if there were a golden chain between them.
“We make magic,” he murmured, brushing another kiss over her hair. “I have no understanding, but it’s there. I’ll go to my room and wash. Don’t run too far.”
She held her fingertips over her mouth as he departed.
Live in the moment, he told himself as he washed and shaved and dressed. He’d thought himself unprepared for marriage, but he knew a good woman when he’d found one. Yes, there were a thousand obstacles between them should he give it any consideration. Still, he wouldn’t give her up easily. There had to be some way he could make this work—if she’d have him.
He feared she wouldn’t. She wanted Jamaica and her home. He couldn’t desert Duncan to his blindness and misery.
The memory of last night kept him strong.
He needed that strength when he escorted Celeste into the breakfast room filled with chattering women. They all looked up expectantly, as if angels might have descended from on high. When Celeste merely took a chair and Erran inspected the buffet, they returned to chattering.
Their babble didn’t ease his anxiety any.
“Did you feel the energy last night?” one asked. “We should all deliver our babes on a full moon! It was as if magic was in the air. I think if my husband had been here, I’d be back in nine months, it was that powerful.”
“Our ceremony did seem more than usually strong,” another responded placidly. “The spirits were excited. If any of us is carrying a child, I would think they found their soul last night. I had that happen once. It’s a very odd feeling but satisfying.”
“I’d never thought of how closely the birthing ceremony resembles a fertility rite,” another said. “Perhaps we should revisit the old songs.”
“Not if it means the spirits of our ancestors can find a home in our children,” a younger protested. “This is the reason we pass on our gifts.”
Erran clenched his molars at this silliness and filled a plate for Celeste, who was mechanically sipping tea when he knew she preferred coffee.
“Is Lady Octavia well?” Celeste asked, changing the subject, as if sharing Erran’s discomfort.
“She delivered a baby boy! They’re ecstatic. I believe you brought good fortune with you.”
Erran gave up trying to discern one voice from the other as they described the babe’s miraculous attributes. It was as useless as listening to hens cluck since he barely knew one woman from the other. He kept his focus on Celeste as he set down their plates.
“Once we return to London, I’ll sew some linens for the babe,” Celeste said, keeping her voice unusually low.
He not only recognized her voice over the others, but heard her uncertainty and confusion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so in tune with anyone, much less a woman.
Not wanting to think about why she was uncertain, he stayed focused on their goals. “We’ve learned that Miss Rochester’s father sent important documents here. Is there a place where papers are stored for safekeeping?”
One of the older women nodded knowledgeably. “We have a storage cellar that keeps paper remarkably dry. Only Malcolms are allowed entrance, however.”
Erran considered himself an Ives, not a weird Malcolm, but beside him, Celeste snickered, understanding his dilemma. He needed those documents.
“His great-grandmother was Ninian Malcolm Ives,” Celeste said, still looking at her tea and not at all the interested faces around the table. “And this is his family home.”
She was using her persuasive voice. He watched with interest as everyone listening—which wasn’t all of them by any means—nodded their heads.
“Saint Ninian,” one woman exclaimed in admiration. “We still grow her herbs here. The village dries and sells them in the winter months. It keeps families in shoes and clothing. I don’t suppose you inherited any of her herbal gifts?”
“No, I did not,” Erran said gruffly, ripping off a piece of cold toast so as not to have to explain more.
“His gifts are more masculine,” Celeste said in a voice laced with laughter. “But he is very good with law and documents, and that’s what I need right now. My father was descended from one of Lady Ninian’s cousins, so I believe I qualify, but Lord Erran will be better at finding what we need.”
He was glad to hear that she was recovering from her earlier confusion, even if he was miffed that she found him an object of amusement.
But they’d gained the ladies’ trust, and after breakfast, they were escorted to the locked cellar room where the family papers were gathered.
The windowless stone chamber wasn’t exactly a romantic bedroom, but the instant the door closed, Erran was painfully aware that he was alone with Celeste again, perhaps for the last time.
“I may have to ask you to leave the room,” he muttered, holding up the lamp to look for dates on the various tin boxes stacked on shelves. “Looking for papers is the last thing on my mind.”
“Same here,” she murmured. “This whole tower is enchanted, I believe. Perhaps there really are spirits here.”
“If so, then you may be carrying the spirit of my great-grandmother,” he said cynically, finding the box he wanted and pulling it down.
She didn’t respond. He tried to believe it was because she didn’t wish to distract him while he searched.
He feared it was otherwise, but he didn’t want to hear any more absurdity about spirits and ceremonies and . . . fertility rites. He didn’t need to be reminded that one thing led to another. He couldn’t afford a squalling babe and nannies.
He could very well have sacrificed the last of his freedom—and so had Celeste. His hands shook with guilt. He was a man consumed with the need to fight injustice—not a lady’s man. How had he come to be caught on the horns of two wrongs?
She took the lamp, freeing him to sort through files of cramped handwriting and dozens of worthless receipts someone had thought valuable. He put that box back and started on the next.
At her continued silence, Erran halted, and studied her expression in the pale light. Without her voice to tell him how she felt, he was lost, but he could acknowledge the one thing that had changed between them. He knew what was expected of him, even though he feared she might have other ideas. As she’d said, Jamaica’s customs were different from England. A woman who would wear trousers and ride astride might not think what they’d done so very important.
“You do understand that no matter what I find or do not find here, that I will marry you? You do not need to worry about all the inanity they were spouting upstairs.”
She grew still, and her expression indicated her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. Then she shook herself, and seemed to return to normal. “They are right. This is a very odd place.”
That wasn’t precisely an acceptance of his proposal. But it hadn’t been much of a proposal, either. He understood that she might not have done what they did last night if it hadn’t been for the weirdness of the tower. Erran thought it an excuse for doing what they’d wanted to do, but he wouldn’t argue if she preferred to believe they’d been enchanted.
“Ask Aster about the legends,” he advised, returning to searching. “History doesn’t have to repeat itself if we learn from the past. I, for one, do not wish to be supporting a dozen bastards as most of my family has done.”
“I don’t think you’re in charge of that,” she said pertly. “Women may have few rights, but they have the right to say no.”
He hid his wince. “True. I shall remember that and keep my trousers buttoned.”
Angry, he almost passed over the slashing handwriting of what he assumed was still another letter from some long dead solicitor. But the name on the address rang a bell, and he pulled it out to peruse it more carefully.
“By Jove, I think we’ve found it,” he said in awe and delight.