Читать книгу Lust - Charlotte Featherstone - Страница 9

Glastonbury, Somerset, England 1789, the Eve of Beltane

THE TOR ROSE ABOVE THE VILLAGE LIKE A MEGA-lithic warrior, glinting in the sunlight. Atop the mysterious mound, like a stone needle penetrating the clouds, towered the remnants of St. Michael’s Church. For centuries the villagers had said that Arthur and Guinevere were buried there. But others believed most steadfastly that the faery folk dwelt deep beneath the rippling green grass that resembled layers of plush velvet. It was said that underneath the grass, beneath the tor itself, lay a labyrinth of winding crypts—the magical path to the Faery.

On certain nights of the year, like tonight, the Eve of Beltane, the veil between the immortal and the mortal realm was thinned and the fey and all their beauty and magic walked unknowingly amongst man. But Beltane was not until twilight. Hours away, yet. They were free from the faeries. At least for now.

Casting an admiring glance at the mysterious and striking tor, Chastity, of all people, knew to believe in the tales of the Daoine Side. The Faery People.

Drawn to the tor as she was, Chastity gripped the handle of her wicker basket tighter in her gloved hands, as if grounding herself against the luring beauty that tried to bewitch her. The tor, it was believed, was the site of the Unseelie Court—the unholy court of the fey. Dark faeries, the Unseelie were. Enigmatically erotic, haunting, beautiful fey that corrupted a soul with all the unearthly, sinful pleasures that any human could ever desire. The Dark Fey and their wicked enchantments were everything that Chastity stood against. The deep-seated virtue within her balked at everything they were: lustful, tempting creatures who stole virgins away from their beds and ravished them.

She should not be intrigued by the tor, or the tempting idea of a magical netherworld that was the Unseelie Court. She should be repulsed. Terrified for her mortal soul. Yet the only time she ever felt the slightest bit of tingling in her woman’s body occurred when her gaze lingered upon the sacred mound. Even now, as she strolled down the high street of Glastonbury with her sisters, her gaze was fixed on the tor. There was the faintest tingling in her body. She felt a touch warm, her thighs quivered slightly. Only the tor and the thought of the Dark Fey made her feel this way. Perhaps she felt the prickling awareness because they represented danger. They were the opposite of her in every way. To her virtue, they were sin incarnate. Yet, she could not discount the way her blood grew warm whenever she thought of them. It was only thus, she thought sadly, with the fey. Mortal men provoked nothing in her but bland conversation and an absurd impulse to hide beneath her cloak of chaste piety.

As if to prove her thoughts, Caleb Graham, a baronet in the village, passed her on the street, shooting her a most amiable, handsome grin.

“Goody day, ladies,” he murmured, his voice pleasing in a masculine way. “Lady Chastity,” he said as he removed his tricorn hat and bowed before her. “How lovely you look this morning. The walk has added an invigorating glow to your skin.”

Nothing. Not even the faintest fluttering in her belly. She had heard the other village girls—most of them older women—talk of Caleb Graham’s handsomeness. His desirability. Chastity saw it perfectly well. He was a handsome man, and his broad shoulders and chest belied a virile manliness that attracted the fairer sex. But nothing feminine stirred within her.

“Good day, sir,” was all she replied, for she was unable to make any idle or pleasant conversation with the opposite sex, however much she longed to possess the ability.

Chastity could not help but notice that his eyes had darkened as he replaced his hat atop his brown hair. Her aloofness was not what the baron was used to when he chatted with females. But Chastity was not blessed with the gift of artful flirtation. She didn’t know how. Didn’t understand it. Hers was a purity of the mind, soul and body. A paragon above the temptations of mortal man.

“Shall you attend the green this evening?” Caleb’s query was directed at her, while his gaze was firmly fixed upon her ample décolletage, which she discreetly covered with the corner of her silk shawl.

“I am afraid not. Do excuse us, sir, for we must be on our way.”

The censure in her voice startled him, causing an expression of maligned vanity to cross his features. “Well, then, good day,” he grumbled, and Chastity heard him mutter, “Frigid shrew” beneath his breath as he stabbed the ground with his walking stick and proceeded up the high street.

“Pay him no heed,” Prudence whispered next to her. “He doesn’t know a thing about you, and his assessment is wrong. Besides, I’ve heard stories about him. He’s not the sort you’d wish to set your heart upon.”

With a nod and a sigh, Chastity continued to stroll with her sisters down the cobbled street, taking in the bustling activity of the May Day preparations as she forced the interaction out of her mind. Caleb was handsome, so why couldn’t she bear to look at him, much less converse with him? Chastity feared she was the oddest female in Christendom. She most certainly was unlike any of the other young ladies of her acquaintance.

“You have such a way with the opposite sex,” her sister Mary chortled. “Would it hurt to bestow a smile upon one?”

Chastity did not take the bait. What did Mary know, she thought savagely. Mary didn’t realize the mental anguish Chastity suffered, the pain that came from knowing she wasn’t like other women. How would Mary feel if she were to discover that the desires of man and woman would never be hers to experience?

“Come, Chastity, you could have offered him a bit of encouragement. Caleb Graham has been hungering for you for a year, at least. Give the poor fellow a smile, or heaven forbid, a dance at the assembly rooms. Who knows, perhaps you might even enjoy shedding your mantle of purity.”

“Leave off, Mary,” Prudence demanded. “You’re just being hurtful and spiteful. Besides, it’s not done to stop in the middle of the road and talk to a man. It looks gauche and common, and Chastity was quite right to rebuff the baronet’s presumptive behavior.”

Mary sent Prudence a horrid glare. “A tip of the hat and a bland ‘good day’ is presumptive? Dear me, Prudence, you must come down from your tower room and live amongst the real world. I vow, you would have a fit of apoplexy at some of the things that have been whispered to me by the opposite sex.”

“Well, then,” Mercy said cheerily, changing the course of the conversation. “Shall we stop at the baker’s and have a Bakewell tart? I will buy them, for I have brought my pin money.”

Chastity glanced at her youngest sister. Mercy. The virtue of kindness, trying her utmost to make her sisters the best of friends, not to mention lessening the sting of Baron Graham’s painful assessment of Chastity.

“Come,” Mercy pleaded, “we shall all have a little sweet for the walk home.”

“We really shouldn’t dally,” Chastity replied. “Although, a quick stop for a tart to eat on the way wouldn’t be a bother, would it?”

Prudence, the second eldest, who was always restrained and temperate, declined. “None for me, thank you. But naturally the three of you may indulge.”

Chastity nodded in understanding before fixing her gaze on her three sisters. They were paragons. Everyone thought them utterly perfect. Yet each of them knew of the other’s desire to be anything but what they were. On the outside, they were ethereal models of the womanly ideal. Inside, they were empty vessels, trapped by the virtues they were born to embrace and embody.

“Well, come along, then,” Mercy said as she held her bonnet in place with her hand as a stiff wind gusted up, threatening to take it from her flaxen curls. “My mouth is positively watering at the thought of a tart.”

Within minutes they were in the cramped little baker’s, inhaling the fresh aroma of pastry and almonds and sweet-cream icing. “Oh, heavenly,” Chastity found herself murmuring. Her stomach rumbled in response to the scents. Or perhaps, she thought, glancing over her shoulder at Prue, who waited by the door, it was her sister’s long-denied belly she heard. She could see the hunger in Prue’s eyes, and Chastity tilted her head, indicating the wooden shelf where countless treats awaited them. Typical of Prudence, she pinched her lips and shook her head. Denial was all Prue knew.

“There,” Mercy announced, passing them each a tart as they stood outside the baker’s. She had bought one for Prue, but she refused it, so Mercy handed the tart to a small child who stood beside her mother, who was busy selling irises from a wicker basket.

“Oh, thank you, luv,” the woman said gratefully as her daughter reached for the tart and shoved it hungrily into her mouth.

“'Tis no trouble. The eve of May Day,” Mercy replied, “is not complete without a Bakewell tart.”

As Chastity smiled at the little girl, her gaze caught something radiant in the middle of the road. A man riding a pure white horse that was adorned with a glimmering gold bridle.

He was handsome, more striking than any man she had ever seen. He was tall and fair-haired, and his clothes appeared as though they were spun of gold gossamer threads. His tailoring was richly embroidered, embellished with layers of lace and cloth-covered buttons. He did not resemble a puffed-up peacock like so many gentlemen did in the current fashion. He was every inch a man, a feat nearly impossible to achieve considering his elaborately embroidered frock coat and waistcoat.

As his white horse trotted elegantly by, his eyes caught Chastity’s stare. The stranger inclined his head and moved along, forcing Chastity’s gaze to follow him as he made his way through the carts and carriages that littered the high street.

Who was he? she wondered, still entranced by the stranger. He didn’t live in the village. She would have seen him before now. Heavens, all the village women would have been talking about him. She would have seen him at the assembly rooms, or at a tea or luncheon or something.

As he made his way up the steep incline of the road, he glanced back at her once more over his shoulder. He did not stare at her like other men did, with a mixture of intrigue and lust. He was a gentleman. A polite gentleman.

But then he was gone, and Chastity realized that she had fallen behind her sisters. Catching up, she stayed to the rear of them, content to eat her tart and contemplate the stranger on horseback. He carried himself as though he was a prince. An ancient prince, she mused, the kind who had also been a knight, leading his men into war.

Fanciful thinking, she reflected. But what more in life did she have to do than think whimsical thoughts as she waited for the future to unfold?

“The village green looks remarkable, does it not?” Mercy said. “I adore Beltane. One day I would love to take part in the festivities. I wish it could be tonight! The weather is very fine and the moon is full.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if you had a dance around the maypole,” Prudence murmured.

“You know what will happen if I go to the green,” Mercy replied as she tied the long pink satin ties of her bonnet. “Everyone will run away as though I have the plague.”

No one replied. What could they say? It was the truth. The villagers were superstitious and as a consequence gave the sisters wide berth. The only ones not afraid to speak to them were rogues and rakes who were far too bold and who wanted nothing more than a bit of immoral fun. Which was something that their inherent virtues forbade.

But Mercy, with her virtue of kindness, was more easily forgiving of their lot in life. For her, it was easier to accept. At least, Chastity believed it to be so, for Mercy never complained.

“It is for the best that they are wary,” Prudence reminded them. “We aren’t like the others. And the fact has never been made more clear than now that we’ve reached our womanhood.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” admonished Mary, “you make us out to be pariahs. We’re not, you know.”

Chastity cast a glance to Mary, the eldest of the four, as they walked down the high street. Mary was not like herself, Mercy or Prue. She was altogether different. What virtue Mary possessed had never been very clear. She was far from humble, so the virtue of humility was out; so too was charity, for Mary was notoriously ham-fisted when it came to sharing. Perhaps she was the virtue of diligence? She certainly did have a very great enthusiasm for the opposite sex, and her pursuit of them.

“We are pariahs, Mary,” Prue’s stern voice intruded on Chastity’s thoughts. “It is a fact that cannot be denied.”

“Well, I have no difficulty whatsoever in finding friends, male or otherwise.”

Indeed, she did not. There were always circles of men around Mary for she was the prettiest of them all. Although they had been born within minutes of each other, they all looked different from the other. Mary possessed startling black hair and dark eyes. She was exotic and breathtaking. Chastity could not help but notice just how breathtaking as she walked alongside her. The men, it seemed, preferred Mary’s dark looks to Chastity’s fair hair and green eyes.

“I fear that you all will die old maids,” Mary admonished. “You put too much stock in what you should be instead of what you could be.”

“Have you not listened to anything Father has told us?” Prue asked, censure in her voice.

“I don’t believe in Father’s absurd stories about a faery queen bequeathing to him daughters who bore the virtues. It’s nonsense.”

Mary had never been a believer. But then, her sister felt unrestrained joy and mirth. She felt desire when a male caller came to tea, or when a rogue asked her to dance. Mary had experienced things that her other three sisters never had. Life.

Perhaps if Mary had been forced to live the life of a true virtue, Chastity mused, she would find herself believing in faery tales—or at the very least the frightening ones.

“If you three would allow yourself to leave the estate, you might find a suitor. It is your eccentric natures that make others suspicious, nothing more. Smile, flirt, flash a bit of ankle or bosom for once, you might be surprised what it will induce.”

“You are far too liberal in your dealings with others,” Prue cautioned. “It is better to be temperate and even.”

“And boring as the devil,” Mary returned. It was a direct hit. But Prue bore it well as she always did.

“Come now, we’re sisters,” Mercy whispered, linking her arms with Prue and Mary. “What is there left, if not kindness between us?”

“I’m only trying to help,” Mary sniffed. “For I have no wish to see you all end up as old maids, and I for one will not sit in my tower room becoming one with you. Tonight I am going to the green, and I am having a dance and a meat pie, and I’m going to go a-Maying as all other young ladies do. There is no harm in it, Prudence,” Mary snapped, “so you may put away your pinched lips and your disapproving frown. Now, who is coming with me?”

Her question was met with absolute silence. “As I thought. You three are utterly hopeless.”

The twigs cracked beneath the horses’ hooves as they emerged from the edge of the woods. Before them, sunlight filtered through the leaves that whispered around them. The hounds they brought sniffed the air, their ears alert, their dark, obsidian eyes watching the humans as they prepared for the Beltane festival.

Niall’s words seemed to whisper all around them. Some by sin rise, and some by virtue fall …

“Do you believe him? Our king’s belief that our curse will end once we find these virtues?”

Thane shrugged at Kian’s question as he watched the approach of four women down the path. Niall, while king of the Dark Fey, was also his half brother. As the eldest, Niall had always seemed awe inspiring to Thane, who was younger by five years. He had never had occasion to doubt Niall, nor had his older brother ever been proven wrong. They had very little to go on in regards to the curse, so why not trust in Niall and his vision?

“Seems a great folly to put any stock in the Bard’s words,” Rinion grumbled. “He’s only a human after all.”

“Shakespeare,” Avery grunted. “I only cared for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But then, I’m partial to Titania.”

“To fucking the mortal actress who plays Titania,” Kian corrected.

Thane raised his hand to silence their banter. Pointing to the women, he commanded silence, then waved his hand, concealing their presence with faery glamour. If the women were to look their way, they would see only the iridescent glimmer of a sunbeam sparkling through the trees.

Convinced they could not be seen or heard, Thane turned to his companions. “Niall would not have sent us here if he supposed it was foolishness. Every one hundred years, the virtues are born into the mortal realm. They have been born. And they are of age. Our king believes that this is the only way to break his mother’s curse on our court.”

“Do you think the time is right?” Avery asked as he reined in his black steed to a halt. The women were close and the faery mount could smell their presence. “It’s only been six months since we were here to bury Irian’s woman.”

“And you stole that maid from the village,” Kian snapped.

Damn him, Kian was intent on starting something with Avery. Thane sent his twin a hard glare, which Kian naturally returned.

Like Niall, Thane’s twin was a fey prince, possessed with the cardinal sin of envy. Thane could see the jealousy in his brother’s eyes as he glared at Avery, who harbored the sin of gluttony. Of the seven of them, Avery and Kian were most opposed. As Envy, Kian coveted everything Avery had. And as the host of gluttony, Avery always had more, acquired more and strove for more, which made Kian’s jealousy deepen and simmer. It was a never-ending circle of gluttony and envy, and the inability to ever be satisfied.

Cursed since birth, Thane had always lamented his fate. However, in times like this, he realized that to be consumed by lust was a gift, as opposed to always needing to have what others had, or always needing more. At least lust could be satiated.

“She was a luscious armful, that one,” Avery said with a leer as he recalled the maid he had taken from the village. “Many bountiful pleasures to be had in that tasty morsel. I would have shared her, but then she preferred to be devoured whole by someone well versed in pleasure, not jealousy.” He laughed, taunting Kian.

Thane brought his horse to stand between them. “Enough. We needn’t have dissent between us. We are here for our souls, for the survival of our court. Petty jealousy and taunts have no place now.”

Kian glared at him, opened his mouth to say something, but Thane cut his twin off. “We can wait no longer. We must find, and possess, our virtues. Put your considerable skills into seduction, not barbs and insults.”

“I feel it’s time. It’s been six months in Faery, nearly three mortal years since we have seen the virtues,” Rinion, the harbinger of vanity announced. “They were nearly grown then. By now they’re of a suitable age to seduce. No, I agree with Thane. It’s time. As Niall said, we can wait no longer. The curse must be broken. And there is always the chance that our Seelie enemies might also be looking for them. We need to get to them first.”

Thane felt his body twitch as the sound of female voices drifted over to them, caressing his skin. His sin, Lust, reared its head, heating his blood. His gaze fixed on the sight of the four young women, dressed in richly embroidered silk gowns, passing them by. He knew instantly who they were. The Lennox girls. Their virtues.

Thane had no difficulty in recognizing his virtue. Chastity. The opposite of his sin called to him like gin called to a drunkard. She was a vision as she walked by him, completely unaware of his and the other princes’ presence in the woods that ran alongside the path.

It amazed him that a virtue could be a dichotomy. He expected Chastity Lennox to be a pinched-faced maid in a fragile, bony body. But Chastity was not fragile, nor pinched-face. Her face was ethereal, glowing of innocence, but her body … He cast his covetous gaze over her luscious form and felt himself swell. Her body was not chaste in the least. Her curves invited the most licentious of thoughts, the most amoral of all pleasures. What he and his sin could do with that delightful body had him sweating beneath his silk jabot and embroidered waistcoat and jacket.

Chastity Lennox, he realized, was going to be a delicious reward. He could not wait to touch her, to feel her in his arms. He could not wait to corrupt her.

Thane shoved his sin aside. Lust was a separate entity, housed within his body. A knowing need that grew hungry and powerful when aroused. A need that was always desiring sex and pleasure. Anything triggered the sin inside him, a bonny face, ample chest or a coy smile. Hell, a stiff breeze had been known to stir the sin within him.

Most times Thane could subdue it—somewhat. But as a Dark Fey, his natural inclination was toward the pleasures of the flesh. Which, of course, only pleased Lust. Lust very rarely was left to grow hungry and impatient.

But he was now. Yet Thane knew he could not allow his sin to reign. Not yet.

There were times when his sin so took over that Thane was powerless to stop it. When Lust came to the forefront, he was a powerful creature to deny, almost as though he were a separate entity. Most times, he was quiet inside him. Thane was aware of his sin only in thought, and desire. But once his Unseelie blood was heated with need, and Lust was rattling to be set free, absolutely nothing stopped him. Memories tripped through his mind of the debauches in his past. For now, those memories must suffice. Lust would have to learn to feed on them, while Thane wooed the virginal Chastity.

“There they are,” Avery murmured as he wet his lips, which were obscenely erotic on a man, let alone a fey. “And every bit more grown-up,” he purred as he devoured all of them with his greedy gaze. “Imagine them at court, surrounded by all kinds of decadence. What treasures they will be. I will very much enjoy showing them what pleasure true excess can be.”

Lust began to seethe, to pull at him. His sin took umbrage at Avery and his hedonism, that he was entertaining ideas about what it would be like to taste Chastity. Avery was a damn glutton, never satisfied, always craving, always needing more. Thane knew that Chastity would prove a most challenging delight for Avery and his sin.

“Now who bears the green eyes?” Kian asked accusingly.

Thane gave his twin no heed as he attempted to control his thoughts, but when he saw Avery’s black irises, which were rimmed in violet, dilate with hunger as his gaze fixed on Chastity, Thane said rather impulsively, “Brothers, I leave you to your virtues.”

With a wave of his hand, the veil of glamour dropped. Nudging his mount forward, he walked the animal a few short paces before pulling in beside the Lennox sisters. “Good morn, ladies,” he said, trying to resist the urge to grasp Chastity and haul her onto his lap. He could not steal her. Not if he wanted to break the curse. She must come to court of her own free will. She must give herself and her soul up to him, he could not take it from her. Her body was to be his gift, and therefore, he must wait until he was gifted with it.

“Sir, you are not known to us,” one of them said through lips that were plump, but pressed tightly together until they were thin and bloodless. Temperance, he thought as he caught her reproving glance as she and her sisters walked by him.

Jumping down from his horse, he took the reins in his gloved hands and followed them. “Then allow me to remedy that,” he said as he sketched a graceful bow.

“Come along. Now,” she muttered as she ushered the other three women along the path as though she were a mother goose gathering her chicks as a fox approached.

“Prue, for heaven’s sake,” one of them muttered before stopping and curtsying before him. “Don’t be rude.” When she glanced up, Thane was struck by the darkness of her eyes and the onyx ringlets that danced in the breeze from beneath her straw bonnet. “I am Mary Lennox,” she announced. “And this is my sister Prudence, my other sister Mercy and …” She glanced amongst the straw bonnets and the rippling silk shawls that billowed in the May wind. “And hiding behind them is Chastity.”

Their eyes locked, and he was stunned by how alluring Chastity’s green gaze was. Thane felt the instant heat of unbridled desire flare inside him. Lust wanted her. Badly. He smiled, trying to remember that he was portraying a mortal gentleman. As a fey prince, he took what he wanted. Their court manners were not mortal manners. But if he were to act as a fey now, he would never have a chance to win Chastity, nor experience her surrender.

“I am honored.” With a deep bow, he removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “I am Thane.”

He did the pretty and pretended he was a gentleman. All to no avail, for Chastity barely glanced at him, and certainly with nothing that could be considered reciprocal desire.

At that precise moment, his faery hound decided to come bounding out of the woods. He was large and strong, and making the most mournful sound Thane had ever heard. Something between a whimper and a snarl.

“Bel, that is enough,” he commanded. Pointing to the spot beside his boot, Thane motioned for the dog to sit. But Bel possessed a mind of his own, and instead, began sniffing the women’s skirts, shoving his nose up their hems. Lucky beast, he thought with amusement, until he heard the frightened little voice at the back.

“Stay away! “ The voice sounded panicky—trembling. It was Chastity’s voice.

“Bel,” he admonished as he stepped around the women and reached for his pet. Chastity was there, looking up at him with sheer terror in her eyes.

“He’s friendly,” he said, trying to be soothing. “He’s only a pup really, and more curious than anything.”

Thane saw her shoulders tremble as she fearfully watched the dog. “I … I don’t like beasts.”

Thane wondered if he could be classified as a beast. The Dark Fey were certainly known to be beastly in their appetites.

“Bel is such an unusual name for a pet,” the one named Mercy said. She held her glove palm out and Bel loped to her side, sniffing and licking the leather.

“It is an old Gaelic name that means the Shining One. He is named after the Celtic sun god of healing.”

Mercy bent down and rubbed her hands through Bel’s pure white fur. “I am afraid that Chastity is not the animal lover in the family.”

That, Thane realized, was going to be a bit of a problem. The fey lived in the woods, surrounded by nature and all its creatures. With Chastity’s fear of animals it was going to be very hard to induce her to come and live at his court.

Thinking it best to steer the conversation away from animals, and Chastity’s increasing fear of the eagerly sniffing Bel, he asked, “Are you by chance going to the May Day celebration?” He indicated the village green, which was decorated for Beltane. Beyond the green, by the ruins of the ancient abbey was a pile of branches and logs, the beginnings of the traditional Beltane bonfire.

“No, we are not,” the one named Prudence announced in a clipped voice. “Now, good day to you, sir.”

Thane watched the four young women commence walking along the path. In the distance the tor rose, and at the foot of it was a grand manor home, fit for a duke. It was the Lennoxes’ estate. And Chastity’s home. He even knew what bedroom window was hers.

Despite her cold reception, he was not thwarted. Lust knew how to break down any resisting barriers. Thane could almost taste Chastity’s surrender on his tongue. Her sexual awakening aroused him, roused a hunger in him that had not been sated by any of his previous conquests. Lust, it seemed, was most eager to corrupt the innocent Chastity, in the most depraved ways. But it was not only his sin that desired her. Thane and his Dark Fey blood wanted her, too.

Allowing his gaze to linger, he followed the prim and beckoning Chastity as she sauntered down the path to her home—to safety. But Chastity Lennox was not safe anywhere from him—from the desire that was growing inside him.

Every one hundred years, seven virtues were born in the mortal realm, he reminded himself. Chastity had been born for him, to sate the sin inside him. She had been created exclusively for his sexual appetites, and the power that she was his, intended solely for him, was a feeling more dominant than orgasm.

Christ, he wanted her. And he would have her, too.

With a cheeky little backward glance, the dark-haired Mary smiled at him over her shoulder and he returned it, thinking of how soon it was going to be that he would see Chastity smile at him like that.

“Do not get any ideas about her,” Rinion said as he emerged from the woods and came to stand beside him. “She is mine.”

Thane glanced at the fey who harbored Vanity. He was astoundingly handsome. Women fell at his feet. Thane looked back at the dark and exotic Mary, thinking of her and Rinion together. It was good that the lovely little minx was his virtue. She’d give him a hell of a merry chase and Rinion deserved nothing less.

“I have no interest in your virtue, Rinion. I covet my own.”

Vanity laughed as he fiddled with his already immaculately tied lace jabot. “And she looked at you with as much lust in her eyes as a man does a used-up whore.”

“She’s chaste,” he replied, finding himself snarling the word.

“Poor you,” Rinion murmured before nudging his mount forward. “My virtue is humility. Already, I’m eager to see that saucy wench of mine on her knees. She will submit, I have no doubt, but I wish to see that sparkling, mischievous gleam in her dark eyes as she does so. Now then, I’m off. I have a virtue to corrupt.”

Thane pulled the reins of Rinion’s horse, bringing the animal up short. “Remember the curse. Seduce them. Corrupt their virtues, but don’t force them to follow you to court.”

Vanity’s brow rose, making him look even more handsome. “That little minx is practically begging for it. I’ll have her at court with her thighs spread before midnight.”

With a gentle nudge, Rinion moved his mount forward, but not in the direction of the women. Instead, he cantered for the open plain that had once been fenland and headed for the mansion. Rinion was a fool if he thought to go riding into the gates, proclaiming his stake on the eldest Lennox daughter. It wasn’t going to be easy to get within reach of the girls. George Buckman, the Duke of Lennox, was notoriously ham-fisted when it came to anyone coming near his daughters for even a dance, let alone with the thought of courting them.

Behind him, Thane heard the woods rustle, then Avery and Kian flanked his sides. “Next move?”

Thane pulled the black satin tie from his queue and allowed his long black hair to blow in the wind. He listened to the woods, to the creak of the tree limbs and the whisper of the shimmering leaves. Glancing at the tor, he imagined his court that lay beneath the mound, and the winding labyrinths that led to the magical other-world where the Unseelie Court lay, amidst a faery forest and enchanted waters. His was a magical world beneath the ground of the mortal realm. A court that resembled something out of the mortals’ Arthurian legends. The court that was so richly and lavishly appointed with gold and marble, silks and velvets. The court that was cursed and dying. The court that so desperately needed these virtues.

“For now we wait,” he announced. “And we watch.” And yearn, he silently added, feeling the burn in his loins and the hunger in his belly.

As he gathered the reins, he turned his mount just in time to see one of them—a faery galloping across the grassy knolls.

Crom.

Avery and Kian stiffened beside him. What was Niall’s twin doing out here, and so close to the Lennox estate?

“Bloody hell,” Kian hissed, the sound full of spite, “the Seelie want them, too.”