(A Charm of Magpies 1)The Magpie Lord (10 page)

“What the
devil
?” he demanded as Crane strode in and back-heeled the door shut with a slam.

“I,” said Crane sweetly, “have just accepted a dinner invitation for us both. Tonight.”

“You’ve done what? Why?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Crane. He stalked forward. Stephen dropped back a pace. “I was happily refusing the importunities of a pair of dullards, when quite suddenly I found myself realising that I was being terribly rude and it was absolutely necessary that I should attend this tedious social engagement. Much as, in the past weeks, I have found myself thinking that I was a worthless piece of human waste who ought to kill myself.”

“Oh! You think—”

“
Much as
,” Crane went on over him, taking another step forward so that Stephen was backed up against the desk, “last night, just after you revealed yourself as the world’s best card-sharper and faced down a bloody
ghost
, I found myself thinking that you’re really a very dull little man that I don’t want to pay any attention to. Isn’t that odd?”

Stephen froze. Crane glared at him, ugly with rage, clenching his fists. “You damned little swine, how dare you play the fool with my mind?”

He pushed Stephen backwards. The smaller man squirmed sideways. “Not the desk, don’t knock the desk!” he yelped. “I’ve spent all morning doing that—”

“The hell with the desk,” said Crane, shoving it hard. There was a sad tinkling clatter as a tangle of something metallic collapsed, and Stephen gave a pained cry of protest, which Crane ignored, reaching for him again. Stephen ducked under his arm and sidestepped. Crane grabbed him by the shoulders, walked him back two paces and slammed him against a bookshelf.

“Ow.”

Crane stared down. Stephen knew he had a slight flush in his cheeks, but he met Crane’s eyes directly.

“Well?” demanded Crane.

“Well, you’re right, of course.”

“
Why?
”

Stephen looked at him steadily, chin tilted slightly up, refusing to drop his eyes. “It’s safer.”

“For whom?”

“Me. Can you let me go, please, I’ve got some sort of atlas in my back.”

Crane shifted his hands from Stephen’s shoulders to the shelves behind, but didn’t otherwise move, so that Stephen was still trapped by his body and outstretched arms.

“That was neither an explanation, nor an apology,” Crane said. “I want both. What did you do to me?”

“I put fluence on you. Influence. To lead your thoughts in the direction I wanted them to go.”

“Why?” asked Crane again.

“If I wanted to discuss it, I wouldn’t have used fluence in the first place. You know, I’m used to people being taller than me, and I really don’t find it as intimidating as you may imagine, so you may as well step back.”

Crane leaned forward and down instead, eyes snapping with fury. “Will you be more intimidated when I wring your neck, you little sod?”

Stephen reached up and put a finger on Crane’s throat. “Listen to me. Step back two paces, calmly.”

Crane stepped back. Stephen rolled his narrow shoulders and took a breath, counting mentally. When he reached six, he saw the rage ignite in Crane’s face and rapidly moved away from the wall.

“You fucking little shit!”

Crane lunged. Stephen ducked, jinked sideways and retreated in earnest as Crane went for him, far faster than he’d anticipated. He skipped backwards and found Crane had backed him against the desk again. The taller man grabbed him, astonishingly hard, and threw him backwards, so that the breath burst out of him, and before he could move, Crane was over him, pinning him down.

Stephen’s back was on the desk, and his feet didn’t reach the floor. Crane leaned on him, bodies pressed close, pinioning his wrists above his head, face dark with anger.

It occurred to Stephen Day that he had just made a fairly spectacular misjudgement.

“I apologise for that.” He spoke as calmly as possible, trying to ignore the pressure of Crane’s body against his. “It was in the way of an experiment, to see how fast you’d shake it. You’re developing surprisingly rapid resistance to fluence.”

“Perhaps that’s because people keep doing it to me,” said Crane through his teeth.

Stephen’s brows drew together slightly. “I think you may be right, at that. How—”

“No,” said Crane. “I’m asking the questions.”

He was pressing down painfully on Stephen’s wrists, taut body just over Stephen’s, hard and intent and all too close to the night’s imaginings. Stephen swallowed, cursing the betraying rush of blood, wishing he dared shift position.

“This is quite uncomfortable.”

“Good. I remembered what happened last night.”

“Nothing happened,” said Stephen instantly, defensively.

“Yes, it did. There was a ghost.”

“Oh—well, yes—”

“But that wasn’t what you had in mind, was it?”

Stephen bit his lip.
Control this.
“Why don’t you tell me what you think happened last night?”

Crane’s lips drew back in a snarl. “What I
think
is that I was about to have you right there in the garden. I
think
you were about two minutes from being flat on your back in the grass.”

Stephen felt the blood recede from his face.
Brilliant, Steph, well played.

“And…” Crane shifted his leg up so that it rubbed against Stephen’s painfully tight groin, ridding him of the admittedly faint hope that Crane hadn’t noticed his arousal. “I
think
you’re two minutes from the same thing right now.”

“Oh God,” said Stephen involuntarily. He couldn’t tell if Crane meant it, or what he meant. A dizzying pulse of excitement was making it difficult to think. Crane’s body was hard against him, and he could feel the larger man’s cock, pressing against his stomach. “Listen—”

“Shut the fuck up!” It was a shout, but Crane’s voice moved immediately to a savage purr. “I want to make you pay for that right now, you manipulative little bastard. I want to make you pay, and you know it, and…” His mouth curled, and he shoved his thigh cruelly against Stephen’s erection again. “And you like it. In fact, I suspect there’s nothing you’d like better. Is there?”

Stephen couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“Well?”

Stephen licked his lips. “What do you want me to say?” His voice sounded breathy in his own ears.

“Tell me why you did that to me last night. And don’t lie to me. I know what you wanted, what you want. So why did you do it?”

He did not want to answer that. “I— It was—”

“You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”

Stephen shut his eyes. “Briefly.”

Crane lowered his head so his mouth was right on Stephen’s ear, voice vibrating, teeth and tongue touching the sensitive flesh. “When I fuck you, Mr. Day, it will not be briefly. It will be long and hard and extremely thorough. I’m going to take
pains
with you.”

Stephen whimpered, helpless to stop himself, tilting his hips so his cock rubbed against Crane’s body. Crane thrust back hard, once, grinned mirthlessly at Stephen’s gasp, and leaned back with a look of victory in his eyes.

“Let’s consider this in the nature of reparations.” He shifted one hand so that it pinioned both of Stephen’s wrists and moved his free hand to his belt.

There was a cruel, humourless twist to his mouth, and the fleeting, hateful resemblance hit Stephen with shocking vividness. A sudden flare of all-consuming rage leapt in his mind, obliterating his arousal. “God damn it, your father ruined mine, your brother assaulted my mother, and you think I’m going to let a Vaudrey have me, here? Get off me!”

He shoved, hard, putting power behind it, but Crane had already let go of his wrists and recoiled from the desk as though Stephen was a poisonous thing. He strode to the window and stood, gripping the frame, staring out.

Stephen sat up awkwardly and took a very deep breath. He leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

There was a long, unpleasant silence.

“I didn’t think of that.” Crane didn’t look round when he finally spoke. “I don’t think of myself as part of my family, you see. I didn’t think you did. I thought you didn’t. Of course you do.”

“I don’t,” Stephen said. “If I did, I wouldn’t have got into that situation in the first place. It was just—then…”

You looked like Hector.
Looking at Crane’s rigid back, he couldn’t have said the words at gunpoint.

“I panicked,” he went on. “That’s all I can say. I panicked last night, and I abused my powers and your mind to get myself out of an awkward situation. You’ve every right to be angry.”

“Angry, yes.” Crane still didn’t look round. “Not to behave like my brother.”

“Oh, please,” Stephen said wearily. “We both know that’s not true.”

Crane turned at last, face tight. “Horse shit. I’m twice your size.”

“Yes, and I’m a practitioner, and you have no concept of what I can do,” Stephen snapped. “Don’t dare assume I can’t defend myself.”

“So why didn’t you?” Crane retorted instantly.

“Because I didn’t want to. As you so astutely observed. I think you’ve probably humiliated me enough for now, don’t you?”

He rested his head on his hand, legs dangling over the side of the desk, trying to make his body stop clamouring for sex or violence or both. He could feel Crane watching him, and the anger draining out of the room.

“Alright,” Crane said finally. “You abused my mind. I had every intention of abusing you right back. The only possible conclusion is that we’re a pair of bastards.”

Stephen’s lips twitched.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Only my pride. And my wrists. And my entire morning’s work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” Stephen sighed. “Lord Crane—”

“Crane, for God’s sake. I can’t stand the title, it sounds like my father’s in the room.”

“Crane,” said Stephen, tasting the unadorned name. “I apologise for last night. And I give you my word I won’t do that again, fluence you. It’s really not how I generally conduct myself.”

“Nor I. You hit a sore point. I suppose this whole business is a lot of sore points strung together for you.”

“It isn’t terribly easy,” Stephen agreed.

Their eyes met for a moment. Crane gave him a crooked smile. “What do you want to do about this?”

“My job. That’s all. Without complicating things.”

“You don’t feel things are getting complicated all by themselves?”

“No,” Stephen said. “I think it’s mostly me and I think I should stop it.”

“It’s not mostly you. But… Alright. I won’t resume this subject unless you do. If you don’t, I’ll respect that. But if you do, Mr. Day, I will take it you’ve made your mind up. Your choice.”

Stephen didn’t want it to be his choice. He wanted to be an extremely long way away from Crane, so that choice didn’t come in to it. But he nodded anyway, because there wasn’t much else to do, and they stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“Work,” Stephen said finally. “Can we go back to this dinner invitation?”

“The— Oh, yes, that. Right. What happened was that Sir James and Lady Thwaite, of Huckerby Place, made me think I had to accept a dinner invitation. That sounds ridiculous.”

“When you accepted this invitation, did either of them touch you?”

Crane frowned. “I have an idea Lady Thwaite took my hand.”

“May I?”

Crane extended his hand. Stephen took it—
professional, Stephen
—turned it over thoughtfully, brought his face down and sniffed deeply, running his nose just above Crane’s skin.

“What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Witch-smelling.” Stephen sniffed again. “There’s definitely something there. Fluence. Not me.”

“So this fluence requires physical contact, does it?”

“Skin contact. Have you any idea what Lady Thwaite was saying?”

“I’m not sure.” Crane frowned. “I can’t seem to remember the words. I just know that she changed the way I thought. As you did, as the Judas jack did.”

“Why on earth would she fluence you just to accept an invitation?”

“No idea. But I don’t think it’s the first time she’s done it.”

“Really.” Stephen felt the familiar prickle along his spine, the hackles of the hunting dog. “Is anything striking you as odd about your previous relations with her?”

“That I have any,” Crane said. “I’ve been ignoring cards and refusing invitations since I got back, but I found myself visiting the Thwaites on each of my previous visits down here. I may add, if I wanted to get to know any of my neighbours, it wouldn’t be them.”

“Does your presence lend social cachet?”

Crane shrugged. “Well, I’m the new Earl Crane, but on the other hand, I’m the old Lucien Vaudrey. And they’re an established country family anyway. I’d scarcely think it was worth the effort, certainly not three times over. There was nobody else there the second time, in fact, just the Thwaites and their daughter.”

“Ah,” said Stephen. “Their unmarried daughter, is that?”