The Lord of Illusion - 3 (13 page)

Camille colored. He had been watching closely the night Lord Hawkes saved her. “I know. It shall be easy to acquire a uniform, I think. But it takes years to learn to wield a blade, and I do not know how I will manage to acquire a pistol. They are too dear.”

The dragon seemed to consider a moment, his tail rising to swish against the night sky, sending the falling snow into a frenzy of movement. “Have you asked your rescuer?”

“Lord Hawkes? But why would he…?” And yet, perhaps he would. He might be willing to teach her, since he seemed so concerned with her safety. He could not always be at her side to protect her. “Why, Grimor’ee, that is a famous idea! And here I have thought you would never help me.”

His head slumped down upon the ground. “I have aided you as much as I can, within the limitations set upon me.”

“By whom?”

He surprised her again by answering.

“By the enchantment set upon me long ago by the elven lords.”

“I see.” But she did not… not truly. His sadness touched her, and she rose from the settee to put her arm about his cold snout.

Camille tried to smile. “You know, you could make this all so easy for me if you would just fly me far away from here.” The mere thought of actually clambering onto his back and flying so high above the earth made her cringe, but she would do it, to escape this life. And she did not want him to think she feared it.

“You would likely just fall off,” he grumbled.

“I have faith you could maneuver to catch me. I have seen you dance with the stars.”

He sighed, a great heave that shuddered the stones of the tower and wrenched his snout from her arms. “You cannot escape your destiny so easily, lady.”

Camille could not suppress a shiver, and felt tempted to go back to the fire. But she might fall asleep—she could feel the heaviness of her eyes, and could not risk being caught by the elven lord with Grimor’ee, his own dragon.

She walked back to the settee, picked up the blanket, and wrapped it about her shoulders. It would not last beyond Grimor’ee’s sight unless he spelled it to, and she doubted he would bother. But it would see her across the cold bridge and into the attic.

“I will come again soon,” she said over her shoulder.

Grimor’ee did not answer, his gaze fixed upon the star-studded sky.

***

Over the next few days Viscount Hawkes requested her presence in his rooms to read to him, until she became quite comfortable with being near him. Oddly enough, familiarity did not lessen the excitement she always felt with him, and she grew accustomed to that emotion. Indeed, she began to welcome it, for it made her feel a peculiar sort of anticipation that left her deflated when she left him.

She tried not to think about the kiss they had shared.

Camille read
The
Unfortunate
Traveler
by Thomas Nashe, recounting the horrifying adventures of a lowly page, which held so many similarities to her own life that she often found herself scowling as she read.

“Well,” she muttered upon finishing it, “at least this book is based upon reality.”

“Ah,” replied his lordship, amber eyes glittering, “then you do believe stories may hold some truths.”

“I suppose so.”

Camille sat in her usual chair next to his bedside while he lounged atop his cushions. His arm had healed enough so that he managed to put some clothing on his upper body, which she felt extremely grateful for.

Lord Hawkes had not attempted to touch her again, much less to kiss her. He pretended nothing had happened between them, but she often felt him studying her intently.

Which made Camille feel alternately relieved and frustrated. And shy and insecure about her new position in his household.

But she found the courage to at least ask to read a book of her preference, and he allowed that Shakespeare’s comedy of
Much
Ado
About
Nothing
would be a welcome contrast to
The
Unfortunate
Traveler
. Camille finally had the opportunity to finish the play, and she could not help the smile that stayed on her lips throughout the reading of it.

They were not interrupted except for mealtimes, and once when the healer came to his apartments and insisted she check on her patient. Lord Hawkes commanded that Camille leave the room while the healer looked him over, and he did not say a word regarding his health when she returned. Instead, he bade her read an epic poem titled
The
Faerie
Queen
, which involved knights and virtues and sorcery and love and betrayal. It all seemed so very real to Camille, who found herself praying for the knights to complete their quests, and more surprisingly, sympathizing with their love stories. Hoping true love would win. Especially when the poor squire, Timias, began to waste away for love of his beautiful Belphoebe.

“It’s about time,” she muttered when Belphoebe finally returned to Timias.

She looked up from the book when Lord Hawkes shifted on the bed, his injury now appearing not to bother him in the least. His pale hair spread about his pillows like a wavy halo, his strong arms folded across his chest, his handsome mouth curled into a smile. Sunshine flooded the room for a change today, dust motes sparkling in the rectangular beams of light.

Camille could not forget the delight of the warm apple orchard and suppressed a sigh.

His lordship eyed her closely, tossed back the bedding, and rose in one lithe movement. “I think we both need to get out of this stuffy chamber.”

“Are you sure you are well enough?”

“The healer suggested it, and damn if I will cross that little old woman.” He strapped on his sword belt, pulled on his boots and coat, and grasped her hand, pulling her from the chair and tugging her out into the withdrawing room before she could say another word.

“Augusta,” he commanded. “Fetch Camille some outerwear.”

The maid appeared from the dining room, a dirty cloth over her arm, and quickly did as her master instructed.

He tapped an impatient foot while Camille pulled on boots, gloves, and a thick cloak that looked new enough to be Augusta’s best.

Before she knew it, they had left the apartments, strolling arm in arm down the corridors, Lord Hawkes ignoring the odd looks thrown their way from gentry and servant alike. He took the main stairs as if he didn’t care a whit that he would set tongues wagging, but when they reached the ground floor, he entered an empty hallway and left the palace out of a side door Camille wasn’t familiar with.

She blinked at the glare of sunshine on snow, and took a deep breath of the crisp air. They stood in an enclosure of ice statues shaped in the forms of fairies and tiny gnomes and hobgoblins with mischievous smiles. Camille wondered which courtier had crafted the charming beings, for they contrasted strongly with Dreamhame’s usual decor, but Lord Hawkes pulled her so quickly across the space she focused her attention on her footing.

The sun had packed the snow so they did not fall through the crust, but it also made the surface slippery enough that only her elven grace prevented her from falling. She wished she had stuffed the toes of Augusta’s boots, for they wobbled on her feet.

Lord Hawkes opened a gate and stepped through and halted, a slow grin spreading across his face. Camille followed his gaze to a steep hill where several children clustered, sliding down the packed surface on sleds, only to trudge up it again and repeat the process.

He led her toward the sound of their laughter.

“The stories have changed you, Camille.”

It took her a moment to pick up his thoughts, and then she shook her head. Nay,
he
had changed her with his magic.

“You professed not to believe in love,” he pressed. “But now I think you feel sorry for Timias and annoyed with Belphoebe.”

“It is almost as if the writer has cast a spell upon me,” she admitted. “Sometimes the characters in your books seem more real to me than you and I. Are the books enchanted?”

He threw back his head and laughed. He had an easy laugh, deep and resonant. She liked it.

“Nay, they are not. Nor have I cast any glamour upon you.”

She started and looked up from her boots. “Have you not?”

“Ha. I was correct. You suspect I have cast some spell upon you.”

“Your magic seems strong enough.”

He grimaced. “I have managed only two decent illusions since arriving at Dreamhame Palace, although I assure you I have tried—to work an illusion, that is. A glamour is a much more difficult task, I assure you.”

“Is it?”

“Indeed.” His eyes gazed intently into hers, and he lowered his voice to a husky whisper. She barely heard his words over the squeals of the children. “Besides, why would I use glamour to make you fall in love with me? It would not be real.”

“And you wish it to be real? But why?”

“When someone is in love with another, Camille, they would like for that love to be returned. Would they not?”

Camille took a breath. She did not know if her next words were mixed with an odd sort of hope. “But you do not need it to bed me. You have only to order it to make it so.”

He came to an abrupt stop. An errant breeze made his hair fly over his cheeks, curl artfully across his forehead. Drat the man. How could she want to be close to him, and run away from him, all at the same time?

“Is that what you think? That I wish only to bed you?”

“Perhaps you like your women willing. Perhaps all of your actions are designed to make sure I do not resist you the next time.”

“The next time.”

“The next time… you kiss me.”

He arched a pale brown brow at her. “I do not recall you resisting the first time.”

“You put a glamour upon me.”

“Which I have just assured you that I did not. That I cannot. Egads, you are a stubborn woman, Camille.”

He dropped her hand and walked away from her, approaching the cluster of children, bending down to speak with one of the older boys before reaching his hand into his pocket. He turned and strode back toward her, dragging a sled behind him.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you sledding.”

“We are not children.”

He shrugged, his shoulders appearing broader in his greatcoat. “And yet I think we have both missed out on our childhood… you even more than I.”

Camille shifted her gaze to the children, who had halted their play to watch them with curious eyes. “We are liable to break our necks.”

He laughed. “Then we shall have a jolly good time doing it. Here, you get on first, and I’ll sit behind you.”

The contraption did not look big enough to hold them both. And the skinny runners would surely sink in the snow from their combined weight. She had often watched Rufus and Laura go sledding, but having no experience with it as a child, it had never occurred to her to join them.

She gave Lord Hawkes an entreating glance. His golden eyes sparkled with determination. Camille sighed and clambered onto the small platform, scooching up to the front as close as she could, the lower half of her legs hanging over the front of it. He pulled her toward the edge of the hill, and the drop looked much steeper from this new vantage point.

He settled behind her and draped his legs on either side of her, anchoring them against the wooden steering bar. She flushed as all that male warmth and scent surrounded her, and realized she liked the sensation. The muscles in his arms bunched as he pushed them toward the precipice, and Camille clutched his thighs. She felt him suck in a breath.

“My lord,” said the boy who had given them the sled, “with all that weight upon it, you are likely to go pretty fa—”

Lord Hawkes gave one mighty heave and threw them over the brink, but Camille could guess the last word. They slid down the hill with a whoosh of cold wind, the scenery blurring around them, the runners barely touching the snow. Camille’s stomach flew up into her throat, and she would have screamed if she had been able to.

The children had built a stop of sorts, a mound of snow designed to keep their sleds from continuing their slide across the meadow of snow at the base of the hill. Their sled hit it with a spray of snow, not slowing their progress a whit. Instead, their sled went up the mound and launched into the air, sending them flying for a few, brief, glorious moments.

And then they hit the ground.

Camille parted from the sled and rolled a few feet, landing on her back, the world tilting crazily for a moment.

“Camille?” said Lord Hawkes. “Are you all right?”

“I—I think so.”

His beautiful face appeared above hers, and he half-lay over her, concern and delight warring across his features. “Are you sure? That was a bloody fast ride!”

She nodded, and he brushed some snow from her cheeks while she felt her lips curl into a smile. “It was… it was… exhilarating. But what of your injury?”