than Callista could ever have imagined. She stepped inside, the door banging her rear as it shut, cutting off the dancing light from the cookfire. Down the left wall ran a long, cluttered counter, shelves beneath. To the right trunks and boxes held props and costumes, and one larger than the others seemed to double as a table. A newspaper lay spread beneath a dirty plate and a stool was drawn up beside. Above, a soot-blackened lamp hung from a chain.
Big Knox was not exactly a superior housekeeper.
At the back of the wagon was a bunk on a raised platform, a curtain on rings that could be drawn for privacy. Callista’s eyes settled on the thick mattress, scattering of pillows, and rumpled sheets before her eyes slid away, her stomach flipping as wildly as any of Big Knox’s juggling plates.
She undressed quickly, afraid David would come barging in. Lay down on the bed, sheet drawn to her chest, wondering why he didn’t. Had he decided to sleep outside again tonight? Had he disappeared into the countryside, his body sliding from man to beast beneath the light of the setting moon? Did he find her ugly, skinny, nosy, irritating? Would he rather curl up with a pillow for a rock than join her in this closet on wheels?
Doubts slammed her from every side, or maybe that was her heart, beating wildly and out of rhythm. Impossible to say.
Outside, the rest of the company retired for the night. Conversations waned, then ended. Doors closed. The fire was doused, its flickering glow no longer splashing pink and orange over the far wall. Silence, but for the creak of the lamp upon its chain. She felt herself drifting to sleep, eyes fluttering closed, mind rising out of the lumpy bunk to inhabit a dreamworld where she could arrange things just as she wished.
In this fantasy, David lay beside her, his body almost feverishly warm. He cradled her against his side, his breath soft on her cheek, his heart beating steadily beneath her palm. A kiss brushed her brow and she curled closer. Since her mother had died, she’d not had anyone to kiss her good-night. It felt good, like coming home after a long journey.
“
She frowned, her hand caressing the hard chiseled planes of a very male torso. Definitely not her mother.
A gasp caught in her lungs as she realized her dream had been anything but. David lay beside her on the bed—and not just beside her. She had curled into the crook of his arm, a leg thrown across his thighs as if she owned him.
She snatched her hand away, scrambling back as far as she could before she bumped into the wall.
A rumbling chuckle oozed through her like warm honey. “Ease yourself, Fey-blood,” David said. “I may bear the soul of an animal, but I’ve not yet sunk to taking a woman unwilling. You’re safe from my dishonorable intentions.”
“You kissed me without my consent.”
“You’re safe from
She relaxed at the tartness of his tone. He certainly didn’t sound like a man bent on seduction. Still, her skin prickled all over and a tugging ache stirred low across her belly.
“You did realize we’d be sharing the wagon, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied, trying to feign calm. “I was standing right beside you when Big Knox made the offer. Though it’s been almost a week. I suppose I assumed you didn’t . . . that is, that you’d . . . sleep on the floor.”
But there was no floor. Or rather, not enough of one after all the clutter to accommodate David. Only a very narrow, very tight-fitting bed where even the air seemed at a premium.
“Our companions were growing suspicious about our sleeping arrangements. Lettice kept asking if we’d had an argument, and Big Knox warned me that if this was how things stood before the wedding, it would be ten times worse after you had a ring on your finger. And I won’t even tell you what Sally said, except to say I had to scrub afterward.” He shuddered. “Personally, I think Big Knox only offered us his wagon to bait Oakham, the sneaky pot- stirrer.”
“It worked. Sam looked as if he’d swallowed a mouse.” She giggled.
“Poor bugger. He does have it in a bad way. Is there no hope for the poor bastard?”
She turned to face him; his eyes shined like silver pools. “Five years ago, I might have said yes, if only to escape Branston. But now . . . he’s too late.”
The two of them lay quiet in the dark with the night sounds beyond the tiny window, the bed curtain drifting in and out with every little breeze. She rested beside him unmoving, his arm touching her arm, his leg touching her leg. She’d never been so intensely aware of the scratchiness of his linen shirt or the softness of his leather breeches or the smoky, soapy man scent of him in her nose.
How different this silent solidarity was from Victor Corey’s vicious arrogance, his bruising touch and ugly words. Cold washed over her skin to replace the heat of David, and a small sound escaped the back of her throat as if the terror of that afternoon finally caught up with her now, days later. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be married already—to Corey.” She shuddered.
“Dreadful thought.” His voice was quiet, but she knew he hadn’t been asleep. There was a waiting in his body, a coiled tension.
“He’s a dreadful person,” she said. “He once claimed that together we would show the world what ‘monsters’ were capable of.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I have no idea, but with him anything is possible. He’s obsessed with proving himself to the world. He thinks respect comes through fear and he uses his Other powers for his own criminal ends. Twists them and makes —”
David rolled up onto one elbow. “Other powers? The man is a Fey-blood?” The tension exploded into irritation and frustration.
“Didn’t you know?”
“How the hell should I have known that? I never saw him except with your brother and I thought . . . Shit all!” Now the quiet was anything but comfortable as David’s expression hardened. “Let’s examine this,” David mused aloud. “Corey wants a wife, but instead of buying himself entree into respectability with some aristocratic daughter whose family’s on their knees in debt to him, he chooses a dowerless, friendless nobody with the power to journey into death.”
“I would be insulted by that remark if my intended groom were anyone other than Corey.”
He grimaced. “The delivery was faulty, but the question remains. Why does he want you so badly that he sends his network of carriers all over England to drag you back?”
“You think it’s because I’m a necromancer?”
“It makes sense.”
“But I was already working for him—or as good as.”
“But you weren’t completely under his control. What if you wed another? Or left for your aunt’s? There was always a risk.”
“A slim one, as you’ve just pointed out. What man in his right mind would want me with nothing but the clothes I stand up in? ”
The trees outside scraped and creaked, an owl called. David continued to watch her, his gaze as potent as a touch against her cheeks, her lips, her throat. “I can think of one.”
“Sam?”
A pause. A breath. “That’s right. Sam.”
Why did she have the feeling a moment had passed her by? That something precious had slipped away to be lost forever?
He lay back down, his mouth kissably close, his eyes like new steel, burning almost silver in the darkness. Tiny shocks ran up her nerves to slam against her heart. She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from reaching for him. She licked her lips, afraid to breathe lest she surrender to the impulses firing like fireworks.
David chuckled quietly and she gasped, terrified he had somehow read the thoughts quickening her blood.
“Would you believe that a week ago, I was at a dinner with the Duke of Melksham, Lord and Lady Braunton,
