The League of Illusion: Prophecy Page 4

  She turned to regard Percy. Rhys could see the pleasure in her eyes. “A ball?”

  “Yes, a rather large one, I’m afraid. We hold it every year.”

  Rhys glared at his so-called friend, wondering what he was up to.

  “No I must be on my way. The city does not agree with me.” She eyed Rhys coldly when she spoke.

  “I insist. You must attend.”

  Corina glanced down at her dress, which was plain and a little dirty, not to mention damp. “I brought no proper clothing with me. Certainly not any that would suit a lavish ball.”

  “Rhys will take you shopping.”

  “I will?” Rhys gaped at him.

  “Yes, you will. I think it’s a fair trade. Miss Stratton has traveled quite a long way to deliver this map to you. A map, I point out, that you were in desperate need of.”

  Rhys sighed. He was ill equipped to deal with this type of matter. She’d done her duty, he supposed it was only fitting that he do his. If only Skylar were here, or Jovan for that matter. He turned to Corina. “Lord Effington is quite right. It would be my honor to take you to buy a dress and to accompany you to the ball this evening.”

  “That’s a kind offer, but I don’t have a room to spend the night in afterward.”

  Cringing about what he was going to say, he cleared his throat. “You can stay here for the night. We have plenty of empty rooms. You once offered me a room in your home and I wish to return the favor.”

  She glanced at Percy then at Rhys, holding his gaze. Her lips lifted into a small smile. “I accept.”

  Her face instantly lit up with a smile that transformed her. She was beautiful in that moment, and it made Rhys very uncomfortable. There was an attraction there he had not expected. He had to avert his gaze.

  “Excellent, my dear. I will introduce you to all of London’s lords and ladies. You’ll have a night you will never forget.” Percy clapped his hands. “Now Rhys, I’m sure there’s something you can do to dry this poor creature off. She can’t go out like this.”

  Sighing, Rhys flexed his fingers. He knew a spell that could produce heat and wind. It was the one magic he’d mastered as a boy because of the multitude of times he’d been pushed into the creek that ran through the Davenport estate. It was a good spell to know if a boy wanted to hide his play activities when he’d been expected to be at his lessons instead.

  He rubbed his hands together and concentrated on the air inside the room. He could manipulate the particles floating around and slam them together hard to create the energy he desired. Within seconds a wind started to swirl around Corina. The heat in the room spiked. Her eyes widened as the magical breeze spun around her, lifting the ends of her hair and flapping at her dress. She smiled then laughed as two minutes later she was completely dry.

  If she insisted on smiling all day as he took her around town, it was going to be rather unpleasant for him. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the offer to escort her, although he hadn’t really. It was Percy’s little game. It would’ve been easier to just allow her to go home where she belonged.

  Half an hour later, the Davenport carriage rumbled down Baker Street. Although Rhys would have preferred to drive the carriage himself, it would’ve been rude not to accompany Corina inside the cab. Before she died, his mother had taught him many things, and manners had always been particularly high on her list of attributes to instill in her three sons. Despite that, it proved difficult to be at Corina’s side, making polite small talk about London and the weather. The psychic gave off a strange energy and it took everything he had not to recoil from it. It wasn’t that it felt terrible on his skin—it was the exact opposite and that unnerved him more.

  “Do you often take women out to dress shop?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the ladies you court?”

  “I’m not courting any ladies.”

  That seemed to appease her for a moment and she looked out the window as they crossed London Bridge. Then she glanced back at him. “Why aren’t you married? You’re of an age.”

  His brow lifted. “I could say the same of you, but haven’t because I don’t wish to be rude.”

  She started to laugh and shook her head at him.

  “Did I say something amusing?”

  Instead of answering, she continued to laugh until the carriage pulled to a stop. She chuckled even as the driver pulled down the step and helped her out.

  Once on the sidewalk, she seemed to have composed herself, and she smoothed a hand self-consciously over her long plaited hair as well-to-do ladies passed them by with sour looks.

  “I suppose I’m not dressed properly enough to even go shopping.”

  Despite all her bravado, Rhys heard the sting of pride in her voice. He understood it. Despite their money, the Davenports weren’t always looked upon in great favor. Although most of polite society didn’t know they were sorcerers, they were still treated as outcasts most of the time. Not to their faces, mind—it was always whispered behind gloved hands.

  His younger brother Jovan had seen to that with his clandestine activities as a thief. He’d managed to get away with it for years until the night Rhys had caught him trying to steal from his then fiancé Patricia. Luckily, the girl and her family had quietly called off the engagement and kept Jovan’s illegal activities out of the hands of the authorities. But the rumors had persisted regardless.

  Rhys had hated Jovan for a very long time for that and other things, but they were slowly and carefully trying to work it out. They’d at least taken the first steps to being brothers again, back in Stonehenge when they’d tried to open the first portal.

  That was where they’d met Corina. She’d bothered him on some level then, did now even, but it wasn’t the way she dressed or looked. That didn’t bother him at all. It was definitely something deeper.

  “You look more than suitable.” Rhys offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Hesitating, she searched his face. After a moment, she nodded and slid her hand around his arm. He led her to a small store called Marie’s Dress Shop. The little bell over the door chimed, announcing their arrival.

  A plump woman with a messy sweep of gray hair paused in her pinning and smiled at them despite a mouth full of pins. She scooped them from between her lips and set them on a tray on the table.

  “Mr. Davenport, is that really you?” She grabbed his hands in hers.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Chattoway.”

  “Oh my, I haven’t seen you in years.”

  He pulled his hands away. “Yes, it has been some time.”

  “You were barely a man last time you were in this shop.”

  It was true. Rhys had just turned seventeen and had accompanied his mother into the shop as he often did. He’d enjoyed his mother’s company. She’d been a sharp-witted, intelligent woman who loved to laugh. Their visits to Mrs. Chattoway’s dress shop had been a regular routine for them. It gave him a chance to spend time with his mother and to learn new things, as the dress shop owner had another vocation as a tinker. She’d often regale him with stories about airships and pirates and how she made all their gadgets. Sometimes she would show him her new inventions. His mother had been Mrs. Chattoway’s closest friend. She’d died shortly after their last visit.

  Corina glanced curiously at him. Her lips twitched, threatening to turn into a grin.

  Mrs. Chattoway turned her gaze onto Corina and beamed. “And who is this lovely creature?”

  “Cori
na Stratton,” she answered before Rhys could introduce her.

  The woman grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the trinity of mirrors in the dressing corner. “Oh, I know the perfect color for your dreamy complexion, my dear.” She positioned Corina before the mirrors, placed her hands on her small waist and turned her this way and that. “You’re a little thing, aren’t you? Small waist, ample bosom, though, good hips.” Mrs. Chattoway glanced at Rhys in the mirror. “This is for a special occasion, I assume? A wedding perhaps?”

  Rhys hacked violently, nearly choking on his own spittle. “Hell, no.”

  Corina scowled.

  Mrs. Chattoway tsked him. “Mr. Davenport. Language.”

  He coughed again, embarrassment making his face hot. “Er, I just meant, no, there is no wedding. It’s for Lord Effington’s summer ball.”

  “Oh well, with your younger brother’s engagement and all, I just thought...”

  “No, er, I mean yes, Jovan is engaged to be married but no wedding date has been set.”

  “Mr. Davenport’s to marry Miss Vanguard?” Corina asked, her eyes bright. “How lovely. They are a well-suited couple, to be sure. I rather like them.”

  Mrs. Chattoway chuckled, as she patted Corina’s cheek. “I’ve got the perfect dress for you, my dear. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the back room, leaving Rhys and Corina to eye each other in the mirrors.

  “Will Mr. Davenport and Miss Vanguard be at the ball this evening?”

  “No, they’re out of the city following another lead into Sebastian’s whereabouts.”

  “That explains it then.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you had trouble with the map.”

  Rhys scoffed. “I didn’t have trouble. It’s not my fault that the bloody thing was missing a piece.”

  “Mr. Davenport, your language,” Mrs. Chattoway chided as she swept out of the back with what seemed like yards of blue and white fabric.

  “My apologies, madam.” He fussed at his cravat, not wanting to meet the old woman’s mothering gaze. It made him miss his own mother. There weren’t too many times now that he sensed her loss, but being in this dress shop with Corina and Mrs. Chattoway twisted his heart a little. He was certain Corina would be surprised he even possessed one by the way she looked at him with such disdain.

  Mrs. Chattoway held the dress up to Corina’s chin. “Oh, I was right. This color will be so lovely on you. Try it on dear.”

  Taking the dress, Corina went into the back room to change. When she was gone, Mrs. Chattoway sidled up next to him as if they were to conspire to overthrow the throne. “Your girl is absolutely lovely.”

  “Oh no, no, she isn’t mine.”

  “Why not? She’s pretty. Has some fire, I suspect. She reminds me a bit of your mother.”

  “She is certainly not like my mother.”

  Mrs. Chattoway carried on as if she didn’t hear his protestation. “And you should be married by now.”

  “She has something surely, but...”

  Mrs. Chattoway tsked at him. “It’s past time you marry, Mr. Davenport. You’re a comely man, virile and—” she elbowed him in the gut and chuckled, “—you need a lively woman in your life.”

  “The last thing I need in my life is more problems, especially not some village psychic...” He trailed off as Corina stepped out from the back room with the blue dress hugging her curves.

  Mrs. Chattoway clapped her hands. “Oh, my dear, you are positively radiant.”

  And she was.

  Rhys swallowed audibly as she swirled in front of the mirrors. It must have been a trick of the sunlight that streamed in through the store window and bounced off the glass. It appeared as if she were glowing, like the breaking dawn of a gorgeous new day.

  “Isn’t she beautiful, Mr. Davenport?” Mrs. Chattoway swept up Corina’s hair so her elegant neck was bare.

  He found he could not speak. So he just nodded. Corina smiled and it was a punch in the gut. His clothes were becoming quite uncomfortable. The heat in the shop had peaked by at least ten degrees.

  Rhys pulled at his jacket sleeves and his cravat. “I’ll just wait outside while you box up the dress for Miss Stratton.” He gave a little bow then quickly exited.

  Outside, he leaned against the wall and steadied himself. His heart was racing and his palms were sweaty. He had to be coming down with an illness. Which would be peculiar, because he never got sick. If not that, then what? Surely Corina didn’t affect him that much. An illness would be much more preferable than that.

  Chapter Seven

  Corina paced the bedroom Rhys had offered her, fidgeting with the ring on her finger and staring in horror at the blue dress and corset laid out on the bed. The ball was mere hours away and she needed to get dressed. It was just proving to be a bit difficult. This certainly had not been part of the plan.

  The corset needed lacing but she didn’t have a mother—a corporeal one, anyway—or sister or dressing girl to help her. She’d already tried doing it herself with comical results. She’d nearly popped out her shoulder in the effort. It was still sore when she moved her arm.

  “Ask someone to help you, daft girl.”

  “For the last time, mother, no.” She twisted the ring again. It had been her mother’s and was the reason her spirit was able to travel with her. It was attached to the ring.

  “That dress he bought you, the invitation, are you going to throw away this opportunity because you’re too proud?”

  “Yes, the dress is beautiful. Yes, I want to go to the ball. No, I’m not going to go traipsing through the house looking for the kitchen and ask the cook to lace me up.”

  Corina stopped pacing and ran her fingers over the dress. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever owned. And the corset Mrs. Chattoway had forced on her was exquisite. Silk and satin and lace. It looked expensive and exotic. She owned a corset, of course. All women did. But she’d left it in Salisbury as she preferred to go without. Now she was paying for that folly.

  “Then I’ll go ask Mr. Davenport. Surely he’s gentleman enough to help out a lady even if you don’t act like one.”

  “No mother, don’t you dare.”

  She could feel her mother’s growing agitation. Corina knew if she didn’t do something about this situation, her mother would. She shook her head and sighed. “I will do it.”

  Straightening her shoulders, she ran a hand down the front of her chemise and opened the door. She crossed the hall to the closed door opposite and, taking a deep breath, she knocked.

  “Mr. Davenport, I have need of you.”

  After a few moments, the door opened and whatever Rhys was going to say failed to come out, as he took her in from head to toe. She clenched tight the urge to blush, although she was clad only in her chemise and drawers.

  “Miss Stratton,” he finally said, “what on earth are you doing?”

  “I need help with my...with my, er, corset.” She stared him straight in the eye, warning him not to make a disparaging remark. She was as vulnerable as she could be at the moment.

  His hand came to his throat and he fussed with his jacket lapels. “Um, I see.”

  “I don’t have a ladies’ maid of my own, and you don’t seem to have one on staff, so basically you are my
only hope of dressing decently to attend this ball.” She gave a little curtsy and returned to her room.

  She stood by the bed, her back to the door. She couldn’t bear to be seen watching for him, waiting and wringing her hands like a girl expecting her first gentleman caller. Because she was no girl and he would never bother to call on the likes of her.

  She sensed the moment he stepped into the room. Besides that, he also carried a pleasant woodsy scent about him. Corina picked up the already partially laced corset and pulled it over her head.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I’m to do precisely.”

  “It’s the reverse of uncorseting a lady. I’m sure you’ve done that plenty.”

  “Not that it is any of your business, but I’ve never done that.” He cleared his throat again.

  It was then that she realized he was nervous. That notion made her lips twitch. To think the unflinching Rhys Davenport expressed an emotion other than pompousness.

  “Oh well. You gather the strings at the bottom and start pulling. I’d do it myself but I can’t get it tight enough.”

  At first she thought he’d changed his mind and left the room, but then his fingers brushed against her lower back to take up the two ties and pulled. A jolt of unexpected pleasure rushed up her spine at the contact. She gave a little gasp, surprised by it.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest where her heart beat like a bass drum. “No. No, I’m fine. Keep going.”

  He pulled again and she had to bite down on her lower lip to stop from gasping again. But she wanted to. Inch by inch, the corset hugged her waist tight. With every yank on the ties, the thick material pushed up on her breasts. For one quick moment, she imagined Rhys’s hands molding her waist, cupping her breasts.

  “Stop,” she called out, breathless.

  “Is it too tight?”

  “It’s fine. Could you just tie it off for me, please?”

  When he was finished, she glanced at him over her shoulder. He was staring at her back, flexing his hands. The look on his face made her belly drop.