seed is life, and a woman’s function is simply to house and birth it! Mark my words—too much reading despoils the brain, especially that of a female.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
A small silence fell, and she could almost see the coin flipping into the air again. “I carry this with me to remind myself that the cunts and minds of women are untrustworthy.”
Not wishing to hear more, she retreated upstairs where she enjoined the servants to assist her in freshening the guest room. Under her supervision, linens were hung and water poured in the basins. Seeing to the familiar tasks calmed her mind and kept it from wandering to more disturbing venues of thought.
Their visitor had brought no belongings because his sojourn here had apparently been unplanned. Therefore she supplied shaving equipment, soap, and tooth powder. She’d have the servants see to his clothing if he wished such assistance in the morning.
On the way to her own room, she shifted the damask curtain aside at the western window along the corridor and studied the deepening shadows. By her estimate, a full moon would rise in half an hour.
Carlo wouldn’t be long.
Her fingers trembled on the drape, and she caught them in her other hand to still them. There was no need to be afraid, she reminded herself as she strode on to her bedchamber. He might not care whether or not he hurt her, but he wouldn’t chance injuring the precious heir she incubated.
In her room, a maid awaited, who helped remove her gown and unbind and brush out her hair. Then she was left to her ablutions in solitude, for the “day servants” departed the estate upon sunset, as was the custom at all Satyr domiciles.
Upon their leave-taking, other far more unusual “night servants” would appear to roam the house at will. Distantly related to a clan of the ancients in Else World, these innocuous, servile beings hid away during the day and always kept to themselves at Moonful. On other nights, their time would be spent tirelessly polishing floors, mucking stables, and assuming other unpleasant chores, thus generally making life easier for everyone.
Once she was ready, Emma went through the door that adjoined her bedchamber to Carlo’s. There she scurried about, making preparations for his impending visit. Lighting candles, pouring a dish of oil that had been scented with lavender, vanilla, and sandalwood—fragrances said to contain calming properties—and filling five basins, three with cleansing herbs and two with clear rinse water.
And lastly she set a container of cream upon the bedside table. It was a new jar, for she’d dashed last month’s against the wall in a fit of temper after Carlo had left her. She glanced across the room. The stain was still there on the wallpaper, a constant reminder of that awful night.
In search of solace while she waited, she went to her room to retrieve the book of poetry she’d been reading earlier that day. Returning to Carlo’s chamber, she sat at his dressing table positioned just inside the door to the hall. Then she opened the slender volume to the pressed-violet bookmark Jane had made for her.
Concentrating her thoughts on a page, she Willed it to turn. After several reluctant seconds, it obediently lifted to stand at an angle perpendicular to the book’s spine, as if being held there by her fingers instead of her Will.
Scowling, she tried to frighten it into turning. It shuddered as though making the attempt, but then it seemed to give up and only fell back into its original position to rejoin the others like it.
It was a carnival trick. One of the very few she could perform. Compared to the extraordinary abilities of the other members of her family, it fell as flat as the page itself.
When she’d first come here, Lyon had tried to help her increase her talents, but to no avail, and they’d long since given up their extrasensory lessons. Still she occasionally practiced this single trick in secret, always hoping.
Would this minor talent pass from her to her son or daughter? As though to indicate its hopes in that direction, her child chose that moment to kick. Her hand curved atop her belly, and a maternal smile curved her lips.
“Soon,” she whispered gently.
Carlo was wrong to think she hadn’t desired children. She had. Someday. But she’d chosen her husband too rashly and had been uncertain of him almost from the beginning. When last they were together, he’d proven himself dishonorable by the way in which he’d sired his progeny.
Nevertheless she would love this child they’d created. And she would willingly sacrifice herself in his bed over the next eight hours to bring about its birth.
By morning, she would be a mother. A sweet joy filled her at the prospect, but concern over her husband’s mood tamped it down again.
After he departed for Else World tomorrow morning, she would announce her own travel plans to the rest of the family. Within the month, she would take her child and leave the estate.
Footfalls sounded on the carpet out in the corridor. Boots.
Carlo.
5
A subtle whoosh of air fluttered the hem of Emma’s nightclothes as the bedchamber door swung open behind her.
Quickly standing, she slipped her robe from her shoulders, letting it drop to the footstool’s needlepoint cushion. She left her nightgown in place, though it, too, would no doubt fall by the wayside sometime in the hours of darkness ahead. It was new and fragile, stitched by a maker of specialty lingerie in Paris.
Would her husband ruin it as he had the one she’d worn a month ago?
Drawing a fortifying breath, she turned toward the door, planning to start matters off on a pleasant footing and hope they didn’t deteriorate. “I trust you will be kind for the sake of our child?”
Her determined smile wobbled and withered when she saw her husband was not alone. Two men stood blocking the doorway, both tall and massive. And the larger of them was Dominic.
The shock of encountering those predatory eyes hadn’t diminished since she’d first noticed him standing outside on the porch. What was he doing here?
Stunned, she sought her robe. It sprang from the stool to her fingers without her having to bend to it, but she was too rattled to mark this.
“Please, Carlo! I’m not properly dressed,” she protested, clasping it to her chest. Belatedly realizing her backside would still be visible to the men through her translucent gown in the looking glass behind her, she shifted a few feet away from the dressing table so her back was to the wall.
“It was my understanding that you were wholly Human,” Dominic said, frowning at the robe she’d Willed to lift.
“Both of her parents were,” said Carlo, speaking for her. “And she is as well, but she has these confounding bursts of magic. Nicholas has posited that her Human mother retained some residual enchantment due to King Feydon’s mating of her—the mating that produced Jane—and that a bit of this supernatural ability was in turn passed on to Emma.”
“What does that matter at the moment?” she asked. “Again, I must strongly object to your joint visit. If you have more business to discuss, I ask that you adjourn to Signore Janus’s bedchamber. Which is on the west side of the house,” she added pointedly.
