Waiting For The Moon Part 31

"Yes."

"Then you should change your life now."

"I have changed it."

"How?"

He drew her close. "I've spent four days in bed with a woman I love."

She gave him a broad smile. "That is not what I mean. The dictionary defines change as transformation, alteration."

"I don't-"

"What is your dream?"

"Dream?" Like an idiot, he parroted the word. He shrugged. "I don't know, loving you until I die?"

"Silly. That is not a dream, that is a ... fact." She gazed up at him, very seriously. "I shall expect more of you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I shall expect you to be more than a keeper here. You are a doctor. You could do much good in the world."

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"But my hands-"

She waved airily. "Do not be so selfish. I am braindamaged, Johann is dying of syphilis, Andrew is battling great demons of memory, and Maeve fights for a clear thought every day of her life. What are hands that know too much? You will learn to stop seeing the images."

"It's not that easy. The visions-"

"It is no different than ignoring Maeve when she is directly in front of you, and you have done that for years. It is no different than ignoring mealtime conversation to hear only one voice. It is a skill which you must teach yourself."

He started to argue, then stopped. What if it was possible? What if he could learn to tune out extraneous images as easily as he tuned out unwanted noise?

He could be a doctor again; if not a surgeon, then an alienist. As an alienist, he could use his curse to actually help people, so see the truth in their minds.

Good G.o.d, he could start over, could be a better man.

Selena stared up at him. A slow smile crept across her face, gave her eyes a sparkling light. "This is the change I was spouting of. Speaking of."

"I could be a doctor again."

"Now you speak with the voice of a dream. But your dream is too small."

He grinned. "Nothing on me is too small."

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. When she did, she smiled broadly. "I am not speaking of that-as you well know. I mean that there is more to your life than medicine. You need to be more than a doctor."

He breezed a finger down her naked belly. "I'm trying my d.a.m.nedest to be a father. If you'd stop talking,

we could try again."

She laughed. "Do not try to tell me that lie again about babies in bodies. I shall not believe it. Besides, you could practice to be a father right now."

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"I think it's too late for me to be your father."

Her voice softened. "Lara needs a father most desperately."

He felt an unexpected pain at the words. "So did I. Life isn't always so fair, G.o.ddess."

She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. "Your voice is ugly and angry. Try again."

Looking down at her, into her beautiful, liquid eyes, he felt the bitterness fade. Love rushed in to take its place. "My father died when I was ten," he said softly.

"You must have missed him very much."

He said what was in his heart, the first time he could ever remember doing such a thing. "Every day of my life."

"Do you not think Lara feels this loss?"

He sighed. "I'm sure she does, but what-"

"Ease her pain."

"But-"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Do not begin a sentence with this word. It is the beginning of no. I shall not accept a no."

He stared at her, lost himself in the dark pools of her eyes. As always, she was asking the best of him, the most honorable, most honest, course of action.

So simple, Ian.

Slowly he felt himself begin to smile. "I suppose I could try with the kid. ..."

"Yes," she whispered.

At her quiet voice, so filled with love and certainty and honesty, he began to understand what it truly meant to love someone. Magic, he thought again, drawing her close for a kiss. "I love you," he murmured against her lips, tasting the sweet nectar of peaches.

She slipped on top of him and smiled down at him, her hair a reddish brown curtain that framed her face and tickled his arms. "Now I should like to have s.e.x again," she said in a throaty whisper that sent a shiver rippling down his spine.

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"Oh, really?" He ran a hand along the naked curve of her back and cupped her f.a.n.n.y. "I can see I'll have to teach you how to talk like a lady."

"I know this already, Ian." She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled. "Please may I have more s.e.x?"

He laughed. G.o.d, it felt good to be here, with her, to lie in bed with the woman of his dreams, with shadows and candlelight stacked around them, the sweet smell of peaches and s.e.x in the air, and to dream. So good to dream.

"Do ye think they're all right in there?" Edith hissed, cupping her mouth with a fleshy hand.

Johann laughed softly. "Probably a d.a.m.n sight better than any of us are."

Andrew frowned, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on the closed door. "I don't think so. They haven't been out in days."

Lara started to cry. "I miss Selena."

The queen snorted. "That much screwin' couldn't be good for a body."

There was a moment of prolonged silence as they all stared at the door. This was the fourth time in as many days that they'd gathered outside Ian's bedroom door. They'd waited breathlessly for the first day, each one of them excited beyond measure to see what would be changed when Selena and Ian finally emerged from the room. On the second day, their excitement had lost its shiny glow. The first concern had been voiced. And now, by day four, only Johann remained calm.

Queen Victoria had voted three times to burn down the door.

Andrew wanted to knock.

Edith brought a gla.s.s to sharpen her eavesdropping.

And Maeve hadn't noticed until yesterday that either Selena or her son was missing.

But she noticed now, and she was determined to find out what had happened.

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She pushed through the crowd and strode up to the door. "Enough is enough." Lifting a pale fist, she rapped hard on the door.

There was a shouted curse from inside, then a giggle, then a loud crash.

Maeve wrenched open the door and went inside. Everyone squeezed in behind her.

They found Ian stark naked, lying on the floor, laughing. Selena, also naked, was sprawled on top of him.

Peaches and apples were scattered across the hardwood floor. A dozen candles had burned down to the nub. Hazy tails of smoke wafted along the ceiling, clung to the corners.

Selena snapped to sit up on Ian's lap and waved brightly. "h.e.l.lo!"

Ian s.n.a.t.c.hed up a wrinkled bit of sheet and plastered it to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

She giggled. "Oh, yes. I forgot that I should not show my b.r.e.a.s.t.s to Andrew. Please to forgive me."

There was absolute, utter silence.

Then, softly, Johann started to laugh. The queen was the first to join in, then Edith.

Maeve took a step forward. She was not laughing. "I presume we'll be having a wedding now."

Selena straightened. "Truly? How exciting." She frowned suddenly. "What is a wedding?"

Maeve's face was uncharacteristically hard. "It's what two people do before they get into bed together."

Selena laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the room. "Then it is too late."

"Ian," Maeve said, "I'll expect to see you in the parlor in ten minutes." She snapped her chin up and sailed out of the bedroom, forcing the gawking crowd to follow.

The door slammed shut behind her.

And then, very quietly, Maeve started to laugh.

Ian couldn't believe what he was doing. He was dressed now-d.a.m.n it, anyway-and heading down the 259.

dark, shadowy corridor to the parlor, where his mother waited for him, presumably to lecture him on morality. His mother.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the bright, sunlit foyer. The light hurt his eyes, reminded him once again that he was emerging from his love nest and returning to the world.

The parlor door was closed. He knocked sharply, heard his mother's m.u.f.fled "come in," and went inside.

Maeve stood alongside the fireplace. She stood tall and straight, her hair hastily bound into a topknot that hung precariously above her left ear, her hands plunged into the pockets of her pale green cashmere wrapper.

Something was different about her, though he couldn't name it.

One reddish eyebrow slowly rose. "So you can still walk. I would consider that a triumph."

He realized suddenly what was different about her. There was no fear in her gaze, no nervous stroking of her ribbon, no awkwardness in facing him. She looked lucid and sure of herself. In control.

He was proud of her. "You look good, Mother."

A tiny smile tugged one side of her mouth. "Really?" She patted her hair, felt the tumbledown chignon and frowned.

Without thinking, he went to her, eased the knot of hair back to the center of her head, and reanch.o.r.ed it with a few hairpins. Images swirled through his mind as he touched her ear, her temple. She was thinking of his father, and how he'd once fixed her hair in this very parlor. Before a ball, no, after a supper He tried to control the images, and found that if he concentrated, they blurred, became an inconsequential smear of color and sound. No more irritating than a mosquito droning by one's ear.

He drew his hands back and stared down at his mother. There was a strange look on her face, and he

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realized that she'd been stunned by the familiarity of his gesture. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome."