“I guess so,” he whispered, lifting a hand to brush at the soft, wild tendrils of spun gold that curled around her face. She was so lovely, and he loved her so much, the thought of leaving her was like cutting out his own heart.
“I do need you in my life, Bryan,” she said, leaning closer. “I need you more than all the gold in California. Please don’t leave me.”
As he stared down at her, his blue eyes misty, there was a strange scraping noise in the hall. It sounded suspiciously like heavy furniture being pushed across the floor. Rachel’s eyes rounded as something bumped against the closed door. She snuggled closer to Bryan, her arms sneaking around his lean waist.
“What was that?” she asked weakly.
Bryan smiled and shook his head. “Just someone trying to make sure I don’t leave you.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, giving in to the powerful longing. “I don’t have any intention of leaving you for the next hundred years or so.”
Rachel’s spirits soared. “You mean that?”
“I do.”
“What about Hungary and Mr. Huntinglodge?”
“Neither one of them is as important to me as you are. Will you marry me, Rachel?” he asked softly.
“I will,” she whispered, tilting her face up to meet his kiss.
His lips were warm and solid against hers, masculine and welcoming, and trembling just enough to bring a lump to her throat. She melted into his arms, never questioning the sensation of coming home. This was where she belonged. This was where she was safe and warm. This was where she wanted to spend the rest of her days-in the arms of a man who brought magic to her life, who lightened every darkness and put a rainbow in her heart.
“I say, good show.”
Rachel bolted in Bryan’s arms, but he held her fast. He raised his head to shoot the intruder a meaningful look. “No show. Beat it, Wimsey.”
“Wimsey?” Rachel asked, goose bumps pebbling her flesh to the texture of sandpaper.
Bryan nodded, tilting his head in the direction of the mirror that hung above the old dresser. Rachel turned and looked. Her mouth dropped open so hard, it was a wonder it didn’t put a dent in her chest.
There he stood-the figment of her mother’s imagination, the whimsy Bryan had refused to give up on, the ghost she didn’t believe in. His image was slightly translucent. He was handsome and smiling, decked out in formal attire. And he was holding a rose.
Her heart skipped a beat as her gaze fastened on the perfect white bud of the flower. Then her eyes went to the eyes of the man who held it. Wimsey nodded in answer to the questions she couldn’t quite force into words. It had been Wimsey all along.
Now he held the rose out toward her. Rachel turned away from the mirror, twisting in Bryan’s arms to face the apparition that stood by the armoire.
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the flower by the stem.
“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured in return, his pale eyes shining as he handed her the rose.
Then, in a flash of brilliant white light, he was gone.
“Where did he go?” Rachel asked, never once questioning that he had been there.
“Where he belongs,” Bryan said with a soft smile. “Where he belongs.”
“Then we’re alone?”
He nodded.
With a beguiling smile, she wound her arms around his neck. “It seems like now might be a good time for you to start teaching me all about magic.”
“Hmm, yes,” Bryan agreed, his eyes twinkling as he pulled her with him to the bed. They tumbled across the coverlet, laughing and breathless, Rachel’s hair spilling around them like moonlight.
Bryan kissed her cheeks and her eyelids and the corners of her mouth.
“Why don’t we start with making the earth move?” he suggested. “That’s a trick you seem to have a natural aptitude for.”
Rachel grinned and hugged him, loving him with every fiber of her being. He might have been slightly crazy, and he might have been something of a puzzle, but he was all hers, and he would fill her heart with magic every day of her life.
She threaded her fingers through his tawny hair and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss that left him with only one reverent word to say.
“Abracadabra.”
Tami Hoag
