Touch of Passion by Susan Spencer Paul

thick, waxy seal, and willed Loris to come to him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. Her image came clearly into his mind’s eye, happy, smiling, jesting with someone nearby.
    Loris had been a beautiful girl and had grown into an even more beautiful woman. She was taller than most of the females Kian had known, slender and regal in her bearing. Her thick, curling hair had grown so long that, unbound, it fell like a shining dark gold waterfall to her hips. Her face could, without prejudice, only be called beautiful. Not pretty or comely or lovely, but strikingly beautiful. Her features were in perfect proportion to one another, neither too large nor too small, save perhaps for her cinnamon-colored eyes, which were prominently set beneath delicately arching eyebrows.
    She was in the great hall, putting flowers on one of the tables, directing some of the servants in the placement of cups and bowls and plates. Kian could feel her contentment and pleasure as if it were his own and knew that familiar stab of pain at the knowledge that she seldom felt such things when he was near.
    Kian had no idea how long Loris would have to remain in London. Weeks, perhaps even months, might pass beforethey would see each other again. It would be an awful time. He wasn’t quite sure how he would survive such a separation.
    â€œCome to me,” he whispered softly. “Come, my
unoliaeth
.”
    She would come, whether she wished to or not, whether she thought it was her own idea or not, because even the curse couldn’t change what they were to each other. She had the power to call him to her side as well, though when she did he always came to her as Liw.
    He could see her straightening. The flowers were set aside, and she said something to one of the nearest servants. Wiping her hands on her apron and running her hands over her loosely bound hair, Loris turned and walked out of the great hall. She was coming.
    Loris hesitated before knocking lightly on the study door. It still seemed strange not to see Ffinian in the room but to walk in and see Kian sitting behind the desk that had fit his father so well.
    But Kian wasn’t sitting there now. He was standing by the window, gazing out at the view beyond. She saw the letter in his hand even before she spoke.
    â€œI’m sorry if this isn’t a good time,” she said. “I’ve come about my letter.”
    He turned to her, and Loris was struck by how terribly tired he was. His handsome face was drawn and pale, and his blue eyes were heavy with weariness.
    â€œWhen did you last sleep?” she asked, and quickly wished that she hadn’t. She’d learned long ago that it never did any good to worry about Kian. He would only mock her for being concerned.
    But, to her surprise, he simply replied, “I can’t remember,” and held the letter out to her.
    And that made her even more concerned. If Kian didn’t have the energy to say something tart and unpleasant, then he was clearly far more exhausted than she’d realized.
    She moved closer and took the letter, but continued to look up into his face.
    â€œWhy don’t you lie down for a few hours? There’s enough time before night falls and I can prepare a tray for your room so that you needn’t rise for the evening meal.”
    A certain look came into his eye and he tilted his head slightly. “Are you worried for me,
darling
Loris?” he asked, sarcastically emphasizing one of the endearments that his father had called her by. “How sweet, and how very odd. Perhaps you’re sickening with something that’s made you lose your senses.”
    The familiar anger that rose up in her when she was with him finally came to life, and out of habit Loris tensed, straightening full-height. If she had been cursed to dislike him, which she still doubted was true, then he had been cursed as well—to make her feel that way. No one else could aggravate her so quickly and