Spellmaker

Leaning forward, Bacchus set his elbows on his knees. “Perhaps she wasn’t. The duke has an opus. Passed down from . . . his great uncle, I believe. A temporal one, in a locked glass case in the library. If Merton was collecting opuses to strengthen her hand, that might have been her target.”

Elsie nodded. “She must have seen it when she was visiting with Miss Ida.”

“Perhaps. All opuses are documented by the atheneums; she might have viewed the records there. We may never know for sure.”

She rolled her lips together, trying to imagine an alternate history to the one that had played out. Would she still be a pawn beneath Merton’s thumb if Bacchus hadn’t stopped her that day? She shivered at the thought.

“I’m glad you caught me.” She studied a vase on a nearby table, so she didn’t see his reaction. “Even more so that you let me barter my way out.”

He snorted, drawing Elsie’s eyes back. “You were certainly unexpected. And wily.”

She smiled at him.

He waited a beat before carefully saying, “The other option for your spellbreaking predicament is leaving.”

Elsie glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we could hire a spellbreaking tutor in Barbados. Fudge the timeline. Wait a few years for your certification. Skip the rudimentary stuff.”

Elsie blinked. Barbados. She’d never been anywhere tropical. What would it be like to live there?

What would it be like for Bacchus to have her live there? With him? In truth, she’d never considered it. She’d never allowed herself the fancy of marrying Bacchus before the whole jail conundrum unfolded; she’d been sure he’d sail off without her and that would be that. And now . . . now she was so concerned about their ruse and about the possibility that he might hate her for it that she hadn’t considered anything beyond the marriage ceremony.

“We couldn’t.” She turned away. “Not while Merton is still at large.”

He nodded.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, a sudden headache starting there. Now she was keeping him from his home, too. “Bacchus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

But the door opened just then, revealing the butler. “If Miss Camden is ready, the duchess would like to meet with her.”

Elsie threw an apologetic look to Bacchus. One she hoped read, I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I’m so sorry I’m a burden. I’m so sorry you’re stuck with me.

But Bacchus said, “She is,” and took Elsie’s hand in his. Her stomach warmed in response. “I’ll see you when you’re done.”

He kissed the back of her hand, the press of his lips sending sparks like a fire spell up her arm. Her voice got lost somewhere between her throat and her tongue, so she simply nodded and allowed the butler to see her out, her hand pulling too slowly from Bacchus’s.

Once in the hallway, she checked the back of her hand for a spell; she could swear she felt something powerful pulsing against her skin, but there was nothing. She rubbed it, hoping to diffuse the aching that had begun just over her breastbone, but it was no use.

The duchess greeted her kindly and had her sit on a plush settee, an assortment of menus scattered across the table before them. “I wanted to secure everything and have the dinner right away, since I understand you two are in a hurry.” She winked. “No cousins this time.”

Voice still caught, Elsie nodded yet again.

“Oh, my dear”—the duchess reached toward her—“has something happened to your hand?”

Realizing she still clutched the appendage, Elsie dropped both hands to her lap. “No, nothing.” She flushed. “Nothing at all.”

The duchess had not been fibbing when she’d said she wanted to move things along, for the weekend following Elsie’s training with the spellbreaker, Bacchus and Elsie’s engagement dinner was served.

Or it would be shortly.

Bacchus found himself walking the grounds of Seven Oaks, around and around the mansion, his hands clasped behind his back, or fidgeting with his waistcoat, or combing through and rebinding his hair. The last few weeks had gone by in a blur, and he was still trying to orient himself. Plan. Make the road ahead as straight and easy as possible.

He had made the offer to take Elsie to Barbados, but she wouldn’t be able to give him an answer until Merton was taken care of. He knew that women raised in English households and English weather might not take to the sunny, humid climate, especially when wearing English fashions. But he hoped Elsie would succumb to the beauty of the island as he had. Would the island grow in her heart the way it had in his? Would she be willing to take off her shoes and walk its beaches, or watch the sun set over an endless sea?