Spellmaker

She twiddled her thumbs, uneasy. What if one of the family stopped by? What would she say? It was obvious she had told Bacchus about the spell. Surely they’d never want to see her again. Perhaps she should start walking home. Let the carriage catch up, or see if she could find a cab farther into the city. It was raining—pouring, really—but a cold wouldn’t kill her, now would it?

Embarrassment might.

She was just about to rise from the bench when she heard the heavy clamor of hooves outside. A moment later, a man in a very wet driver’s uniform burst in. “Miss Camden? I’m ready for you.”

She nodded and followed him out. A heavy black carriage awaited her, pulled by four horses. An awful lot for a single person, but she wasn’t about to complain—it had a roof. Holding her hands over her head as though they could protect her from the downpour, Elsie hurried to it, grateful for the driver’s assistance as he opened the door. He was so swift he nearly closed it on her skirt.

Leaning back on the bench, she blew a damp curl from her face. What would happen now? Surely Bacchus wouldn’t continue to stay with the duke and duchess. Would he want to return to Barbados? And if so, what would it mean for their plans? She didn’t truly think he would leave her to the magistrate—to the jailers—but her hand moved to her neck at the thought of hanging. Emmeline’s pearls offered a sliver of comfort.

The carriage rocked as the driver took his seat, but before the horses could pull forward, her door ripped open, shooting a cold, wet gust her way. To her surprise, Bacchus stepped in and sat across from her, slamming the door shut behind him. The carriage dipped once more as someone secured a trunk to its back.

“I’m coming with you,” Bacchus announced, and banged his fist on the carriage roof.

CHAPTER 10

“We’re making a detour,” he added as the carriage pulled down the drive. Elsie glanced out the window at the darkening estate, but didn’t see any of the family.

“Detour?” she asked.

“Master Hill once offered me a room in her home,” he explained, pulling the tie from his hair and leaning back against the wall behind him. “I’m going to accept it.”

“At this hour?”

Bacchus didn’t reply.

Elsie worried her hands. Hadn’t she brought gloves with her? Had she left them inside? “Will . . . Will the duke be all right with you taking his carriage?”

Folding his arms, he answered, “He won’t stop me.”

She swallowed. “And . . . your men?” John and . . . Rainer, wasn’t it?

“They have instructions to follow.”

She turned the ring around on her finger. “I’m sorry, Bacchus. I was hoping it was something else.”

Bacchus relaxed into his bench. “I was as well. But I was prepared for it not to be.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out two lace gloves, folding them in half before handing them to Elsie. “I believe these are yours.”

Her lips parted as she took them, their fingers just brushing. Such a simple, silly thing, but it got her pulse hurrying along well enough. “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” She set them on her lap.

They rode for some time in silence, heading into London. Elsie glanced outside, seeing nothing beyond the rain pelting the window. “How much of that trunk did you pack?”

“About half.”

“Leave it to a man to be able to throw his things together and travel on a whim.” She folded her hands in her lap. “It’s much more difficult for a woman, you know.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “I’m sure there will be many wrinkles in my clothing come morning.” He’d slipped into his Bajan accent, and she was glad for it.

“You fill out your clothes well enough that I don’t think it would matter.” Her ears heated at her own comment. She picked at the handle of her reticule. “What now?”

He rubbed the half beard around his mouth. “I’ll lean on Master Hill’s hospitality until I can find a reasonable house in the city. I intend to join the atheneum as a free agent.”

Her stomach tightened. “Even with the . . . revelation about Master Phillips?”

“He will have the last say, regardless of his past deeds.”

A flicker of hope lit her. “You’re staying in London?”

“Until we decide to sail to Barbados. I have lands there, Elsie, but forwarding profits will be complicated. It would be more sound for us to have a steady income here.”

Us. God help her. “I’m tethering you here,” she whispered. “To a city you hate, with a duke who’s used you, under a hateful employer, to a place without any laceleaf.”

He lowered his hand. “I don’t hate England. I’ve spent a good deal of my life here. The laceleaf was merely a suggestion.”

“But you prefer Barbados,” she pressed.

Frowning, he nodded.

Elbows on her knees, Elsie sunk her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry, Bacchus. This is all my fault. I’ve ruined your relationship with the duke. I’ve forced you into this marriage. I’ve taken you away from your home.”

“Elsie—”