Spellmaker

“Oh.” She pulled her hands apart, weaved her fingers again. “I didn’t see them this morning.”

“I spoke with them briefly. They’re well.” A shuffling sound followed.

“Bacchus”—she leaned her head on the door—“tell me about Barbados.”

Another pause. “What do you want to know?”

“The things no one else does. I know it’s hot and tropical and full of sugarcane. But what else can you tell me?”

The floor creaked. “The air tastes good.”

A chuckle crept up her throat. “What?”

“It’s a mix of sweet and salt, from the plants and the ocean. Here the air smells like smoke and rain. In Barbados it’s like a delicate dessert. Sweet and savory. Unless you’re too close to the fish market.”

She smiled.

“It’s green. The sugar plantations are green”—a hint of disdain slipped into his voice at that—“but the rest of the island is green as well—what the European settlers didn’t destroy. There are palm trees and thick grasses. They seem to sing when the sun goes down.”

She tried to imagine it. “How do they sing?”

“It’s hard to describe.” Now his tone was wistful. “The insects, the breeze in the blades . . . it’s not something I’ve heard on this side of the ocean.”

“Do you live by the ocean?”

“All of Barbados is by the ocean.” Another creak. “It’s not a large island. But I live in an old plantation house. Jacobean style, if you know it.”

Elsie considered a moment. “The sloping roofs.”

“Indeed.” He sounded pleased.

Elsie adjusted the picture in her mind—a place full of sunshine, green, and ocean, where the air tasted like the first bite of dessert and the night sang. It portrayed a fairy tale. “I would like to see it.” She spoke a little quieter. “That is . . . I would go to Barbados. We don’t have to stay here.”

A few seconds flitted by before he answered. “You have family here, Elsie.”

“I don—” She paused. Reggie. She had just found him, hadn’t she? And Ogden and Emmeline were almost family. “We could split our time.”

He didn’t reply.

Ringing her hands together, Elsie added, “Are you . . . Are you sure it’s worth all of this, Bacchus?”

The floorboards creaked, and suddenly the door opened. Bacchus stood there in breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt, the collar loose. His dark hair, lighter at the ends, hung wet over his shoulders, leaving speckles of water along the fabric that turned it translucent.

He looked down at her, tired but not angry. “Are we really going to have this conversation again?”

Elsie rolled her lips together. “I think it’s a valid question.”

He extended his hand, which she took, allowing him to help her up. She adjusted her dressing gown, ensuring her modesty.

Bacchus lifted a hand and ran the pad of his thumb along her cheek, sending a wave of heat coursing over her skin. “You are very much worth it, Elsie Camden.”

She stared into the beautiful green of his eyes. Right now they didn’t look like a stormy sea, or jade, or anything she could pinpoint. Perhaps they were the green of Barbados. They were just as fanciful as the place he had described, and she struggled to believe either of them were real.

She realized she was just standing there, staring at him—in her defense, he was doing the same—but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She memorized the slope of his nose, the shape of his hairline, the curve of his beard. His cheeks were newly shaved. He smelled like soap, but the faintest hint of citrus lingered under it.

Her heart danced beneath her breast, and before she could check herself, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

His eyes bore into hers.

And then his mouth was gliding across hers, tentatively at first. But when Elsie pressed her hands to his chest, he gained confidence and kissed her as he had in the carriage, with intent and meaning. A thrill coursed through her jaw and down her neck, not unlike the heat of a candle flame when pinched between two fingers, snuffed just before it could burn. Elsie’s hands took on a mind of their own and crawled up to his shoulders, then to his neck, the skin wet from the drape of his hair. His palms pressed into either side of her waist. She didn’t remember how they’d gotten there, but their weight invigorated her. Lent her courage.

He was a tall man, and Elsie desperately wanted to be closer to him, so she rose onto her toes and tilted her head a little more to the right, fitting her lips against his just so. An invisible string pulled taut between her heart and her hips when the kiss deepened, a slip of heat crossing her bottom lip. She only loosely recognized it as his tongue, but the sensation of it made her knees weak. He must have noticed, for his grip on her waist tightened. When Elsie parted her lips for breath, Bacchus claimed her, seeking entrance to her mouth, which she readily gave him.

Aspecting be damned, this was real magic. Physical, spiritual, rational, temporal . . . all of it rolled into a blissful ball of sensations she was only just beginning to pick apart, ever so eager to find what lay at its center.