Chapter 10
‘Are you certain this is wise?’ Aunt Rowan was tapping her foot. Never a good sign.
Clio checked her bags for the seventeenth time.
Determining what one should take for a fortnight in the country was challenging.
Cynthia had sent a rushed note over the day before to inform her Lady Langley had invited a few more guests to make the visit a real party.
Nothing lavish. A simple affair, really.
Only ten or fifteen of their closest friends. Clio shouldn’t worry.
In Clio’s limited experience, nothing simple involved ten or fifteen members of the beau monde.
It was rather scandalous of the duchess to propose a house party while she was still in the first month of mourning for her brother, but Clio supposed she and Lady Langley had something in common: neither needed to follow society’s expectations.
Lady Langley was too far above the purview of the beau monde to care, and Clio was too far below it to merit any notice.
She puffed her cheeks and squashed the fluttering in her belly.
She might not rank in the peerage, but that was no reason not to look fabulous.
She knew societal armour was very often comprised of silk, lace, and taffeta.
Clio would certainly hold her own in a room full of London’s bluest bloods with her daring ensembles.
It did result in a rather prodigious amount of luggage.
Clio nodded at the footmen who stood waiting to begin loading her cases in the carriage before answering her aunt. ‘I’m certain Viscount Beachley’s daughter will help our investigation. Both memories he shared with me were about Anna. He wants me to speak to her. I know it.’
Cynthia had booked them tickets on the London and South Western Railway. Lady Langley would send carriages for them at Burnham station when they arrived. All Clio needed to do was get herself and her trunks to the train on time. A feat in peril of failing if she didn’t hurry.
Aunt Rowan’s chestnut hair gleamed in the watery sunlight filtering through their entry window. ‘I’m worried, Clio. You know I rarely have visions, but last night, I dreamed of fire and ash. A tall man with a silver cane stood in the centre of the flames. Your Lieutenant General Grey.’
Clio shook her head. ‘He isn’t my anything.’
‘Are you certain? I fear he is a threat. I should never have allowed your uncle to bring him into your life.’
Clio placed a reassuring hand on her aunt’s arm. ‘You can’t always protect us from harm, Aunt Rowan. We are women, grown. Life is full of danger, but to live in fear is not to live at all.’
‘You, Ellie, and Helena are all I have left of my sisters. I swore a blood oath to them that I would protect you.’
‘And you have. But you also taught us how to protect ourselves. Trust us, Aunt Rowan. Trust the lessons you provided. If Lieutenant General Grey is a threat, fear not. I will vanquish him. Just as you taught me.’ She squeezed her aunt’s arm, willing her to understand.
Her aunt’s skin was as clear and smooth as Clio’s despite the thirteen-year gap in their ages, but it paled as Clio walked to the door and patted her shoulder for Sir Robin.
Aunt Rowan was not a demonstrative woman, so Clio was shocked when Aunt Rowan glided swiftly across the room, pulling Clio into a stiff hug.
‘I don’t like you being so far away. We are a coven.
Most powerful when together. If you need us, promise you will send a message. ’
‘What’s wrong? Why are you hugging? Has someone died?’ Helena traipsed down the stairs, her fox slinking along, so near to her skirts, he was almost hidden by the forest-green velvet.
‘Surely not.’ Ellie was close behind, her blonde hair swept into a loose twist, tendrils framing her concerned face.
Aunt Rowan broke the hug and stepped back. ‘No one is dead.’ Clio nearly missed the muttered, ‘Yet.’
‘Farewell, Clio.’ Her sister rushed up and pulled her into an embrace scented with sage and sugar, an odd combination of sweet and fresh that was so very Ellie.
‘You are going to have such a marvellous time. I know it.’ She pressed a soft kiss on each of Clio’s cheeks before squeezing Clio’s hands and stepping back.
‘Hurry home, cousin.’ Helena’s grey gaze was as steady and calm as the woman herself. ‘And keep your eye out for trouble on your travels. Fine ladies like the duchess and her friends are far more treacherous than they appear.’
It was a cryptic statement in perfect alignment with Helena’s tendency to always expect the worst.
‘Thank you, Helena.’ Clio gave her cousin a quick hug, looked at the three women who were her closest friends, her kin, and coven. ‘I shall miss you all, but I will return in a fortnight with this case solved and one more restless soul eased. I swear it.’
Aunt Rowan opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it.
She bit her lip and held her hands in front of her, fingers laced together.
‘Return to us healthy and hale, that is all I care about. Solving MacDougal’s case means nothing if you don’t come back to us just as you left, Clio. ’
‘No one returns from a journey just as they left, Aunt. It rather defeats the purpose of an adventure in the first place, wouldn’t you say?’ Helena raised a copper brow at Aunt Rowan.
‘Right. Well. My adventure will end before it begins if the train leaves without me.’ Clio gave them each a final smile. ‘Blessed be until we are together again.’
‘Blessed be.’ Aunt Rowan and Helena spoke together.
‘Blessed be, sister.’ Ellie’s clear voice cheered Clio. She turned, walked swiftly down the stairs and into the waiting carriage, laden with trunks, bags, and multiple hat boxes.
When Clio arrived at Waterloo station, Grey was standing on the steps. He wore another one of his long, black coats. His high collar, black top hat, crisp white cravat, and silver cane left no doubt the man came from the peerage, even if he was a second son.
A long liquid pull in Clio’s belly had her pressing her thighs together as the memory of their kiss crashed through her system.
Aunt Rowan was progressive in her role as matriarch.
When the girls asked questions, she didn’t shy away from answering them.
She explained the details of how two bodies might come together, but she also encouraged them to privately explore on their own.
Aunt Rowan reassured them, it was far safer, less messy, and more likely to result in pleasure.
Helena’s disastrous experience only further proved their aunt’s wisdom.
Because of this, Clio knew what the tingling pulse in her core meant, but she had never felt it outside her own breathless explorations in the privacy of her bedroom. Until that kiss.
She might have no wish to be courted, but for the first time in her life, she felt fire sparking between herself and another. Fire she wouldn’t mind playing with to see how hot it might burn.
Dallying with a man wasn’t strictly forbidden in their household.
Indeed, Aunt Rowan told the girls if they ever found themselves unwed and with child, the coven would happily expand to accept the girl, for there was no doubt in her mind any baby brought forth would be female.
Only giving one’s heart away threatened a witch’s magic, and Clio was hardly stupid enough to ever fall in love.
But to explore this burgeoning desire with a willing partner…
the thought was becoming harder to dismiss the longer she spent in Grey’s company.
It helped that she hated him. There would never be any danger of letting the fire between them burn out of control.
He tapped the handle of his cane against his palm, and a wild image of him tapping something else with that hard length of wood had heat flooding Clio’s cheeks.
Control yourself! Fantasies are one thing, but turning into a dithering fool is quite another.
For a woman so devoted to retaining her autonomy, it troubled her to realise her fantasies often involved Grey taking control. It was something she would never allow, and yet, her mind spun out wild, impossible scenarios.
Clio exited the carriage and ascended the stairs towards him. His emerald gaze flicked to the porters rushing to unload her trunks.
‘You may not share blood with my sister, but you certainly pack as though you are related. The two of you will leave no room for passengers on the train with so much luggage.’ The arousing effect of his growl on her senses was becoming as familiar as it was annoying.
Stiffening her spine, she breezed past him and entered the station. ‘It’s a marvel they can fit anything onto the train at all with your self-importance taking up so much room.’
Cynthia was easy to find; her travelling gown of bright copper, expertly tailored to show off her trim waist and flared hips, stood out from the dreary black coats around her. She had a smart hat with a veil covering half of her face. The other half beamed in pleasure when she caught sight of Clio.
Throwing her arms out, she rushed forward. ‘Cousin Clio! Don’t you look marvellous! What a dashing ensemble.’ She pulled Clio in for one of her warm hugs and then held her at arm’s length. ‘I dare say I would never have the courage to wear such a bold outfit, but that tartan looks stunning on you.’
Clio attempted not to preen, but the green and blue tartan travelling costume set off with black leather piping was one of her favourites.
The coat was cut to mirror a man’s riding jacket, her skirt was narrow, making it easier to manoeuvre through narrow train passages, and the leather boots were both warm and comfortable.
The bowler hat she wore included a ribbon of the same tartan as her suit.
Sir Robin ducked his head up and down in excitement at seeing Cynthia.
‘Oh, and you look as handsome as always, Sir Robin.’ Cynthia ran her fingers over Sir Robin’s sleek feathers, much to his delight.