Chapter 10 #2
‘Stunning!’ the feathered flirt chirped.
He’ll be sneaking off my shoulder and onto hers by the time this trip is done.
Grey joined them, and they showed the conductor their first-class tickets before being ushered onto the train, down a short corridor, and into a private carriage.
Clio had never ridden in such style. She looked around a room that could have been any esteemed peer’s parlour.
The furniture was secured to the floor, but it didn’t diminish the elegance of the delicately carved chaise, wingback chairs, or low table laden with tea things, plates of iced cakes, cucumber and salmon sandwiches, miniature mince pies, and a bowl of fresh fruit.
‘Oh my. We shall be quite comfortable all the way to Buckinghamshire.’ Cynthia declared, making herself at home in one of the overstuffed chairs.
Clio decided upon the hunter-green settee, leaving the chaise and a second wingback free for Grey to take, but the infuriating man sat next to her on the couch.
She refused to move closer to the side. If he was determined to invade her space, the last thing she would do was grant him more room.
In point of fact, she shifted to the centre of the cushion.
Let him move out of the way for her. She was not retreating.
Pulling off her leather gloves, she leaned forward to pour herself a dish of tea at the exact moment Grey reached out for a sandwich. Their hands brushed. Small sparks burst brightly between their fingers as the gas lighting in the carriage flickered and flared.
Damnation.
It was embarrassing that she kept losing control of her magic around Grey. Ellie’s list of indicators for a spirit match echoed through her head.
‘He provokes your magic…’
Balderdash! He provokes my anger, and that sparks my magic. This is a test from the goddess to gain greater control over myself. That is all.
Control she would begin exerting immediately.
Cynthia looked at the lamp nearest her and laughed. ‘We must be getting ready to depart. What a miracle of technology to be able to light these carriages with gas. It’s a wonder it works at all.’
Grey looked from their hands to Clio. ‘A miracle, or magic?’
Her heart thumped painfully.
Did he suspect? And what if he did? Would he burn her at the stake? Turn her in to the magistrate? Demand she be condemned? Or just walk away? Because he certainly wouldn’t accept her.
‘Some might argue they are the same.’ She added milk to her tea, forcing her voice to remain steady and the heat of her power to stay contained in her chest.
‘Magic and miracles, the same? I beg to hear your explanation.’ Grey placed his sandwich on a plate and leaned closer to her.
She could feel the energy zinging between them, building power, readying to crack into white-hot flame.
Clenching her teeth, she took a deep breath and willed it away, forcing the magic to dissipate like smoke while she concentrated on her argument.
‘One man’s faith is another man’s fallacy.
One man’s truth is another’s delusion. Religious zealots see miracles, mystics see magic, and fools see evil to be feared.
The unknowable depths of the universe confound us, so we try to create reason out of chaos.
Inventing rules we can play by brings comfort many crave, but accepting life as an unexplainable mystery brings enlightenment few achieve. ’
Grey’s gaze sharpened. ‘Would you consider yourself enlightened, Miss Grey?’
‘I consider myself constantly bewildered by life’s inconsistencies.’ It was a disconcerting truth she hadn’t realised until it spilt from her lips.
‘And so, you seek control.’
Dear goddess. I do. I want control because nothing is guaranteed.
Mother lost everything. So did Aunt Willow.
They gave themselves up for their husbands.
Mother abandoned her family and her magic.
Aunt Willow allowed her gift to be twisted into something insidious.
Both traded autonomy for obedience. Sacrificed control for comfort. And the fates ruined them.
It was a path Clio refused to walk. But it was also something she would never share with Thomas Grey.
‘You believe deeper understanding is found by embracing the unknown, so what might you find if you let go?’
Fear, unfamiliar and profound, flooded her system at the very thought.
Damn this man for pulling back the veil. Who does he think he is? My bloody spirit guide?
Or perhaps her spirit match.
Impossible. Spirit matches are not real.
Distance was necessary. Clio stood abruptly and moved to the seat opposite Cynthia and farthest from him.
‘Trains sometimes make me ill. I would hate to cast up my accounts all over your lovely jacket, Grey.’ She was lying. And retreating. Two things she loathed to do, and both because of the vexatious, stupidly intelligent, highly antagonistic man.
Settling in her new seat with a dish of tea she no longer wanted, Clio looked out the window and willed the train to depart. The sooner they left, the sooner they would arrive at Burnham station where she could escape Grey’s watchful gaze. He had promised to uncover her secrets.
Damn the bastard for trying to keep his promise. But he will fail. I will ensure it.
The journey through some of England’s most beautiful countryside was surprisingly unremarkable.
Especially considering Grey was reasonably sure the train held a witch.
Who was also a compelling individual with hidden depths he desperately wished to explore.
It was a marvel to encounter a woman with no desire to be courted, no wish for a husband or family, but who was clearly attracted to him. Even if she hated him in equal measure.
Might that grant Thomas the freedom to pursue her without fear of making promises he could never keep? Was he living up to her bird’s assessment?
Am I becoming a bastard? Not if she wants what I have to offer. If I am clear about what I can and can’t give and she makes her choice, I will respect whatever she decides.
She might not want a future with him – indeed, it was better that she did not, as he had no future to offer – but she could not deny the desire simmering between them.
Sparks fly when our hands brush. The curtain in my carriage was singed from our kisses. Even an argument between us creates enough heat to transform rain into steam. What might happen if more of our skin came into contact?
It was a highly inappropriate and arousing thought. Followed quickly by…
What might happen if she let go of her control?
Thankfully, Clio had moved away from him. She refused to spare Thomas a single glance for the entire train ride, and he was glad of it. If she had, it would have been impossible to behave like his entire body wasn’t attuned to her.
She plucked at the tightened strings around his chest, causing a residual vibration to thrum through his body. That alone seemed like witchcraft, without considering the literal sparks flying between them.
But how does one prove a woman is magical? And what would such a discovery mean?
He had no answers. She believed embracing the unknown brought greater understanding. Might it also bring a tortured soul some measure of peace? It wasn’t fair to seek out her secrets without also revealing his own. Thomas was many terrible things, but he had always striven to be fair.
If I uncover her truths and never reveal my own, then I am a bastard.
The last thing he wished was for harm to befall Clio Blair. Perhaps she was right. Mayhap Thomas should accept the mystery of her without delving any deeper into her shadowy corners. But the question would not stop spinning in his mind like a mad whirling dervish. Was she truly a witch?
He certainly wasn’t going to tie her up and throw her in a river to find out.
Nor would he prick her skin to determine if she bled.
Those barbaric methods were nothing more than ways to torture women and call it a holy war.
While he relished fighting with Clio, he had no wish to defeat her in that kind of battle.
But his suspicions had been aroused. His need to uncover Clio’s secrets burned far more brightly than his desire to solve this case.
Which was a problem. A man had been murdered.
That should be his only focus. But he couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to the enigmatic woman carelessly sipping tea and chatting with his sister while her raven hopped around the carriage, no doubt muttering insults directed at Thomas.
More troubling than how to determine if she was a witch was what to do if his suspicions were true.
He was a man of logic, but he had experienced things with Clio he could not explain.
Perhaps that was the problem. She was right.
Men feared what they did not understand. Was she right about everything else?
Thomas believed in justice. Protecting the innocent.
Finding those who harmed others and stopping them.
While Clio Blair might be many things, she was not corrupt.
Nor did she threaten the innocent or harm others.
Indeed. In every interaction he had with her, she sought truth.
She was stubborn, quick to leap into danger for a just cause, and uncompromising in her beliefs.
In a man, those were worthy traits. Why was it any different for a woman?
Or a witch?
If she truly was magical, maybe the way forward would be to accept her abilities instead of assuming her power might strip him of his own. But she would never trust him enough to let him try. The risk was too great.
A rogue thought took hold.
Instead of hunting down her secrets, maybe he could convince her to reveal herself.
She showed her power every time he drew close to her.
He could feel her heat, see sparks, watch whatever might burn around him flare in unison with her emotions.
What if he found ways to touch more of her?
To draw closer? To provoke those emotions when they were the only two people in a room?
What might she reveal to him in the sanctity of those moments?
Could he earn her trust? Was he worthy of it?
It had been so long since he felt worthy of anything.
Courting Clio Blair was out of the question and something neither of them wanted. But seducing her, easing her out of the shadows and into the light… that might be a challenge worth facing.
Thomas spent the remainder of the journey creating a plan to woo a witch.