“No need to fear,” Stefan assured her. “He will not hurt you.”
Bryony stared at him, thinking he spoke as if he knew the animal personally. A strange man, indeed. “Tell me more about your mother. What kind of witch is she?”
“Kind?”
“Aren’t there different kinds?”
“Ah. Yes. Celtic witches focus on nature, divination witches foretell the future. Grey witches live in the neutral area between white and black magic. Lunar witches gather their power from the moon. Sea witches, cottage witches, kitchen witches. Most are white witches. A few practice blackmagic.” As his mother had. “Some are born witches. Some merely learn a few spells.”
“What kind are you?” Bryony asked.
He laughed softly. “I rarely practice witchcraft,” he said, with a shrug.
“Is that the power I sense in you?” she asked, and bit down on her lower lip when he turned his hooded gaze on her.
“What power?” he asked, his voice razor-sharp.
She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, as if it would protect her.
“What power?” he asked again.
“I…I don’t know. I…I thought I felt…maybe I was wrong.”
Damn!He had been so certain he had masked his preternatural power from her. How was it possible for her to sense it? He had hoped that, by telling her his mother was a witch, she would attribute any of the supernatural powers he let her see to witchcraft. But it wasn’t magic she sensed. He would have to be more careful in the future.
“Do you see your mother often?” she asked, thinking how much she missed her own.
“Alas, she passed away.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It was some time ago.” He reined the team to a halt in front of the restaurant. Alighting from the buggy, he dropped the reins over the hitch rack before he lifted Bryony from the seat, letting her body slide slowly down his as he placed her on her feet.
She shivered as she felt the muscular length of his body against her own.
There were few people inside the establishment. Bryony ordered a chicken dinner, noticing again that Stefan asked only for a bottle of wine. She glanced around, hoping to seesomeone she knew, although it was a slim hope at best. To her knowledge, her family had never visited here.
While Bryony ate, Stefan opened his senses, listening idly to the conversations at the other tables. He stilled when he heard someone mention the Barrett name.
“I heard from my cousin in River North that Lord Barrett’s youngest daughter is missing and he’s going out of his mind with worry,” a middle-aged woman said in a conspiratorial tone. “He has hired dozens of men to search for her. My cousin said he’s sorely afraid his daughter is dead.”
“Why would anyone kill the girl?” her male companion asked. “There’s no money to be made that way.”
“Well, at first, he thought she had been kidnapped for ransom. But it’s been weeks and no demands have been forthcoming.”
“I hear she’s a pretty thing,” the man said.
“So they say.”
“No doubt Barrett would pay a king’s ransom to get her back.”
“No doubt,” the woman agreed. “Good thing he can afford it.”
Stefan grunted softly. He wasn’t familiar with the Barrett family. Perhaps he would do a little checking on the father. If word was spreading of Bryony’s disappearance, it might be wise to keep her in the house from now on. Or take her farther away from here.
After dinner, they walked to the bookshop. He found the book he wanted, a history of ancient Romania, then trailed behind Bryony as she looked at the novels, thumbing through one after another until she had selected four of them—Oliver Twist, Emma, Black Beauty,andPride and Prejudice.He grinned inwardly when she picked up a copy ofDracula.
Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “Have you read this one?”
