He nodded. “My brother and I can take it, but Arabella can’t.”
“So you protected her.” I slid my hand to the back of his neck and played with the ends of his hair. He tilted his head back against the sofa, eyes drifting closed. “You don’t talk much about your brother,” I said.
“Porter,” he said. “It’s because he’s frightfully dull and sensible and practical.”
“You’re practical, too,” I observed.
He made a disgusted face. “I don’t want to hear such nonsense.”
“I don’t know anyone better prepared for what may come.”
He opened his eyes. “Porter is so much worse. He brings everything—a trunk for clothes, a trunk filled with medicine, a trunk for his shoes and his guns, a trunk filled with maps of our destination, a trunk of toys for hisdog—”
“But he’s your brother, and you’d die for him.”
“Such drama.” Whit rolled his eyes. “But yes, I would.”
That list of who he loved deeply enough to sacrifice his life for would be very short. He gave out his smiles and kisses freely, but his heart he kept safe in his fist. Draw too near to it, and he’d lash out. And yet, there were at least two people on this earth who had his heart.
I hoped I could be one of them.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Kiss me, Whit.”
He tugged me closer, his lips brushing against mine, and then he deepened the kiss and groaned against my mouth. My fingers curled around the back of his neck as he parted my lips and lightly sucked on my tongue. I’d never been kissed so thoroughly. A year might have gone by, and I wouldn’t have known it. In one slow pull, he took the scarf off from around my neck, the fabric a soft whisper against my skin.
“Why do you still have this?” he asked.
“It’s strong magic,” I said. “It might come in handy.”
Whit narrowed his gaze, and I fidgeted in his lap. “You’ve kept it for the magic?”
I took the scarf back, lightly ran my fingers across the bright pattern. “It belonged to my mother.”
“I know,” he said, his voice gentle.
“I can’t seem to get rid of it,” I whispered. “I should, though, shouldn’t I?”
“Whenever you’re ready to let go of it, you will,” he said. “And if that day never comes, there’s no shame in keeping it.”
I folded the fabric neatly, feeling the magic buzzing from every thread. Not for the first time, I wondered about the original spell and the Spellcaster who must have been wearing this particular adornment. Did they know some of the magic would latch on to something so ordinary? Were they—
“Inez,” Whit whispered. “Stop thinking about the magic in the scarf.”
I smiled ruefully.
“Come back to me.” He splayed his hand against my lower back, while his other moved to the front of my dress, slowly working each button. My white chemise came into view, the collar held together by a silk ribbon. Whit pulled, and the knot came undone, revealing the swells of my breasts. I’d never done anything like this, and innocent terror snatched at my throat. He leaned forward, kissed me again. I knew what to expect, thanks to the scientific reading material strewn about Papá’s library, but no one had ever prepared me for how this moment would feel.
A too-fast carriage ride downhill.
Spinning wildly around in circles, arms outstretched to keep balance.
A fever that spiked and threatened delirium.
My head swam from want and dizziness. I clutched at his linen shirt, bunching the fabric in my fists, desperate for something to hold on to.
“Your heart is racing,” Whit murmured against my mouth.
