Charlotte stared at him in incredulous horror.
“Coo-ee,” came the voice through the door. Its falsetto rang outcheerfully, but the knock that followed was hard and brisk, and even Charlotte recognized it as the sound of a man whose sense of authority was exceeded only by his impatience. Her heart leaped.
“I have an idea. Hold my hand.”
Without questioning, Alex did as she asked, and she gripped him tightly.“Aereo,”she said.
Her blood swooped as the incantation lifted them gently into the cool, fresh sunlight. She allowed them to rise, holding on tight to Alex’s hand and trying not to look down, until she felt certain within herself. Then she said,“Descendeo.”
They started to plunge toward the ground.“Lente!”she called out hastily.“Descendeo lente.”
Their bodies jolted as the rate of descent abruptly slowed. Alex grinned at her.
“I’ve got to say, you really know how to get a man up.”
“It’s fairly simple witchcraft,” Charlotte replied pedantically, and he laughed.
“If you ever change, Charlotte Pettifer, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
She frowned through windswept strands of hair. “I cannot decide if that is a threat or a compliment.”
“It’s a joke, darling.”
“Ah.” Her tone seemed to express that she considered joking equivalent to a cup of green tea—distasteful and to be politely ignored if at all possible. “Are you ready?”
He bounced his eyebrows in reply.
They somersaulted, and their booted feet hit the pavement in unison.
Still holding hands, they leaped a low border of box shrubs and ran across the lawn toward an elm grove. From the inn came a shrill whistle as a policeman, leaning out the open window, sighted them. Mostimpudently, they failed to stop or to return to the inn so as to be arrested.
“Will Bixby be all right?” Charlotte asked. The unenchanted words sounded odd, shallow, her voice crackling.
“Sure,” Alex said. “Who blames the butler for anything?”
Skipping over a fallen branch, they entered the grove. Their pace slowed, and Alex tugged Charlotte’s hand, pulling her toward him and kissing her. She clutched at his shoulders in an attempt to maintain her balance, and they stumbled back until she was pressed against a tree. It quivered slightly as if offended.
“There should be a law against men like you,” she gasped between kisses.
“There is,” he said, biting her earlobe. “Someone should lock you in a room and only let you out on Sundays.”
“You just described my childhood.” She thrust fingers into his hair, tilting his head back so she could kiss his throat. “Who can I hire to have you beaten to a pulp?”
“And you just described mine,” he said. “I thought we released this tension?”
“These are mere reverberations, Captain,” she explained. “We will stop now.”
“Absolutely. Stopping at once.” And he pressed his lips against hers with a kiss so deep she thought she’d drown in it, there amongst the trees.
But a whistle squawked again in the distance, making little bursts of noise as if someone was blowing it while jogging, and they pulled back, looking at each other with rather blurred eyes.
“If they’re chasing us now,” Alex said, “Bixby should be free to go get the house.”
They ran on through the grove, motivated by calls of “Stop, thief!”
“You know, I resent being called a thief when I haven’t yet been able to steal anything,” Alex grumbled.
Past the trees, they came to a field, and as they ran across it they looked over their shoulders to see the stone cottage rising beyond the inn’s rooftop. But the policemen were coming faster, whistles shrieking. Alex evaluated the situation with calm, professional speed, then pointed to a tumbledown wall. They ran to it and, ducking behind, sat with their backs against the mossy stone, catching their breath. Alex smiled at Charlotte.
