He chuckled.
“Don’t laugh. Magic is not fun.”
“Really?” He shifted her hair aside, murmuredaereoagainst her neck, then cooled the warmth of it with his tongue. The house began to climb, even as Charlotte felt her stomach sink.
“It’s hard to breathe,” she whispered.
Immediately he moved back. “Sorry. I suppose a house would be rather burdensome after a lifetime of lifting teacups and powder puffs.” He incantated themomentum automatica,and magic eased into the wheel.
“Powder puffs?” Charlotte turned to present him with an affronted glare, but he only grinned down at her, undaunted. “I’ll have you know, sir, that witches do important work. We effect real social and political change—”
“And steal lots of lovely jewels?”
“Well, yes, but it’s notfun.”
“Then you’ve been doing it all wrong, darling.”
“Tsk.”She tried to move away, but he stepped closer, his thighs pressing hers to the wheel behind them. The house swooped, or perhaps it was her stomach. Alex slid a finger down the line of her shirt buttons. “Is the flight magic bothering you now?”
She considered this. The air around them had become almost cozy, as if they were swathed in eiderdowns. It throbbed slightly with self-perpetuating enchantment but no longer dragged on her senses, making her feel like she was turning into stone, wood, glass.
“I’m fine,” she said. His hand was at her trouser buttons now. The throbbing of the air became stronger, and in the back of her mind Elizabeth Bennet was surprisingly, and rather enthusiastically, nodding. That Charlotte’s behavior over the past two days had so corrupted a literary figment of her imagination would have troubled her were she not focusing instead on committing such behavior once again.
Besides, she was merely being practical. It had become apparent the tension between them needed releasing on a regular basis, for the sake of their health—no, wait, for the sake of obtaining the amulet! Charlotte could not focus on that goal if constantly arguing with a pirate. It was her League duty to have sex with him.
“Absolutely fine,” she reiterated (although it must be said she could no longer recall what the question had been).
“Grand.” Alex smiled. “Let’s have a different kind of fun then.”
Ah, excellent, things were going to get metaphorical after all.
Alex lay it down as a general rule that if he doubted whether he liked a woman, he certainly ought to keep his hand out of her underwear while she leaned forward with her brow pressed against his shoulder, whimpering every now and again. But he did like Charlotte Pettifer—would like her even if she wasn’t doing interesting things with her own hand inside his underwear. And since he could not tell her so (of course not!he was a pirate and a rake; he did not talk aboutemotions), he could at least make her feel very good.
That she made him feel just as good was a bonus.
“I’ve always wondered something,” he said afterward, his fingers tangling with her bracelet as he tried lazily to distract her from tidying herself. “Why bees?”
Charlotte slapped his hand. He smiled and reached past her instead to take hold of a wheel spoke, casually navigating the house away from a flock of geese.
“Bees represent industry and community,” she explained, continuing to button up her trousers. “Therefore they are well suited to witches, as we work for the sake of England.”
He laughed. “You’re joking.”
“I most certainly am not.” But she paused, biting her lip, for witches are not only industrious but unfailingly truthful. (Except when stealing, swindling, evading taxes, providing details to law enforcement officers, and assuring their mother-in-law that a knitted yellow tea cozy in the shape of a chicken was exactly what they’d always wanted for their birthday. All for the sake of England, of course.) “Also, bees feature on the Wicken League founder’s ancestral coat of arms.”
Alex frowned, recollecting Black Beryl’s heraldic design. “No, it’s ravens.”
“Yes, er, I meant the deputy founder, Andromeda Plim. Beryl Black was, of course, our first leader and in no way whatsoever betrayed or murdered. Since we are making bold inquiries, Captain, why do you have a ring containing a portrait of Cecilia Bassingthwaite?”
Taken by surprise, Alex blushed. The realization she had found his ring’s secret compartment and looked therein threw him back into old memories—nuns searching his laundry for sins, Deirdre finding the money he’d secretly saved to run away from home. But his brain hadlong been a minefield of buried misery, and he was used to its sudden explosions. That they became more frequent when he allowed himself emotional intimacy with another person was why he generally did not do so. Hands in underwear—fine. Hearts involved—not.
But damn if Charlotte Pettifer and her spiky, fearless, witchy gorgeousness didn’t keep drawing out his heart.
He scowled at the sky as if he could fly away from her, even though she was in his house—standing between him and his wheel—smelling so enticingly of soap and softness that he wanted to lick her.
And now he was blushing again, like a callow boy.
Charlotte stared in wonder at the pirate. The sight of his reddened skin was made all the more endearing by how he tried to hide it, lifting a hand to push back his hair. The ring in question, circling his thumb, glinted as if it knew it was being discussed. Charlotte recollected the feel of its hard, smooth ruby between her breasts, pressing firmly into the soft flesh, and then she was blushing too.
