“Are you in love with Cecilia?” she asked. The words did not feel like grit in her throat, nor did her pulse shudder as she awaited his reply. Any suggestion that she cared about whom Captain O’Riley fancied was utter nonsense.
“Well?” she prompted, having given him one and a half seconds to respond.
“No.” Flicking his gaze to her, he allowed her to see the truth in his eyes. There was indeed no love in the dark blue depths, only an old, weary cynicism Charlotte recognized all too well. “The portrait isn’t of Cecilia but her mother, Cilla, a famous pirate who was murdered many years ago. And before you ask, I didn’t love her either. I never knew her. The ring used to belong to Ned Lightbourne. It was all hehad of Cecilia for years before he finally met her. I grew tired of him mooning over it, muttering promises, dreaming of a girl he didn’t even know. So I took it for safekeeping.”
This sounded too much like an interesting romantic tale for Charlotte’s liking. Of course Cecilia would have a murdered mother and pining adorer. No doubt her father too had been remarkable—a great poet, perhaps. Charlotte did not wish for her own mother to die horribly, but that Mrs. Pettifer suffered nothing more fascinating than lumbago, and that Mr. Pettifer was a—a—um, whatever it was he did when he left the house each morning—did not furnish her with a particularly exciting history.
She scowled at Alex as if Cecilia’s wondrousness was his personal fault.
“How is stealing someone’s ring and wearing it yourself ‘safekeeping’?”
“Not the ring,” Alex corrected. “Safekeeping his heart. But it’s a long story and it has a boringly happy ending. Ned and Cecilia are married now. I offered to give the ring back to them, but they’ve had enough of ghosts. I wear it for—” He stopped, shrugging, as if the explanation did not matter as much as the shadows in his eyes suggested.
“For friendship,” Charlotte guessed.
He shrugged again. “Pirates don’t have friends. Not really.”
Charlotte leaned back against the wheel and regarded him for a long, quiet moment. His expression as he returned her gaze was wry and unblinking.Dangerous,it reminded her.Lawless.
But what she saw was a mess. And being a witch, she wanted to fix it.
Alex O’Riley might be a proud, unpleasant sort of man, but this was everything since Charlotte really liked him. She leaned forward abruptly to kiss his cheek.
The cottage shook with surprise.
“Stop trying to crash my house, Charlotte,” he muttered.
They shared a sardonic smile. And if it trembled a little at the edges with wishing, aching—well, they both looked away before they noticed.
By midafternoon they arrived at Clacton-on-Sea. With no other pirates in sight, they decided to land the cottage on a pier, and Alex immediately suggested a walk along the beach. Certainly, Lady Armitage must be found and the amulet retrieved (and Tom rescued), but there was no particular hurry. It was not as if the amulet had an expiry date (best not to think about Tom). A little fresh air and sunlight would invigorate them all for the search.
Charlotte and Bixby disagreed. “I should like beaches infinitely better,” Charlotte replied, “if they were paved in a different manner. It would surely be much more rational if cobblestones instead of sand made the order of the day.”
Bixby nodded in agreement, but Alex sighed and rolled his eyes. “More rational, my dear Miss Pettifer,” he said, “but it would not be near so much like a beach.”
However, the lady could not be convinced. Her boots’ bomb compartments would get clogged with sand. Her hair would be tossed about abominably. She would risksuntan. Furthermore, she must find Beryl’s amulet. Enough time had been wasted already on shenanigans! Even now Lady Armitage might be learning the amulet’s magic. That she would use it for diabolical ends was beyond question. England’s safety could well be at risk if Charlotte did not succeed! Worse—Miss Plim would be displeased. Did Alex want that on his conscience? Did he? Well?
“We should plan for a methodical search,” she concluded.
“I recommend a grid pattern,” Bixby said.
Alex exhaled a sigh. “You are both being too fastidious.”
“Too fastidious?” Charlotte frowned, clearly struggling to connect those words. “This is a town of some size. The woman might be anywhere.”
“Except the beach?” he added facetiously, just to watch her eyes flare. “Stop worrying so much, darling. A little stroll first—”
“You maystrollif you wish, but I intend to search. Bixby will accompany me.”
Bixby raised a disapproving eyebrow at this proclamation. Alex, for his part, raised two.
“I beg your pardon, madam, but Bixby is in my employ, and—”
“And I am a young, innocent lady,” Charlotte interjected, smiling and batting her lashes (and then needing to stop, wincing as she strained an eyelid). She did indeed look young and innocent, having changed back into her preposterously frilled white dress, and with her long, rich hair unbound. She looked like a pure English rose, delicate and easily bruised. Alex’s heart softened as he gazed at her.
His brain, however, laughed sardonically.
Charlotte must have sensed it, for she tightened her smile until it resembled nothing so much as a thorn. Producing lace gloves from a pocket, she yanked them onto her hands with such violence Alex was surprised she didn’t break a finger. He and Bixby exchanged a wary glance.
