But then, he was starting to realize she could be covered in effluent and he’d still think her beautiful. She could be deeply asleep and yet fascinate his senses. In fact, more than once this week he had accidentally woken her by stroking the smooth little half-moon of her thumbnail or tasting the pulse at her wrist. There always followed a moment in which their eyes met undefended, as bare as their bodies in the night-shrouded bed, and he could see in hers the same loneliness and longing he felt himself. Seconds later they would be hiding them again behind passion—mouths burning together, legs tangling, bodies having a conversation their hearts were not brave enough to undertake. But Alex found himself scarcely able to sleep for the sake of that tiny moment. He looked for it through the day also, yearning, frightened, more vulnerable than he’d been in years.
Even now, while she applied herself yet again to the door’s handle as if she might have missed something all seventeen previous times, he watched her in case she glanced back. He followed every movement of her lips as she muttered magic. He guessed what she would do next, and grinned with a boyish thrill when she did so. He was fascinated byher, spiky little witch that she was, and being locked in a dungeon with her now did not feel grievesome in the least.
He himself saw no need for wasting energy on escape attempts. This was not his first stint in a dungeon, even if not counting the time he got drunk on beer in his own and accidentally locked himself in. He felt confident Lady Armitage would eventually turn up to gloat, threaten torture, or propose marriage, and so they might as well wait as comfortably as they could. Charlotte did not seem to appreciate this. He could have sworn he heard her mutterwork ethiconce or twice amongst her magical Latin. It endeared her to him all the more.
At last, as visibility decreased with the fading of daylight through the window, she came to sit on the floor beside him. The manner in which she did so, stiff-backed and precise, communicated clearly that this was no surrender to the situation, but rather a change to more subtle, long-term tactics. She gave Alex one sidelong glance then looked away, adamantly disapproving of his piratic insouciance.
He shifted slightly closer.
She sniffed, raising her chin and glaring at a spiderweb in one high corner. Alex could almost see brooms in her eyes.
He put his arm around her shoulders.
She huffed—
And leaned rigidly against him.
Smiling to himself, Alex closed his eyes, breathing in her now-familiar scent of good plain soap. Even after a day of running, leaping, and generally scraping herself against the rough edges of life, she smelled like he imagined perfection would smell if someone managed to bottle it. He was hard-pressed not to take off his coat and lay her down on it so as to while away the cloistered hours kissing every single inch of her luscious skin. But he was not quite that much a scoundrel; besides, he suspected Charlotte would consider it improper behavior for a dungeon.
“Everything will be all right,” he promised. These were the same words he’d used when they were first locked into the room, and she appeared to like them as little now as she did then.
“That is impossible to determine,” she said, her voice sounding remarkably similar to how her heels had on the floor. “What if Lady Armitage is even now discovering how to use the amulet to its full capability? Think of what she might destroy while we sit hereresting!”
“Refusing to purposelessly exhaust myself is not the same as resting. Try to preserve your energy too, darling. You’ll need it when Armitage returns for us—as she certainly will before she attempts any destruction. She’s the sort who likes an audience.”
Charlotte muttered under her breath, and Alex tried not to smile, recognizing in her vexation a reluctant agreement. She squirmed, apparently trying to get herself more uncomfortable. Her shoulder pressed at a difficult angle against his rib cage, but he dared not stir even a little to relieve the annoyance, lest she decide to move entirely away from him.
“Where do you think we are?” she asked.
Alex looked around the room. “This is called a ‘dungeon,’ I believe. You can tell from the great big lock and the torture device on the wall.”
She clicked her tongue with exasperation. “I meant, the house itself.”
“Still in Clacton, I’d say. Armitage might try to escape under the cover of darkness, but that’s risky, even for one so deranged as her.”
“Certainly she has qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature.”
Alex opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, frowning with puzzlement. “I feel like I’ve heard those words before.”
“I doubt it,” she muttered. “I’ve seen the kinds of books you have in your house.”
He did not understand what that had to do with anything, but hewas at least wise enough not to inquire. Instead, he kissed the top of her head, then bent to kiss her brow. It was as if each kiss eased the great aching knot that bound his heart. He would have continued on, but she hummed contentedly and relaxed against him, and he sat back with a sigh.
Slowly Charlotte’s breath slowed, her Plimmish stiffness melting into a warm, quiet lassitude. Alex frowned as the knot shifted up into his throat. She’d slept in his arms over the past week; he ought to be used to it, not feeling like any moment he might cry.
He held her tighter, for no reason except to flaunt the muscles in his arms. He laid his big strong hand with its ruby thumb-ring against her dainty one. The juxtaposition of rough, tanned skin against a smoothness that had been protected by gloves and crèmes thrilled him.
How odd. He’d spent years developing his potency, stocking it with weapons and outfitting it with leather and boots, bashing it against the world so he could steal whatever was left afterward—only to feel more powerful in this moment than ever before, although all he did was quietly hold a woman in her gentleness.
A woman—a witch.
Memory twisted suddenly in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively he clenched his hand to reach for a weapon, despite the fact they had been taken from him by Lady Armitage’s footmen. He might have punched the wall instead, but then Charlotte was speaking, and the hushed blur of her voice distracted him.
“You were right.”
Alex blinked. “I was what?”
She tilted her face up to give him a sleepily factitious look. “You heard me, sir. You merely want me to say it again. Very well, since you do deserve the acknowledgment: you were right. The amulet must be hidden away—or broken apart—or, I don’t know, thrown into the sea. I confess, I am not sure I’d trust even myself with it.”
