The blow actually hurt him more than it hurt her, as she was wearing a steel-boned corset. But Alex waited on a thunderbolt from the heavens... for about two seconds, before receiving Lady Armitage’s less-than-holy fingernails clawing at his face instead. Grabbing her wrists in self-defense, he tried to restrain the woman without actually harming her, whereupon she kicked his shin and then kneed him in the groin.
Or rather, she would have kneed him in the groin had not her crinoline petticoat prevented her knee coming within twenty inches of its goal. Instead, Alex found himself gently bumped. This miscalculation set Lady Armitage off-balance, and he took the opportunity to firmly (but carefully) push her back against a wall.
“Why, sir,” she said, batting her eyelashes. The ones on the right eye fell off, leaving just a few white wisps. “You only had to ask.”
Disgusted, Alex yanked the amulet from her neck and turned away, chanting the pilot stanza as he strode toward the wheel. The house began to tremble like a bashful girl at the sound of his voice.
“Thief!” Lady Armitage cried, throwing herself upon his back.Her bony arms around his neck tried to throttle him, but Alex was undisturbed. He continued on toward the wheel, incantating loudly over the growing rumble of the fire downstairs. Lady Armitage groped at his mouth, attempting to gag him, and he tasted dust and old perfume before managing to pull her hand away.
The wheel was attached to a plinth in front of a grand floor-to-ceiling window. Alex had just reached it, his fingers touching the wood and his body tingling with ancient magic, when Lady Armitage shrieked in his ear. As he winced away from the noise, she thrust out a leg, hooking it around one of the wheel spokes. The wheel jerked, and the magic stumbled wildly in Alex’s throat.
“Stop it!” he yelled. “You’ll crash your goddamn house!”
“I’ll crash you,” she replied, and hooked her other leg around the wheel. The house tipped back and forth like a child’s toy. Alex had no choice but to relinquish his plan. If the mad old pirate wanted to go down with her battlehouse, he had little interest in debating the matter with her. He had a green-eyed witch to get back to, and soon thereafter Ned Lightbourne, to seek advice on how to woo Charlotte in the best, most romantic way possible. She may not like him now, but pirates always got what they wanted. He’d steal for her, recite sonnets for her, until she surrendered.
Forcing Lady Armitage off with some difficulty, he pushed the old pirate onto one of her fainting couches and turned to leave.
“Thank you!” she called out, laughing.
Turning back, Alex saw her splayed on the couch, red shoes propped up, amulet dangling from her fingers. He cursed aloud. Somehow she had snatched the blasted thing from his hand without him realizing. While part of him could not help but feel a certain professional admiration for her skill, another part wanted to strangle her with the goddamn gold chain.
“Give. That. Back,” he demanded through a clenched jaw.
She rose from the couch, letting the amulet sway. “Come and get it, boy.”
Alex strode toward her, but she moved unexpectedly, darting aside, and pulled a lever on the wheel’s plinth. The great cockpit window folded open.
Armitage House lurched as its magic destabilized even further. Alex staggered, reaching for the nearest object to steady himself—a naked marble gentleman. It rocked beneath his hands, thus proving Charlotte, Cecilia, Miss Plim, and probably most women of England correct as to the unreliability of men. Alex was immediately pushed into a tripping gait toward the open window.
He grasped at the window frame. His hands caught it firmly, and he almost breathed in relief.
But the rest of his body kept moving, following the tilt of the house, tipping him out fifty feet above Clacton.
Charlotte was still some distance away when Alex tumbled through the window. For a moment her body seemed to fracture internally from the force of her horror. But then she saw he had hold of the window frame, and she pulled herself together in ruthless Plim fashion. This was no time to be emotional.
Around her, the bystanders were gasping, pointing, and passing a bag of biscuits amongst themselves. Charlotte knew she could not levitate to Alex’s rescue in front of so many witnesses, but a subtle use of the incantation might still be possible.Don’t let go,she urged him silently. Aloud, she began to whisper in Latin.
She could see at her periphery a man pushing his way through the crowd, but she ignored him. Only one man concerned her now, only one fear. As a consequence, the fellow was upon her before she realized, grabbing her arm.
“What are you doing, sir?” she demanded, glaring at his pale eyes and bony face. “Unhand me at once!”
He did not oblige. Indeed, his grip became firmer. He had a bandage on his forehead and an expression of revulsion on his thin, pallid face; looking at him, Charlotte felt she ought to know him, as if his presence had dwelled in her life since she was born, just awaiting this hour to become manifest. “Charlotte Pettifer,” he said, sniffing moistly. “You are under arrest for witchcraft.”
Horror shocked her again. And yet also a strange, weary relief.I knew it would happen one day,her mind said, even while her heart began flapping itself in panic.At least the dread is over.But although her vision washed with light and she did not know when the next breath might come, she straightened to the full extent of Plimmish righteousness and gave him a cool, contemptuous look.
“Don’t be ridiculous, my good man. Witches do not exist.”
“Are you quite sure about that?” he asked, a smirk slithering across his lips. And then, with slow deliberation, he looked up.
Following his gaze with her own, Charlotte choked on a cry. Lady Armitage was standing at the open window, bashing Alex’s hands with a telescope. One lost its grip, causing him to swing perilously, and the crowd gasped with excitement. Any moment now, he was going to plunge to his death.
Oh God.
This is no time for emotion!her brain reminded her sternly.
Arrrgh!her body replied.
The man leaned forward, snuffling at her hair. “You smell of smoke,” he said, and licked the words from his lips. “How appropriate.”
