“You are a fetid witch.”
Miss Plim blushed. “And if I am not mistaken, sir, you are that revolting and heartless scourge of the earth, a witch hunter.”
He took a few steps toward her, his hips jerking in an attempt at manly swaggering. “What is your name?”
“Judy,” she said.
“Matthew,” he told her.
He’d come so close, she could smell the saltiness of blood beneath his bandages. Her heart pulled itself up from its stiff-backed chair, rubbed its aching hip, and put itself to stirring. She needed no crystal ball to justify the future she began to see for herself.
“I am fetid, bad, reprehensible,” she said huskily. “How are you going to punish me, Matthew?”
His dainty eyelashes fluttered and a yellowish hue began to infuse his expression—lust, or perhaps indigestion. He reached out, touched her face, then lifted his fingers to his nose. Miss Plim shivered at the romantic gesture.
“You belong on a flaming pyre, woman,” he growled, stepping so close their shadows fused into one trembling, distorted shape.
“Oh yes,” Miss Plim replied, her voice little more than a breath made steamy with feminine magic. “Burn me. Burn me alive.”
When Charlotte arrived home not long after, hand in hand with a pirate, it was to find the drawing room empty. Woollery informed her parents of her presence, and Mrs. Pettifer rushed downstairs in a flurry of lace and laughter. Embraces were issued and welcomes made to Captain O’Riley, whose occupation was forgiven in light of his wealth and good looks, not to mention the fact Mrs. Pettifer had nearly completed the wedding preparations. Then the trio sat down to tea and chat. Charlotte’s seat rustled as she descended upon it, and rising again she saw a letter there.
“What is the matter, dear?” Mrs. Pettifer asked as her daughter’s face grew white.
Charlotte looked up speechless from the piece of paper, her eyes wide as they went first from Mrs. Pettifer to Alex. “It—I—upon my word!”
Alex stood impatiently, removed the letter from her numb hands,and perused it with speed—whereupon his jaw dropped open. Mrs. Pettifer took the disturbing item for herself and snapped it briskly before reading its message. She laughed.
“Why, Judith has gone! Abdicated leadership of the Wicken League and eloped with some man, sailing away to France!”
“Well, that’s bleeding massive,” Alex murmured in an accent so Irish it was practically colored green and waving a glass of whiskey.
“She says she is bestowing all her authority on you, Lottie dear!” Mrs. Pettifer continued reading. “But I don’t understand this part: ‘It is a fitting punishment’—for surely this is wonderful news? I certainly don’t need a tarot deck to tell me it is the very best news! My dear, you are now leader of the witches!”
“Hurrah,” Charlotte said dazedly.
Mrs. Pettifer frowned. “You do not seem very excited. This is what you have been waiting for your entire life, my dear.”
“Yes, I am aware. But Mama, how can I marry Alex if I am to head the League? The feud—”
Mrs. Pettifer waved this concern away at once. “Captain O’Riley may be a pirate, but that represents only a small and easily remedied flaw. No one would expect you to give up such an interesting reformation project. And I’m sure his skills will transfer nicely to lawyering or being a member of parliament.”
(“Excuse me?” Alex said, but was ignored.)
“So long as you don’t do something truly scandalous, such as invite a Wisteria Society lady to your wedding, you will be fine.”
“Um,” Charlotte said, biting her lower lip.
“Oh. Well, I suppose unfortunate things can happen at the seaside. Fear not! So long as you don’t invite that scandalous Cecilia Bassingthwaite, you are still fine.”
“Um,” Charlotte said, and flung herself back onto a sofa.
“Oh,” Mrs. Pettifer said once more, at her wit’s end. But since it didnot take long for her to reach there, it was an easy journey bouncing back again. “Never mind, dear! This shall herald a new age of intersociety enmity. Already I have in mind certain pirate ladies I shall invite to visit so I may serve them weak tea and give lackluster compliments about their hats. Besides, with the amulet in the League’s possession, we shall have the upper hand!”
Alex winced. Charlotte closed her eyes, pressing the back of her hand against them.
“I see.” Mrs. Pettifer’s voice sounded alarmingly Plimmish. She turned on her heel and began furiously pouring tea into a cup.
Alex sat on the sofa next to Charlotte. “I’m proud of you,” he said, smiling.
