cauldron, letting it bond with the concoction. “ Lorg freagair timcheall Kettering. Lorg freagair timcheall Kettering.” With her free hand, she dropped a moonstone into the mixture, which bubbled. Her heart soared. She just might get her answers yet.
As a flash of light lit up the room, Blaire tossed the pocket watch to her bed, wrapped a rag around her hand, and retrieved the cauldron from the fire. She placed it on the hearth and peered inside. But no vision appeared, and no answers leapt to her mind. All she was left with was a mixture that looked disgustingly like a vat of blood.
Damn it to hell. She crossed the room, raised the window, suppressed a shiver from the frigid air, tossed the contents of the cauldron to the ground below, and cursed herself for being a fool. She’d known the ceremony wouldn’t work when she was alone, but what other choice did she have? It wasn’t as though Kettering was going to tell her all his secrets.
Just then she heard the two Englishmen’s voices filter down the corridor as the pair apparently made their way toward their borrowed quarters. Then their footsteps slowed outside her door. “Do you smell that?” Kettering asked. Had she not had her ear pressed to the door, she’d have missed his comments completely.
“Blood? In Miss Lindsay’s room?” the earl replied with a question of his own.
“They’re not here yet. You’d feel them, wouldn’t you?” Another quick murmur from Blodswell that she couldn’t make out. “Then what is that smell?” Kettering asked.
Certainly, they couldn’t smell her concoction. It was simply by chance that the earl thought there was blood in her room. Who could smell blood? What did blood smell like, anyway? She’d hunted for years and often found herself dressing the animals. Yet she couldn’t remember any strong odor that came with the letting of blood. It was highly unlikely that Kettering could pinpoint an odor like that either, especially through her closed door.
Before she could take a step, her door burst wide open. She was forced to dodge it to avoid being knocked over in Kettering’s haste to enter her chambers. She landed on her bottom with a grunt.
“What the devil…?” Blaire complained as she came to her feet. She shook her nightrail and wrapper so that her legs were covered and dusted her hands together.
Kettering stopped inches from her and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. Like a ninnyhammer, she froze. The powers-that-be should take away her supernatural abilities, the ones she received simply by being battle born, because she was completely and totally unworthy. That much was quite obvious. She bit back a curse.
“Are you all right?” Kettering asked, his voice rumbling across her like a caress.
Blaire shook her chin loose from his hold. “Of course, I am. Why would I no’ be?” She noticed the earl as he raised one hand and quietly squeezed Kettering’s shoulder. The baron relaxed, but not by much.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” Kettering said quietly to his friend, still not removing his gaze from her person. Had she not known better, she would have again thought he could look directly into her soul. The man’s dark eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen, and Blaire fought back a shiver.
She vaguely noted when Blodswell stepped out of the room, bowed a quick farewell from the doorway, and vanished down the corridor. Her attention was centered on the man who still stood much too close for comfort.
Ten
James looked down into the most liquid eyes he’d ever seen and tried to force himself to concentrate. How unfortunate that he failed so miserably.
“Is there a reason why ye’re in my room, sir?” the mesmerizing witch asked, with a tilt of her head. But she nearly vibrated there standing in front of him, so she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. To a casual observer, she would have succeeded in her desire to portray ambivalence. But Miss Lindsay was very much aware and
As a flash of light lit up the room, Blaire tossed the pocket watch to her bed, wrapped a rag around her hand, and retrieved the cauldron from the fire. She placed it on the hearth and peered inside. But no vision appeared, and no answers leapt to her mind. All she was left with was a mixture that looked disgustingly like a vat of blood.
Damn it to hell. She crossed the room, raised the window, suppressed a shiver from the frigid air, tossed the contents of the cauldron to the ground below, and cursed herself for being a fool. She’d known the ceremony wouldn’t work when she was alone, but what other choice did she have? It wasn’t as though Kettering was going to tell her all his secrets.
Just then she heard the two Englishmen’s voices filter down the corridor as the pair apparently made their way toward their borrowed quarters. Then their footsteps slowed outside her door. “Do you smell that?” Kettering asked. Had she not had her ear pressed to the door, she’d have missed his comments completely.
“Blood? In Miss Lindsay’s room?” the earl replied with a question of his own.
“They’re not here yet. You’d feel them, wouldn’t you?” Another quick murmur from Blodswell that she couldn’t make out. “Then what is that smell?” Kettering asked.
Certainly, they couldn’t smell her concoction. It was simply by chance that the earl thought there was blood in her room. Who could smell blood? What did blood smell like, anyway? She’d hunted for years and often found herself dressing the animals. Yet she couldn’t remember any strong odor that came with the letting of blood. It was highly unlikely that Kettering could pinpoint an odor like that either, especially through her closed door.
Before she could take a step, her door burst wide open. She was forced to dodge it to avoid being knocked over in Kettering’s haste to enter her chambers. She landed on her bottom with a grunt.
“What the devil…?” Blaire complained as she came to her feet. She shook her nightrail and wrapper so that her legs were covered and dusted her hands together.
Kettering stopped inches from her and tipped her chin up until she met his eyes. Like a ninnyhammer, she froze. The powers-that-be should take away her supernatural abilities, the ones she received simply by being battle born, because she was completely and totally unworthy. That much was quite obvious. She bit back a curse.
“Are you all right?” Kettering asked, his voice rumbling across her like a caress.
Blaire shook her chin loose from his hold. “Of course, I am. Why would I no’ be?” She noticed the earl as he raised one hand and quietly squeezed Kettering’s shoulder. The baron relaxed, but not by much.
“I’ll be along in a moment,” Kettering said quietly to his friend, still not removing his gaze from her person. Had she not known better, she would have again thought he could look directly into her soul. The man’s dark eyes were the most intense she’d ever seen, and Blaire fought back a shiver.
She vaguely noted when Blodswell stepped out of the room, bowed a quick farewell from the doorway, and vanished down the corridor. Her attention was centered on the man who still stood much too close for comfort.
Ten
James looked down into the most liquid eyes he’d ever seen and tried to force himself to concentrate. How unfortunate that he failed so miserably.
“Is there a reason why ye’re in my room, sir?” the mesmerizing witch asked, with a tilt of her head. But she nearly vibrated there standing in front of him, so she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. To a casual observer, she would have succeeded in her desire to portray ambivalence. But Miss Lindsay was very much aware and
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