Page 30 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“He wasn’t there. Prout and Abbott, the footmen, did the dirty work, with his regards. They said they’d be back in the morning.”
John considered. If they went back to the house and someone saw them, Dalton would probably find out. And if Dalton felt his demonstration had failed, perhaps he’d repeat it. It would be better to avoid the house. Better to lie low and let Dalton think everything had gone according to plan.
“All right. So, we’ll get comfortable here until morning. Your clothes are soaking. Here.” John picked up the rowan twig and brought it closer to Thornby.
Thornby jumped as if something had bitten him. “What the devil?” he yelped, grabbing at his chest.
“Sorry, sorry. That was me. I was trying to dry your clothes.”
“Christ! It felt like you set my shirt on fire.”
“Sorry. You’d better get everything off then, or you’ll freeze. I can dry them fairly fast, but perhaps not with you in them. You throw all my magic awry, don’t you? You can have my coat while you wait, but don’t go poking around in the pockets. There are all kinds of things in there that are better left alone.”
Thornby started trying to undo his waistcoat buttons, but his hands were shaking too much. John did it for him, then peeled off Thornby’s wet coat and waistcoat and started on the buttons of his shirt. He was about half-way down when he realised Thornby was looking at him with a ghost of a smile on his drawn face. John stopped, fingers on the buttons.
“I must say this isn’t how I imagined it,” Thornby said, glancing at the bare branches of the thicket that hemmed them in.
John found himself smiling back. “Nor me.”
“But you did imagine it?”
“Are you joking? It’s been impossible to think of anything else. Even with a cursed marquess and a fairy hedgehog running around the place.”
Thornby looked away for a moment. “I wondered if you weren’t really interested. You know, because of earlier. In the spare room.”
“You mean the spare room where I spent all over you? And you did the same to me?”
“Well—I meant the part where you thought about it for five minutes beforehand. Not that I mind, if that’s what you like to do. Actually, it was quite exciting, being made to wait. But people don’t usually deliberate about it for quite so long if they really want to.”
“No, no. That’s just—it’s to do with magic. It affects how I have sex. Look, can I tell you later? I want to get you warmed up and set some wards. I want to know about it, if anyone comes near.”
“Yes, of course.”
John helped him get the rest of his wet clothes off, wrapped him in his coat, helped him lie down, and tied a clean handkerchief lightly around his bleeding ankle. Then John bent over him to get some things out of his coat pockets. “I’ve got walnuts, but no other food. I’ll go back to the house for some if you like.”
“I couldn’t eat anyway. I’m nearly asleep now.”
“All right. I’ll be back soon. And listen, Thornby; next time I take off your clothes you’ll have no doubt about whether I want you. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He bent closer, putting his lips to Thornby’s ear. “And if you like being made to wait, then I will make you wait. Until you beg. Got it? Now go to sleep.”
“After a comment like that?” Thornby muttered, but he closed his eyes and was asleep before John had even straightened his back.
***
Thornby woke with astart; something was digging into his cheek. He thrashed at it and found himself with a handful of hazel twigs. Then Blake was there, crouching over him with a hand on his arm. The uncanny blue light Blake had brought with him was still burning, lighting up the coppice.
“All right?” Blake said.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly five.”
“I’ve a head like a stuck pig. Is there any more water?”
Blake passed him a flask, which he drained. He was struck by how relaxed Blake looked, considering they were sleeping out on an October night in Yorkshire. Thornby was not, now he thought of it, especially cold himself; Blake’s coat was wonderfully warm. The dead leaves underneath him felt crisp and dry. Surely, they’d been wet earlier. Was that magic?
