Page 64 of A Widow for the Earl
Her heart lurched. “Go on…”
“You are not a witch, are you?” He peered down at her. “This curse you claim to have with weddings; you did not place it on yourself, did you?”
She laughed uncomfortably, massaging the heel of her palm against her tight chest. How could she admit that, now and then, she wondered if shehadcursed herself somehow. All the nights that she had vowed she would never marry, and pleaded with the heavens to let her be a happy spinster, what if she had cursed herself by accident? What if the wrong spirits had been listening in?
“No to both,” she replied. “I have an interest, that is all. I find the occult fascinating. In truth, it is really just a word for the inexplicable, things that should not be possible but are. It is not dangerous. Why, what we call the occult has been around for thousands of years: ancient practices that would be forgotten if someone had not risked their life to write them down.”
He cleared his throat. “I am not sure that is suitable literature for a lady.”
“Notsolong ago, I might have been called a witch for learning how to read at all. Others for having knowledge of midwifery. Others for singing too sweetly or being too beautiful,” she pointed out. “Therefore, you could say that all ladies have something of the witch about them, so this sort of literature is entirely suitable for a lady. Indeed, it isonlyfor a lady’s eyes.”
To her delighted surprise, he laughed at that. “Goodness, you are strange. You might be the strangest woman I have ever met. And I do not mean that as an insult. Just when I think I have begun to have an understanding about you, you do something else to mystify me again.”
“So, you arenotgoing to hand me over to the authorities for witchcraft?” she teased a little, her stomach fluttering.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “To my shame, I cannot deny that I would be curious to see one of your séances in this room. Then again, perhaps that is because I know most of the tricks already.” He paused. “As long as you do not startpracticingthe occult—the real kind—and turn me into a toad or something, I will not protest your interest.”
“I assure you, I only read,” she replied. “Although, what if I were to put on a performance and accidentally summoned a real ghost. These old manors must bebrimmingwith them.”
Vincent leaned in, his breath tickling Beatrice’s ear. “Do not say a word of this, but I am certain I have seen at least two entities at Grayling. Harmless, but rather startling to a young boy.” He laughed suddenly. “Goodness, I cannot remember the last time I thought about that. I must have pushed it from my memory.”
“Youhave seen ghosts?” Beatrice gasped, and not entirely because of the revelation. Her skin still tingled where his breath had caressed it.
He nodded, smiling. “I must have been ten or so when I saw the first one: a gray lady, wandering the rose garden. I think I was twelve when I saw the second: he was a boy, like me, running back and forth across the ballroom as if he were training for something.”
“Are you teasing me?” Beatrice asked, rather liking his closeness.
“Astonishingly, no.” He laughed. “There are a thousand rational explanations for what I saw, but being here in your charmingly odd theater, I thought I ought to indulge in the occult for a moment. After all, thereisa chance they were two ghosts.”
Beatrice leaned into him. “If I ever visit Grayling again, we shall have to find them.”
“I think I would like that,” he replied, surprising her.
“But you do not even like me beinghere, inthishouse,” she remarked before she could stop herself, certain that she had just ruined the moment.
He looked at her then, turning his body toward her. Without the help of any ghosts or spells, the air seemed to leave the room, while something akin to magic crackled in the space between them.
His mouth opened as if he meant to say something, but it closed a moment later, his teeth grazing his lower lip. Meanwhile, his intense, shining gaze flitted toherlips, speaking without words.Like the yew tree outside, offering guidance in some spiritual, supernatural way.
“Am I mistaken?” she asked softly, her heart in her throat.
In answer, his hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb brushing the spot where he had blown away an eyelash. Though it was the touch of his other hand that stole the breath from her lungs, his palm settling on the curve of her waist, gently grasping fingers pulling her closer.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as she steadied herself, pressing her hands against his chest for purchase. Hard muscle and the thundering beat of his heart greeted her palms, her hands curling into fists, grasping the lapels of his tailcoat.
With a rumbling growl that ignited fireworks in her belly, Vincent kissed the gasp from her lips: a searing, slow graze that robbed her of all self-control. And as he pulled her closer still, his arm sliding all the way around her waist, she kissed him back. An ancient practice that hadnotbeen written down in any of her books, but her instincts understood innately, as if to kiss him had always been in her blood, in her destiny.
She lost herself in the passionate crush of his mouth against hers, swept away by the ebb and flow, entirely submerged in the magic of kissing him. She clung to him as their kiss deepened, their mouths hungry in one moment, slow and searing in the next. And when his teeth lightly grazed her lower lip, she thought she might crumble at the intensity of it.
Indeed, she had not known that magic was real until then. Magic was being kissed and held by Vincent Wilds. Magic was being safe in his embrace, brimming with the sort of passion and longing she had never thought she would ever feel.
But to what end?her infuriating mind whispered.If you marry, he will die, the same as the rest. If you love him, you will lose him. There are no coincidences, and there are no exceptions.
She pulled away sharply, breathless and terrified. So worried that she had already put her curse into motion by kissing him at all. Did real feelings mean he was impervious to her curse? Was she willing to take that risk? A thousand concerning thoughts flooded her head, her gaze half-wild as she looked up at him.
Breathing as harshly as her, Vincent’s brow furrowed into deep lines. He stepped away from her so quickly that she had no time to savor the last second of his embrace.
“Are you well?” he asked thickly.
