Page 74 of No One's Bride
The list of spells was strange. A prayer to stop a dog barking at night. A charm to dream of the deceased. A mantra to make a lover confess his secrets.
The last one was of particular interest. But Ailsa had to determine how she felt before questioning Sebastian.
She turned to the first page, keen to examine the rune symbols written at various points in the margins. The markings were similar to the sigils, in that they looked foreign to the untrained eye, but she couldn’t shake the feeling they had been strategically placed.
“There’s a pattern to the annotations,” she said when Sebastian returned, looking handsome in a dark blue coat. She crossed the room to show him the page. “Do ye see the rune that looks like an arrow?”
He stepped closer, his powerful aura invading her space. She feared she would feel nothing, but the stirrings of lust simmered beneath the surface.
“Yes. There are numerous ones throughout the book.”
“Aye, but only next to words that begin with the letter T.”
Their arms touched as he leaned over her shoulder. “There’s one next to the wordtrust. Another by the wordtrouble.”
“I suspect it’s a code. A secret message. But we will have to sit at length and try to determine what the other runes mean.”
“Agreed.” He looked at her, his gaze curious. “How strange. Our minds are clearer now we’re no longer under the grip of the spell.”
Her heart sank like a brick in a well.
Did he not feel desire’s potency?
Did he not want to take her in his arms and drink from her lips?
“Aye,” she said, swallowing past the painful lump in her throat. “It all seems so obvious now.” That said, she had not studied Michael’s grimoire before. And the need to protect her heart had her erecting steel defences.
“Are you ready to leave?”
Was he keen to place some distance between them?
She nodded, though dreaded the thought of what tomorrow would bring. She would prefer his irate comments to his cool indifference. “We mustn’t forget the grimoire.”
“No, nothing is more important than that.”
He extinguished the lamps, gathered their outdoor apparel and led her out onto Grosvenor Street.
Another unmarked carriage had pulled alongside Gibbs’ vehicle. A man dressed in black stood on the pavement, conversing with Mr Daventry’s coachman.
Fear shot through her, but when the fellow saw them and raised his hand, Ailsa realised it was Mr Daventry.
“My wife and I were dining with friends in Upper Brook Street and saw Gibbs waiting.” His brow quirked when he noticed the string securing her braid. “I left a note for you at Fortune’s Den. The landlord of the Old Crown will speak to you tomorrow at noon. You’re to enter via the yard, not the front door.”
“With luck, we’ll discover the identity of the delivery driver,” she said, struggling to hide her embarrassment. Mr Daventry had a second sight when it came to discovering one’s secrets.
“May I?” the man said, plucking a white blossom petal from her damp hair. “For a moment, I thought it was snowing in April.”
“We were caught in the rain, sir.” The memory of their wet bodies moving in unison beneath the cherry tree flooded her mind.
“The rain?”
“I wanted to show Miss MacTavish my mother’s hothouse.” Sebastian winced as the words left his lips.
“It might have been better to show her the flowers during daylight hours.” Mr Daventry cleared his throat. “Well, I shan’t keep you. Your mother must have had a variety of plants. Gibbs said he’s been waiting for two hours.”
Ailsa forced a smile. “Mr Chance said we cannae return to Fortune’s Den until midnight. ’Tis easier for Sigmund to sneak me in once the patrons are sotted.”
If Mr Daventry doubted her word, he never said. He wished them luck in gathering information from the Old Crown and instructed Gibbs to deliver them back to Aldgate.
