hinged sign rocked back and forth, swayed by the ocean breeze. She’d noticed the tavern the previous day. Raucous male laughter filtered from the establishment and Sorcha shivered. What had possessed her to embark on such a foolish journey?
The Hadleys, Alec, and Lord Bexley must be in the tavern. It was the only place she could see or hear signs of life in Folkestone. But the Hythe carriage pushed farther into the village and finally stopped right outside the small bookshop she and Maddie had explored at length the day before. A moment later, Johnny opened the coach door and offered his hand to assist Sorcha from the conveyance.
“Nothing is open, Miss,” he said regretfully. “But you can still retrace your steps. We can come back in the morning, if you think your trinket is in one of the shops.”
Her item had turned into a trinket now. She really should have spent the drive into Folkestone deciding what exactly she had lost. “Thank ye, Johnny.” Her eyes glanced over his shoulder, back down High Street toward The Knight’s Arms. It really wasn’t so far away. She could be there within moments, if she could just get away from the helpful groom.
Then inspiration struck. Johnny would be left with a headache and she’d have to drive the coach back to Castle Hythe herself, but she was proficient with the ribbons. There were some advantages to having a much older brother who was easily persuaded to teach her things she had no business learning.
Sorcha opened her reticule and willed a valerian seed to find its way to the top. She smiled at the seed and clasped it into her palm. Within seconds, life began to sprout within her fist. She opened her hand and watched a white flower burst open. Its sweet scent tickled at her nose, which was the very last thing she wanted. “No’ me,” she whispered to the plant. Then she closed her fist again and the new flower disintegrated in her hold, leaving her the perfect amount of dried herb.
“Did you say something, miss?” Johnny stepped closer to her.
Only a tiny bit of guilt ate at Sorcha’s insides when she opened her hand and blew the herb right into Johnny’s face.
He collapsed in a heap at her feet. Sorcha gasped, even though she knew that had been bound to happen. She glanced down the street, making certain no one had seen the magical display, and dropped her reticule to the ground.
She stepped back, bent over, and tried to heft the young groom by his armpits to let him sleep off the effects in the coach. Havers! Who would have thought Johnny was so heavy? Did he collect stones in his pockets? What she wouldn’t give to have Blaire’s strength in that moment. Her battle-born coven sister would have easily dispensed with the groom and been halfway to The Knight’s Arms by now.
Sorcha tugged again at Johnny’s jacket and was relieved when she moved him half an inch. Still, at this rate it would be all night before she could get the groom inside the coach. “Next time, give him the valerian when he’s inside the door,” she berated herself.
“Did you say something, lass?” a deep voice asked, directly behind her.
With a gasp, Sorcha spun around to stare in the dark amber eyes of Viscount Radbourne. He was so devilishly handsome with his light brown hair illuminated in the moonlight that she struggled to find her voice.
“Now, Miss Ferguson,” the Lycan began as he took another step toward her and gestured to the groom lying at her feet. “Tell me, may I be of assistance?”
Sorcha bit her lip and racked her brain, trying to find a story that might be worthy of the Lycan. A story? That would be pushing it. A lie. That was much more appropriate. “It appears as though the Hythe’s groom is a bit under the weather?” she tried.
“Did you cosh the fool over the head, Miss Ferguson?”
He raised his eyebrows at her as he leaned casually against the side of the coach.
“What makes ye think he’s a fool?” she countered, trying to avoid his question.
“He’s on the ground at your feet,” Lord Radbourne said pointedly as he gestured toward Johnny. The Lycan bent and smacked the side of the man’s face. Johnny didn’t even flinch. He didn’t groan or make any sound at all.
“He won’t wake up for while,” Sorcha admitted. “At least I don’t think he will.” She fidgeted under Lord Radbourne’s heady