Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,53
and yet her chest had grown heavier at the declaration. Frustration—thank the Lord, she could work with frustration—steamed under her skin. Not frustration at Mr. Kelsey, but at herself for feeling hurt, of all things, by his dismissal! She should be glad. She was glad. No more sneaking away to Kent, no more late nights finishing her work, no more shillings spent on cabs. In fact, she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t disappointment that feathered beneath her ribs, just surprise. Surprise and relief. Most definitely.
“All right, then.” She paused to give him a chance to recant. Not that she wanted him to. Blessed freedom! “I don’t suppose you’ll reimburse my expenses to journey here this morning.”
She expected him to refuse, but to her surprise, he reached into his wallet and handed her a few shillings. Plenty to see her back to Brookley.
Elsie felt awkward accepting the money, but it would be more embarrassing to suddenly change her mind, so she put it in her reticule. She found herself at a loss for words at their unexpected parting. She couldn’t thank him—he had blackmailed her, for goodness’ sake! But he’d also been true to his word. But she wouldn’t thank him for that. That was expected of a gentleman.
“I suppose I’ll head home.” She pinched her chatelaine in her hands. “Good day, Mr. Kelsey.”
He nodded. She started down the road, brushing the tangle of her feelings aside. But a new thought rose to mind, and she paused. Turned around.
“If I could ask you a personal question.”
The statement took him aback. He looked less stern when caught by surprise. The softening of his features made him more handsome. Not that she thought him handsome. Hardly.
Before he could respond, she rushed out, “Since we’re being so honest with each other.”
His eyes narrowed. “Very well.”
For a moment she considered tact—surely it was too personal to ask such a question—but the mystery had been weighing on her, and there wasn’t a roundabout way of doing this. If she wanted to know, she would have to be straightforward. “What spells do you wear?” she blurted.
That really took him by surprise. His face opened as though she’d just told him the origin of the universe.
She spread her hands in a sort of apology. “I do have a knack for sensing them.”
He moved stiffly, awkwardly, before deciding to busy his free hand by stroking his beard. “Of course you do.”
She waited. If he didn’t tell her, the suspense would drive her mad.
Turning, Mr. Kelsey leaned against the stone wall. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I trust you to keep my secrets, if only because I already know yours.”
“Yes. Please, remind me again.”
He studied her face. Elsie put a hand on the back of her neck—a rather ineffective attempt to cool an oncoming blush. After a moment, he pushed off the wall, tugged down his waistcoat, and stepped a little closer.
“When I was a youth, I began to exhibit the symptoms of polio.”
Whatever Elsie had expected, it was not that. Her lips parted, but she dared not speak.
Mr. Kelsey glanced away. “My father brought me here, as there are no master temporal aspectors on the island. The spell you sensed is one that slows the spread of the disease.” He looked uncomfortable, but his voice remained even. “It will not hold forever, of course. Spells cannot stop time, only impede its effects. In truth, the reason I’ve come here is not merely to test for my mastership, but to obtain a spell that will help me once the disease spreads.”
“I see.” Her gaze dropped to his torso. As a youth . . . How long had the spell been there? Ten years? Fifteen? Aspecting could do a lot for one’s health, especially if one had the money to afford it. But it couldn’t cure something as severe as polio. Just as it couldn’t stop aging. Only slow it.
“My condolences.”
“I will not subjugate you to unwanted sympathies if you will return the favor.”
She nodded. “Of course.” Paused. “And what of the other?”
“Pardon?”
“The other spell.”
His brow knit together. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Really, Bacchus. And here I thought we were being friends.”
He took another step toward her, almost close enough for discomfort. Close enough for her to smell the temporal spell beneath his clothes. “What do you mean?” he asked again.