Spellbreaker

Elsie pasted on a smile and offered her best shallow curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Pierrelo. Don’t mind the dress; I’m afraid I’m the only one the institution could spare at such short notice.”

The older man paused for just a moment before nodding. “Of course, Miss—”

“Camden,” she said, trying not to let her voice sound tight. There was less of a chance either she or Mr. Kelsey would slip up if she used her own name, and besides, this man wasn’t going to investigate her. He had no reason to.

“A second spell, you believe?” He turned to Mr. Kelsey.

“Yes. A spellbreaker visiting the Duke of Kent noticed it. But we cannot determine what it is until your spell is removed.” He hesitated. “You’re sure it is not one of yours?”

Master Pierrelo shook his head. “As I said in the letter, I only placed one spell.” Then, meeting Mr. Kelsey’s eyes, he added, “Your father didn’t pay me for any more, lad. Though I suppose you’ve outgrown that term, hmm?”

He smiled at his own joke. Mr. Kelsey was a full head taller than the master aspector and a good deal wider as well.

“All right, then.” Master Pierrelo cracked two of his knuckles. “This shouldn’t take long, I presume. Would you prefer to sit or stand?”

“Standing is fine, thank you.” He moved away from the fire. Looked at Elsie. There was something new in his gaze, although she couldn’t quite decipher what it meant.

“Right,” she mumbled, moving in front of him. He nodded his permission, and Elsie touched his chest. His heart was racing; he was nervous. And—

“Oh dear.” Her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t quite thought this through, had she?

“What’s wrong?” asked Master Pierrelo.

Lowering her hand, Elsie cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t think of it before, Mr. Kelsey”—she tugged on that loose thread on her sleeve—“but I’m afraid . . . I’ll need you to remove your shirt.”

Her ears warmed. She stepped back to give him space. “That is, I presume the spell is on the skin.”

“Of course,” said Master Pierrelo.

Once again, Bacchus moved easily with the change in tide. If he felt awkward, he didn’t show it. He slipped off his coat and draped it on the nearest chair. Then unbuttoned his waistcoat. Laid it atop the chair as well.

Elsie wanted to look away, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Because I’m a professional, she reminded herself.

Or at least, she was pretending to be.

He pulled off his ascot, then tugged off his linen shirt by grabbing the back of its collar.

Oh my.

Elsie put both hands on the back of her neck to cool her flush. If she let her cheeks redden, she would look an absolute fool before both of them!

The only man Elsie had ever seen shirtless since the workhouse was Ogden. And while he was stout and in good health . . . it wasn’t the same.

Bacchus Kelsey was not bad looking in the slightest.

She glanced at the floor, giving herself a few seconds of composure. When she thought she had it, she straightened her back and forced nonchalance into every fiber of her person.

“My apologies,” Bacchus whispered.

Her gaze flitted to his face and away again. She waved a dismissive hand. “All part of the job, Mr. Kelsey.” Taking half a step forward, she attempted to sense the spell. Bacchus’s masculine scent, the one edged with citrus, was strong, but so was the earthiness of the temporal spell. It was a master-level spell, certainly. And though she couldn’t see it with her eyes, she knew it was a large rune that began halfway down his chest and ended an inch above his navel. The start of a trail of dark hair sat just above the waist of his trousers—

Good God, woman, focus! She placed her hand on the rune. Bacchus jerked just slightly—her hands must have been cold. She focused on the chill in her fingers so she wouldn’t think of the warmth of his flesh or its firmness, because if she thought about those things, the blush would only worsen. But of course Elsie’s thoughts strayed as they were wont to do, her mind moving from the temperature of her fingers to the mesmerizing contrast of their skin tones—hers fair and almost peachy, his a rich bronze. The spell buzzed beneath her touch, as though it knew its demise was nigh. Beneath it lay another. Something she could sense like a person watching her, but couldn’t yet see, hear, smell, or feel.

“Expertly made, Master Pierrelo.” She focused her attention on the work at hand. “I feel almost sorry to remove it.”

The compliment did its job; the master smiled.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Bacchus nodded, his gaze never leaving her.

She ran her fingertips down the length of the rune, testing the metaphorical knot and searching for the start of the pattern that would unwind it. Bacchus’s skin pebbled under her touch.

Don’t think about that. Focus.