The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(48)

He could have stepped on a lady’s foot—in fact, once he was certain he did. He had eyes only for Ellie and damn him, he lacked the power to look away. She was stunning. As he moved down the line and she up, their eyes met and it took a military discipline to not drag her from the ballroom.

And when it was his turn to dance with her? He remembered every breath.

She looked angelic and regal, happiness bursting from her face, and he never wanted to let go. She made him feel at home. She saw him. Past the title, the money, the family. She saw him as a man and it made him feel alive. Proud.

Substantive.

Her silver gown hugged the parts of her he wanted to touch. She moved without artificial grace. She was everything he ever wanted.

Finally, the stupid event ended.

“I call forth my brother, the crown prince, to make his final decision,” Pierce announced from the dais of the small ballroom.

He strode to his brother’s side, and in an orderly, efficient manner, raised his right hand to point to two ladies at random, then Ellie, and finally Lady Olivia—for fear that if he did not choose her, she would place a hex on the final four.





Chapter Fourteen



The dance had been dull. She danced with eight men and one man who stole her breath and made her dizzy.

She needed air. Ellie slipped from her place in line and dipped out of the small ballroom as the back doors opened and the rest of the crowd flooded in to see who the prince had chosen. He only picked her because he needed her help to end the hex. Lady Olivia had a bead on her, and if Ellie stuck around, it was only a matter of time before her identity was revealed.

The side door opened to a dark hall lit by flame-tipped torches. She headed toward what she hoped was an exit out of the castle.

A hand wrapped around her bicep and yanked her back. Tripping over her long silver-blue skirts, Ellie hit a man’s chest with a thump. Craning her head back, she realized who held her. “Gerard.”

“Come.” He pulled her into a side room.

A fire burned in the center of a wall lined with tall bookshelves. She spun in a slow circle and took in the awe-inspiring room. Books, everywhere. Gerard dropped his hand to close the door behind them with a soft click.

White columns soared two stories high, and moonlight slipped across the marble floor from glass-paned doors on the opposite wall. Wide couches and an assortment of plush chairs decorated the space. Side tables and little candelabras hunkered nearby like soldiers.

“It’s stunning,” she said, the sound of her voice echoing off the marble.

“The library? It’s my—was my favorite room.” Gerard headed to one of the oak tables by the fireplace.

She followed and ran her fingers along the spines of a collection of books. Gerard’s hands snaked down the sides of her velvet bodice and need flooded her. Her breath hitched. It rankled, how his presence caused her to lose her senses.

“Ellie,” he breathed into her ear, the rough stubble on his chin scraping along her neck and made her toes curl. “I want you to win. I want you to be my bride.”

“Gerard!” She whipped around, disbelief burning in her blood.

“What?” A grin shadowed the edges of his mouth. His shoulders blocked the dim light from the fireplace.

“You fruitcake. I’m not here to win.” Ellie walloped his bicep and immediately regretted it. Pain radiated up her fingers to throb in her knuckles.

“Oh, pumpkin, did you hurt your hand?” He bent over her, a haloed lock of brown hair tumbling along his forehead.

She bit her lip. His nearness did funny things to her belly.

His fingers closed around her own. Trying to calm her breathing took more concentration than she had.

“Ellie?” His breath whispered along her neck in the close confines of the dark library. The hum of the feast vibrated the mahogany table he pressed her against. “I know you’re not here to win but I want you to win. I need you to.”

“Get ahold of yourself.” She pushed against him without strength. The muscles and soft tunic under her palms warmed her. “I am not queen material. I’m here to help with the hex. In fact, I was late because I found the tool Lady Olivia uses to curse the contestants.”

His hazel eyes widened. “Ignoring the first part of your little speech for now, what’s the tool?”

“A hand mirror—” She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt. “I know it sounds silly, but the glass is cloudy and impossible to see through. And…I swear I watched her talk to a crow within the frame.”

“A crow?” He braced a hand on the table on either side of her hips, trapping her.

“Yes, she keeps it with her, it fits in the pocket of a gown. Maybe she’s having the victims look into it?”

“I’ve heard of reflections used in dark, old magic practices. It’s an object of communication.” He chewed the side of his mouth, seemingly lost in thought.

She tried not to appreciate the way his jaw tensed as he did so. The scent of sandalwood washed over her. “It has little X’s on the frame.”

“Hmm, I’ll do some research, see what I can find. Edward might have seen something in our travels as well.” He leaned in and paused, a breath away. “Now, on to more important matters.”

“What is more important than solving the matter of the hex?”