Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(23)

“Oh.” Then he certainly would be her better, not that she’d satisfy him by saying as much. “So he has you doing menial chores about the grounds?”

He cocked a dark eyebrow. “Regardless of what you’ve chosen to believe, Miss Camden, the duke is a good man. I work willingly, out of gratitude.”

“As I work unwillingly to keep my head on my shoulders.”

He glowered. Elsie shrugged and took a bite of food. The bread was exquisite. She chewed, swallowed, and let herself relax.

“Well,” she continued, “fair is fair. But how long must I toil to earn your favor? Or rather, your silence?”

“Until the work is done.”

Elsie frowned. “Leave it to a man to be unspecific.”

Another lip quirk. At least the boor appreciated humor. “The estate and its holdings are extensive; I have yet to walk all of it.”

“And its holdings?” Elsie repeated, leaning against the wall as her knees weakened. “Good sir, you will work me to death. I have another occupation.” Two, considering how often the Cowls had been contacting her of late. “One I am putting at risk for this.”

“I needn’t remind you that you made the initial risk yourself.”

Elsie sniffed and attacked her sandwich. She ate half of it in silence, and while the lack of conversation bothered her, Mr. Kelsey seemed utterly unfazed by it. Ridiculous man. When she could bear the quiet no longer, she blurted, “So where are you from? Turkey?”

His eyes narrowed. “That is your first assumption? Turkey?”

“I am no duchess, Mr. Kelsey. I am not well traveled, though I highly doubt you’re French.”

He popped the last of his meal into his mouth and brushed off his hands. Returned to the wall. Ran his palm over it. There was a crack there, and without a word he bespelled the stones on either side of it, growing them until their own girth filled it.

It was only a little impressive.

“I’m from Barbados, if you must know.” He tilted his head toward what remained of her food. “Don’t dawdle.”

Elsie gave him a pointed look and took her time finishing her meal. Mr. Kelsey, in the meantime, caught up to her with his fortifying spells. Despite the meal, he looked a little fatigued. Tired around his eyes.

They continued their work with the second half of the wall, disenchanting and re-enchanting it until they reached the woods. The itching spread nearly to Elsie’s shoulders, but she scratched only when she was sure Mr. Kelsey was not looking. Her knees and lower back ached when the work was finished, and she very much yearned for a bath.

“That’s enough for today.” Mr. Kelsey looked back over his work. His shoulders slumped, and he looked older. She wondered if overuse of magic was the cause, but Mr. Kelsey seemed to feel more tired than she did itchy. “Until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is the Sabbath.”

He looked down at her. His glare certainly hadn’t lost any energy. “You don’t strike me as a God-fearing woman.”

Folding her arms, she retorted, “I fear him on Sundays.”

Mr. Kelsey actually laughed. Softly, barely loud enough to hear, but it was a chuckle, nonetheless. Much to Elsie’s dismay, she found it to be a very pleasant and masculine sound. “As most do.”

Elsie loosened her arms. “Monday is as good a time as any. My employer is away working on some grand scheme of stonework for our squire. Best I use the time as I am able.”

“His name?”

Elsie glared.

“I could find out for myself.”

“Do that.” Elsie offered him a mocking curtsy. “Good evening, Mr. Kelsey. It’s been lovely.”

“If you’re willing to wait,” he said, turning as she passed him, “I’ll have the footmen bring around a carriage.”

“Thank you, but no.” She paused a little too close to him, then caught herself and stepped back. Her thoughts spun, flashing from the close fit of his shirt to something else . . . something curious . . . but she squashed them. “It would be best if I did not arrive in Brookley in a duke’s carriage.”

“Brookley,” he repeated with an obnoxious smirk.

She pinched her lips together. Next time she’d merely refuse to speak and bear the silence just as she bore this infuriating itching. The lace on her cuffs aggravated it. “I’ll escort myself, thank you.”

She turned and did just that. And once she reached the road, she finally let her turning thoughts surface. She’d sensed something strange about Mr. Kelsey those last few minutes.

A spell. She smelled it. A less experienced spellbreaker might have thought it Mr. Kelsey’s musk of choice, but Elsie knew better. Knew the scent of fresh-cut wood and citrus was a natural smell—and not unpleasant—but the earthy smell beneath it, not unlike mushrooms, indicated a spell. A temporal spell, planted somewhere on Mr. Kelsey’s person.

But whatever could it be?





CHAPTER 7



Ogden announced they would be going to church in London. Specifically, Camberwell, to a church they’d attended once before. That was a strange thing about Ogden—he wasn’t a very religious person, and yet he insisted on the household attending church every Sunday. Only the church they attended changed more often than the season.