Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(43)

“I appreciate the attempt.”

“If it is any consolation, I myself am a bastard.” When she gaped at the confession, he dismissed it with a wave. “My father did not treat me any differently for it, but he never married my mother. She was of a common background and hailed from the Algarve; my grandparents didn’t approve. But your story is not one I’ve heard before. And I’ve heard many.”

She regarded him for a moment, but his words were genuine. “Is Barbados so exciting?”

“I suppose that depends on your definition of excitement.” It was not a jest. “But I do offer them. My sympathies, that is. I’m sorry the family is not more understanding.”

She pinched the seam of her left glove. “They had little enough coin, and it’s been fifteen years! I can hardly blame them.” She thought she did a good job of making her voice sound light.

They reached the duke’s stone wall, the one that still made Elsie’s wrists itch when she looked at it.

Mr. Kelsey stopped abruptly.

“Miss Camden,” he began, very serious and suddenly rather tall. “I have decided your debt is repaid. Twice over, considering. You have no more need to drag yourself here to ensure my silence. Your secret is forgotten.”

Elsie stared at him for a second. Just like that? “Well, if pity is all it takes, I should have told you my life story sooner!”

He held up a hand. “It is not pity.”

She paused, regarding him. Something stupid and hopeful fluttered in her chest.

“I’d already decided as much before I saw you this morning,” he said. “There is little more I need your services for, besides.”

She flinched at the words before biting the inside of her cheek and forcing her expression to relax. Doesn’t need me. She tried not to dwell on it. She barely knew the man, 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.”