The Libertine (Taskill Witches 2)

There was someone sitting in the gloomy shadows beyond the fireplace. It was the feeling of being watched that alerted her to the presence. Shrouded in darkness as the seat was, she could not discern the person, nor did the person make it easy on her by revealing themselves. Instead they remained hidden, watching her.

Chloris clasped her hands together so that they did not tremble. Never let them know you are afraid, her father had taught her when she was a bairn. She swallowed, reminding herself that she was not easily frightened. Despite the lurid tales she’d heard told about the nature of witches, the house indicated some level of sophistication. Grandeur, even. Perhaps the old woman would be kindly. Something had kept her and her coven safe for a number of years, after all. Chloris could only guess at what it might be. She had come here with little information other than what she’d overheard the servant girls discussing. When she’d taken Maura aside and asked for the whereabouts of the local coven and its leader, she did so out of desperation. Now tha

t she was here, the stories she’d heard about witches over the years came to mind and made her uneasy. Chloris did not want to be afraid. She’d made the decision to come here and she stood by that.

She coughed aloud and took several paces forward, closing on the fireplace. Peering into the gloom, she tried to discern features of the person sitting in the armchair. “Good evening,” she said, her voice faltering.

The figure moved in response, long booted legs stretching across the floor toward her.

Chloris peered in disbelief. It was a man. How could this be?

She had expected a mature woman who could aid her with her problem, or at least speak with knowledge about women and the problems of their sex. Instead it was a man who sat before her, languid—yet poised as a nobleman.

She struggled to maintain her composure, but her heart beat erratically. This was so far from what she had expected, and she had thought on it at length. Chloris was practical by nature, and whilst she had her doubts about how much their forbidden craft could achieve, she’d felt sure an older woman would have some sage words about fertility.

“Good evening.” His voice was deep and resonant.

It sent a shiver through her, because she could not see his features clearly in the gloom. In his hand she saw that he nursed a crystal glass half-full with dark wine.

“Please take a seat and speak with me about your concerns.” The man leaned forward in his chair.

Chloris inhaled sharply. The firelight cast his face in stark relief. There was a wild look to him for he had harsh, angular features and dark winged eyebrows that barely shaded the brilliance of his strange blue eyes. The firm outline of his mouth and the rakish look in his eye were evidence of a sensual nature. That left her in no doubt the rumors she’d heard about the carnal nature of those who practiced witchcraft were indeed true. On a woman she might have been able to ignore any blatant signs of her wanton ways, not so this man. She was scarcely able to look away, though, despite the fact that she felt the urge to run. “Forgive me, sire. I have made a mistake in coming here.”

Frowning, he rose from his chair. “Why so?”

Chloris stepped back into the shadows.

His eyelids flickered and he scrutinized her more intensely.

Chloris attempted to lower her gaze, but still found herself compelled to consider his impressive personage. He was built large and wore a skirted coat in dark red, with a fitted waistcoat beneath. The lace at his cuffs was well made but not overly extravagant. His knee breeches emphasized his build, tightly fitted about the thighs as they were, and his woolen stockings and buckled boots also displayed his stature. His clothes were finely made and stylish, but he wore no wig and his dark hair was loose and hung to his shoulders. In sum, he was dangerously attractive.

She mustered a response, forcing her gaze back to his. “On reflection I am not sure you are the right person to help me.”

A knowing smile passed over his handsome mouth. He stepped after her. “If a soul calls to me I am obligated to assist, if it is within my power to do so. In coming here, you have already called to me.”

“No.” The more she backed away the closer he seemed to be, looming over her, bright eyed and determined.

“Why not?” His manner was blatant to the point of rudeness. He swigged from his glass, draining it, and set it down on a nearby table. Devilment shone in his eyes. It was almost as if he was aware of her discomfort and its cause.

“I do not wish to discuss my intimate matters with a man.” A man who was several years younger than her, by the looks of him.

“We are equally able to help you, man or woman. I will treat you no different for being a woman, if you treat me no different for being a man.” Humor danced in his eyes. “We are equal in our humanity, are we not?”

His statement shocked her. It went against the rebellious ways she expected of his sort, and it was certainly nothing she ever expected to hear a man say. In her experience men were all too ready to demean a woman for their own aggrandizement, not elevate her to their own status. Shocking her was, no doubt, his purpose.

He circled her as he continued to speak, eyeing her from head to toe, his gaze lingering particularly on her double-breasted riding jacket as if he was able to discern her figure beneath. “I am aware of the matter that has brought you here. You described your problem to Ailsa, did you not?”

Chloris felt her face heat. Presumably Ailsa was the woman who had opened the door, and she had gone into the parlor to announce the visitor. That meant he was already fully informed of her problem. That and his bold inquisitive stare as he circled her, looking her up and down with total candor, made her situation verge on humiliation. She was desperate for help. Nevertheless she could not discuss matters of her marital bed with a young man, a man who some would say was in league with dark forces.

It was a mistake. She regretted coming and turned away, heading for the door.

He closed on the door quickly, striding over to bar her way.

Chloris drew to a halt. Her breath was trapped in her lungs. Cornered as she was, she defended herself. “Aren’t you afraid that someone will reveal the presence of your coven here, so close to the royal burgh of Saint Andrews?”

It had been an attempt to divert the nature of the exchange on her part, but it only seemed to amuse him. A lazy smile passed over his handsome face. “Coven?” He gestured around the room, where he was her only host. “What coven?”

The man’s manner was infuriating. “I know that people come to you for assistance,” she explained, “for your knowledge of...” Magic.