Page 39 of A Lady’s Guide to Witchcraft

Chapter Thirteen

Mr. Swansea.

Ethan couldn’t have said why it infuriated him to his bones to have Briar address him so politely. So formally. Never mind that no one had called him Mr. Swansea in years. He was Dragon.

He wanted to hear his name on her lips.

It was addlepated of him. But also true. No use denying it. She was all wrong for him and he couldn’t keep his damned eyes off her regardless. Partly because he knew Crows and Keepers were also watching her and he’d have that moon charm first. He had that cargo on his ship that he needed to get to Lowestoft, and a mermaid who had promised him a song he could bottle. He had the work of an Iron Crow. The call of the sea.

Even if Briar was dangerously intriguing. Quiet and brave, saucy and polite. Surprisingly sensual, with that thick hair scattered with flowers and those delicious curves. Soft, sharp.

And just a little bit sad.

He saw it when the villagers turned awkward around her, fluttering about in their white dresses and pearls. In the way she smiled politely through it. It made him want to burn the square down.

Starting with Aster. Useless git. The way he smirked at her made it a fact that he was going to end with broken teeth before Ethan left the island. Before the end of the day, if it came to it. Aster and his mother were trying to wear her down like water wore through stone.

Ethan watched Briar nod off, just for a moment, the strain and exhaustion of the last two days taking its toll. Who was taking care of her? Who was making sure she ate and rested her hip, which clearly pained her? Had she had an accident to cause such a lasting wound? Was there someone still out there who needed to pay for it?

Why were those questions wrapping around his brain like a kraken around a ship?

It was none of his business. He needed Petal, not Briar.

Still. There was a connection there, a fascination. His entire body felt the need to turn toward her, to fill his lungs with her flowery scent, his hands with her warm curves. His mouth with her everything.

The interruption by one of his crew was timely. It saved him from doing something truly stupid. Like finding a Midsummer posy for the teashop girl.

Young Matthias had never looked happier, his feet on solid ground, his arms full of fresh greens, eggs, bread that wasn’t hard as the ship’s hull. It had been months since he’d come aboard as cook and exactly the same number of days that made it obvious he was not a sailor at heart. But he refused to give in. And he made the best damn jugged hare with red wine and juniper berries, which made more of a difference to morale than anyone could have guessed, so the crew coddled him. But he’d end up at the bottom of the sea as a mermaid’s plaything if they weren’t careful.

“Dragon, they have fresh thyme. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve had thyme? Fresh herbs of any kind?”

“Thrilling.”

“You will be thrilled when you taste the omelets I can make with this. Maybe I’ll make a mushroom tart to go with them.” His blue eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. Something else that would get him killed. The life of an Iron Crow was no kinder than the life of a sailor.

“First, I need to know about this bloody town we’re stuck in,” Ethan said.

Matthias straightened. “Of course. I thought you’d been here before.”

“Too many times,” Ethan muttered. Matthias was good at cookery and gossip. Even his familiar, an otter with glowing eyes and a chortle, was friendly. Ethan was neither. “I need to know about the Asters over there.”

Matthias followed the direction of his nod, then frowned. “Gits.”

Ethan snorted. “I knew that already. We need to sort the locals from the tourists. And I need to know who went wandering last night. And a list of the other bloody Crows hanging about.”

“Aye, Dragon.”

Ethan watched Briar slip away, darting back up the hill, flowers blooming in her wake.

And he needed to know about her.

But that was a task he would take great pleasure in seeing to himself.

The left side of the cottage was being swallowed by roses.

Vines crawled up the wall, bristling with thorns and heavy with fat white damask roses. They perfumed the air until even the salt of the sea was overpowered. Salt white, bone white.

Moon-white.