“You…” she breathed. “You have magic?”
He smiled. “My Cornish family’s legacy. Quite useful on everything but human hearts.” His eyes connected with hers. “If you wish it, if you say yes, you will go to the ball, and to the Master’s bed, as the female you once were. No limp. No scar.”
The wind of the sea whipped her wet hair about her face, cooling her hot cheeks. How did she answer this, answer him? No and she would return to the house, to her work—her dreams, her pain, her anonymity—without knowing, and possibly with regret. Yes and she was engaging with someone who would never see her after this night. Would never care for her. Would never truly know her.
And yet…what an experience.
Her gaze slid to the wand. Every few seconds, green sparks erupted from the tip. If Master Trevanion wouldn’t even know it was her, a mere servant in his household, then what was truly the harm?
In jumping?
She turned around, faced the Watchman. “I don’t know why you offer this, Pennice. Not really. But I will take it. I fear I must take it.”
The Watchman’s smile was broad as he nodded. Up went his wand, and as Lia stood there in the salty air and coming night, the male started to speak, low and quickly, chanting, eyes opening and closing. At first, she felt nothing at all. She nearly laughed at the sight before her. Not in a cruel way, but bitterly, because she wished it so much now. Was too hopeful.
And then…
Something happened. Started to happen. Within her. A warm, liquid feeling, moving through her veins like a snake. Healing her, piecing her back together, it seemed.
Before her, Pennice wielded his wand; flashes of green fire erupted and crackled. Lia gasped, her breath suddenly gone from her lungs. Fear blasted through her and she dropped to the ground.
Then everything stopped. The air, the sound of sea—the heart beating in her chest. And just as quickly started back up again. For several seconds, Lia wasn’t sure where she was or what had happened to her. Then the past fifteen minutes came rushing back and she started to rise. Every inch of her felt whole and strong and light. She touched her face. Smooth. She waited for the pain as she stood. None. She glanced down at her robe.
Gone.
She gasped. Yards of the most beautiful white and green and gold fabric met her gaze. And shoes…extraordinary shoes. Glass and gold. She glanced up. Pennice was staring at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“You’re perfect,” he breathed. “The Master will not be able to resist you. In fact, I’ll wager he won’t even see the other nine.”
Her waist was drawn in, her breasts jutted out. What a dress. And her hair…her curls…loose and flowing and glossy. Besides the absence of pain and her scar, she felt so different. So alive. Hungry as she hadn’t been in years. Tears pricked at her eyes for the loss, but she swiped them away. She’d made this bargain. She wasn’t going to waste it in grief.
“You need one last thing,” Pennice said before whipping up his wand once again.
Lia watched as this time golden sparks erupted from the wand tip. And in seconds, a beautiful white mare in golden tack stood before her.
She laughed, then turned back to the Watchman. “This can’t be real.”
“I assure you it is,” he said, placing his wand back inside his jacket pocket. “But Lia, please note that this spell will last only until dawn.”
A sobering feeling moved through her. Of course it wouldn’t last. She nodded. “I understand.”
He helped her mount, then gestured toward the road in the distance. “Go now,” he urged. “Enter with the other guests.”
She found his gaze and for the first time, smiled with true and genuine warmth. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Go.”
And with that, she turned the mare around and headed for the road that led to the castle.
CHAPTER THREE
Music trilled through the ballroom, drinks on silver platters were being offered to the beautiful people milling about, gold banners with the Trevanion House sigil of two crossed swords swayed in the breeze from the open windows, and the lights from the seven ancient chandeliers burned bright. It was a glorious, sumptuous, sensuous sight. And yet Casworon Trevanion could barely force a smile as he sat back on his father’s black velvet throne and surveyed the room. This was no party to be savored and enjoyed. This was his end. The only thing getting him through it being the promise of ten naked, wet and ready females awaiting him in the cottage.
The demon inside him expanded at the thought, would’ve been allowed to roam free if Cas’s mother hadn’t come to stand at his side.
“Your boredom is showing, my son,” she said in a strained, singsong voice.
“Good.”