“I know you said this isn’t over. It is for me.”
“Perhaps.” Rowan nodded and slipped off into the darkening woods. I had no illusions that he would let what happened between us stop, yet there was nothing I could do about it right now. I cast a quick spell to awaken Philippe.
A few seconds later, Amelia’s brother blinked up at me. “How did we get out here?” He scanned the sky. “And how did it get so late?”
“We went for a walk. Our conversation was so entertaining, we simply lost track of time.” I lowered my voice. “That was rather strong wine we were drinking back at the cottage.”
Philippe’s eyes narrowed. Even so, he seemed to accept that explanation. “Your dress is filthy.” I didn’t think it was all that bad, actually, what did I know about gowns? Philippe offered me his arm. “Shall we return to the mansion?”
I gave him a cool nod. “Sounds lovely.”
“Now that was the perfect courtly reply,” said Philippe. “Have I told you that you don’t need to play the smiling fool?”
“You may have mentioned that.”
“Well, I think you might have found your rhythm in your courtly dance, so to speak. Let’s return and tell Amelia. After you practice a bit more, you could be ready for a visit to the Havilland family.”
“Perfect.” As I walked back toward the mansion with Philippe, I thought I saw Rowan watching us from the shadows. It was too brief a glimpse to be sure, though. And even if he was there, it wasn’t anything I should worry about.
Soon I’d visit a place where my Sisters might be imprisoned. This time tomorrow, I might have Ada safely in my arms and have destroyed the Vicomte’s vortex watch with its horrible totem. That was something to consider, indeed.
Chapter Seven
I spent the rest of the day at Amelia’s table, practicing my new approach to Royal chitchat. Essentially, I kept my cool and learned how to assess the subtleties of small talk. Turns out, there was a lot hidden in the way one said hello or asked for the salt. Amelia was thrilled with the results. So was I, for that matter, especially because Amelia felt certain that we could visit the Havilland estate tomorrow.
Amelia had also been surprised to see me enter the cottage while sopping wet. I explained that Necromancers always went for a quick swim in the afternoon. Amelia accepted my words without question. That was one benefit of being the last of my kind, I supposed. No one to contradict any of our supposed habits.
It wasn’t until late that night that I finally returned to my tavern room. By this point, I was bone-tired and yawning up a storm. Still, I needed to cast my seeing spell for the day. No way could I miss a chance for more information about Ada. Besides, there was an odd sense of anticipation in my soul. The reason was simple. When I cast, I pulled power into me. On a rare occasion, that energy called to me. And tonight? A spell was definitely tugging at my consciousness, waiting for me to bring it to life.
A good sign.
Surely, my next spell would show me a new vision of Ada.
I quickly prepared my room, jamming rags into all the appropriate spots. My focus should have been locked on my upcoming incantation, but other memories kept interrupting.
All right, it was one memory. Rowan’s kiss.
I gently brushed my fingertips over my lips. Heat bloomed through my chest as I recalled how rough our kiss became. Closing my eyes, I could feel the way his firm hands pressed against the small of my back, how the hard planes of his chest pressed into mine, and the way our mouths devoured each other.
What a kiss.
It wasn’t my first, but it was certainly my best. When I was sixteen, I’d kissed one of the local boys behind the barn for a minute or so. I only did it to prove that yes, a Necromancer could kiss someone without turning them into a toad. I suppose if I’d thought about it, I would have selected someone other than the fishmonger’s son. It wasn’t the most aromatic introduction to men.
Then I was a teenager when I met Tristan. He was handsome and charming, yet I never saw him as more than a brother.
I ran my tongue over my lower lip. From the moment I first saw Rowan, I’d wanted to touch him. Some part of me always wondered what his kisses would be like. Now that I knew the answer, I only wanted him all the more. His husky voice echoed through my thoughts.
“You’re mine. Don’t fight it.”
I lay back on my bed. The lumpy mattress pressed into my spine, and I wished it was Rowan’s body behind me instead. What if we had done more than kiss? I knew the mechanics of how sex worked, of course. Until Rowan, I’d never given the matter much thought. After all, Necromancers were trained against emotions. Lust was essentially forbidden. I brushed my hand over my breast. What would Rowan’s touch feel like here?