Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“ Y ou did it!”

Max came back to the present at Amelia’s jubilant cry.

“I knew you could do it!”

He shook his head slowly as he looked around them, where the land had all returned to its former state as though nothing had happened, no threat had ever emerged.

It was as though he had lost consciousness for a moment, even though he was still upright on both feet, Amelia’s grip holding him up.

“It’s not possible,” he murmured. “How could it be?”

“You have the power to speak to the earth,” she said, squeezing his arms, much more thrilled about this revelation than he was. “Likely all of the elements, if I had to guess. Have you never felt it within you before – if you think beyond what you were trying to deny to yourself?”

He rubbed his brow. Sure, there had been the odd time when it seemed that his wishes or his whims came true when there was no reason for it, but it was never as though he felt any actual power over anything.

“I still doubt that I have control,” he voiced aloud. “I?—”

She shook her head, interrupting him. “I don’t think you have control. I believe you can speak with them, urge them to do your will.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Not everything makes sense,” she said with a laugh. “If it did, would we be here, fighting the spells from a curse?”

“No,” he murmured. “I don’t suppose we would be.”

They stopped, staring at one another for a moment, her hands still on his arms.

“Is this what you truly want?” she finally said, tilting her face to look at him. A light dusting of freckles covered the bridge of her pointed nose, her eyes such a brilliant green that they nearly took his breath away.

He was about to answer that yes , he suddenly wanted her with a desperation that seemed to come from outside of himself, when he realized that was not at all to what she was referring.

“What… what do you mean?”

“Restoring this painting,” she explained. “Isolde’s portrait. Are you certain you want me to continue?”

He paused, considering her question before he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “If nothing else, helping her isn’t likely to cause any issues, now is it?”

“That is true,” she murmured. “Who knows? She might appreciate it. Very well. I will start without trying to see anything more about it. Although if Isolde wanted the truth known, you would think she would be happy that I showed the events of that night.”

“Maybe she can no longer see the truth,” he reflected. “Perhaps she has been so wrapped up in this curse that she cannot see anything beyond it.”

“There is probably a lot of truth to that,” she said. “Pain has a way of overwhelming all of our other senses and masking most rational thought.”

“I suppose it does,” he said, dropping his arms abruptly. He did not want her to see that her words were just as true in his own experience as in Isolde’s. “I must be going. I have tasks I must complete.”

He tried to ignore the disappointment on her face at his words, but she simply nodded in return.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to start working on the painting.”

He turned toward the house but stopped when a thought struck him.

“Will you be safe working on the painting alone? Do you think Isolde might do you any harm?”

“Why, my lord, could you possibly be worried about me?” she teased, and he found himself both charmed and irritated at the same time.

“If you have any troubles, do not try to solve them alone. Come find me,” he instructed.

The glint in her eye told him she didn’t like being told what to do, but she nodded. He supposed that, as her employer, he had some say.

With a burst of energy, she charged past him, up the terrace steps and through the library doors.

“I’m sure Isolde and I will be just fine on our own, won’t we Isolde?” she called out in a loud voice, leaving Max to sigh and roll his eyes. She needed to take this curse a lot more seriously, or they would all be in much greater trouble than she realized.

As he walked through the house and up to his bedroom, he could have sworn he heard laughter again.

Or maybe he truly was going mad.

Amelia spent the rest of the afternoon mixing the various powders and dyes with linseed oil, trying to determine how best to match the vivid colors of the painting.

She could feel Isolde watching her, and she chatted away as she worked, hoping to earn the woman's benevolence without raising her ire.

“Oh blast, there won’t be enough for red,” she murmured as she sifted through the powders before her. “I think the artist who painted you originally used carmine, but it fades too soon for my liking. Your hair, Isolde, needs vermillion. I shall muddle through with the first bit, as the carmine should work for the curtains.”

Amelia reached for a quill pen and a sheet of parchment and began writing out her requirements before capping the pen and standing.

The ache in her muscles told her that she had been sitting for far longer than she had thought, and she stretched, reaching up to the sky before leaving the music room to find the earl and describe what she needed to complete the job. Although, she hoped he wouldn’t ask her to explain why she needed additional canvas for her own works.

She started her search in his study, but when that came up empty, she continued on to the drawing room and then the library. When she still found him missing, she asked one of the maids to see if the butler was free, and Whitaker appeared momentarily.

“Whitaker! I was wondering if you might know where I could find the earl?”

“He is working outside, miss.”

“In the gardens?”

“I would venture beyond the gardens. Last I heard, he was fixing a fence.”

“I see,” she said, even though she was slightly confused. Since when did an earl fix his own fence? Perhaps she did not know the actions of the nobility as well as she thought she did.

“He will return by dinner if you would prefer to speak to him then,” Whitaker said, and Amelia nodded her thanks, but she rather liked the idea of taking a walk outside. It was not a particularly sunny day, but the overcast sky would be pleasant, and she could use the exercise after sitting for most of the day – after their brief dance with an earthquake, of course.

She decided to take the same path they had walked earlier, and this time, without the distraction of the shaking earth, she appreciated the charm that could be found even in the overgrowth. It might not be perfectly trimmed and cultivated, but she could see the beauty in the foliage of each leaf, each plant, even each acorn scattered across the ground.

As she walked away from the manor, she wished she had the foresight to have asked Whitaker in which direction this errant fence could be found, but she figured she would walk until she reached a fence and then follow it along until she found the earl. How large could the property be?

Soon enough, the overgrown hedgerow widened until the greenery became less of a garden and more of a woodland. She closed her eyes, allowing her senses to guide her as the chirping birds and the rush of the breeze around her soothed her spirit. As she tuned into her soul instead of her mind, she fixed her focus on finding the earl, and her feet began to lead her west, away from her current path.

Unafraid of becoming lost, she allowed her intuition to guide her, and soon enough, she broke clear of the forest and found herself in a meadow slightly inclined upward. As soon as she crested the small rise in the land, there, in front of her, was exactly who she had been looking for—the earl, doing as Whitaker had said, fixing the fence.

Only, she was about to be blessed with more than she had ever planned for.

There was the earl, yes. Fixing the fence by himself.

She was also, however, receiving a full view of him shirtless, uncovered except for the pair of breeches he wore, as he had been the night he had burst into her room after her dream. Only this time, he was swinging a hammer over and over again. With each swing, the generous muscles of his chest, shoulders, and biceps tightened and swelled, leaving nothing to her imagination.

His face was etched in concentration, sweat running in droplets from his temples.

Never had a man appeared more alluring.

Amelia’s mouth turned dry as she watched, and she began to feel that she was intruding on a moment she should have no part in.

She took a step backward, about to retrace her steps, when the earl looked up, apparently sensing her movement.

“Are you going to stand there watching all day, or are you going to come help?”

“Help?” she repeated as she began to take slow, disjointed steps down the hill toward him.

“Help, yes,” he said with what could be described as the hint of a smile gracing his lips. “Or did you have another reason for seeking me out? Did you need some entertainment?”

Suddenly, her requirement for more paint seemed like a trivial excuse for having come to find him all the way out here in the middle of the day. Surely, she could have waited for dinner, as Whitaker had suggested.

“I was out for a walk,” she lied, and he lifted a brow as though he could see right through the excuse, although he blessedly didn’t comment upon it.

“I see,” he said, grunting as he swung the hammer again. “Hold this,” he said, setting a fence post upright. She took it between both hands, trusting that he wouldn’t miss his target when he swung again.

She held on tight, her body jolting with the force of his pounding, but she was proud that she was able to hold the post steady.

“I must ask, why are you doing this?” she said. “It does not seem like a typical task for a man of your station.”

He stopped, lifting a piece of linen from the ground below him and wiping his brow before returning his attention to her.

“It is not,” he said, “But I suppose I am not a typical earl.”

When he didn’t continue, she pushed on.

“So you like this type of activity?”

“You could say that,” he said, before swinging again. “I like to do physical labor, because—” swing “—then my mind doesn’t get away from me.”

Well, that was intriguing.

“Tell me more.”

“You are aware that I am the one paying you, are you not?”

“I am aware, yes. I would still like to know if you would agree to tell me.”

“Fine,” he said, apparently giving up on his job and dropping his hammer, leaning against a fence post he had already successfully slotted into the ground. “If you must know, here it is. When I work with my body, I can ignore what is happening in my mind.”

“Which is?”

He swiped at his brow. “I never thought I would share this as I didn’t want anyone to think me mad, but something tells me we are already far past that point.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I have heard more in my time than you would believe, my lord.”

“Such as?”

She paused, wondering how much she should share. She wasn’t about to tell him the secrets of anyone within her society or put their meetings in danger, but she also realized that she might need to share a secret with him to earn his trust.

“What if I told you that I know a fair number of people with magical abilities, each unique? They come about differently in different people, but many of us have found each other so that we do not feel quite so alone. It is not like the days of the lone persecuted witch any longer. And, I should add, I know just as many men with abilities as women.”

He studied her for a moment, as though wondering whether or not to believe her, but she could tell when he decided to trust her by the look of resignation on his face.

“I hear voices in my mind, all right? They are stronger when I am at the house – either of my houses for that matter. When I get away and do something physical, they are silenced. They drive me mad.”

Amelia inhaled at that, further intrigued when he would no longer meet her eyes.

“How interesting,” she said, leaning in closer, becoming more in tune with the masculine scent emanating from him. Another’s such scent would likely disgust her, while his caused desire to unfurl within her belly.

It was a wanting that she had never felt before.

“Interesting?” he repeated. “It’s madness.”

“ Who is speaking to you?” she asked, ignoring him.

“Who? I don’t know. A voice. Conjured from my own head.”

“I doubt it,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips and shaking her head from side to side. “Have you tried asking?”

“Talking to the voice?” he said in disbelief. “No. I far prefer to ignore it.”

“Well, next time,” she said, tilting her head to the side with a smile, “try asking the voice what it wants. That should help.”

He shook his head at her. “I never should have told you.”

She began to back up the hill, feeling that if she stayed, she might be more tempted by him than she should be. He was an earl, her employer, and now she was finding too many reasons to want him more than she should.

“You probably shouldn’t have,” she agreed, lifting her voice so he could hear her as she stepped farther away.

“Why not?”

“Because you know that I will not leave you be about this now,” she said, laughing. “I cannot wait to hear more, my lord!”

And with that, she turned around and scampered up the hill, leaving the earl and all of his sweaty, tantalizing masculinity behind her.