Free So Enchanting by Connie Brockway

bare wrist. His gaze never left hers, and the world kept receding until it felt as though only the pair of them remained, time splitting and channeling around them. It was uncanny, unnerving . . . spellbinding.

    Finally, he shook his head slightly, like a swimmer upon emerging from deep water, and so, broke eye contact. At once and with dizzying swiftness, the world telescoped back into focus, her heart thundered into action, and she released her breath, unaware she’d even been holding it.

    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Walcott.”

    The young man, Hayden, appeared at the periphery of her vision. Gratefully, she turned to him.

    “Forgive my uncle,” he said, casting an exasperated glance at Grey Sheffield. Uncle? Uncle! “We’d hoped by now that he’d mastered a few of the more rudimentary social skills. It appears our hopes were premature.”

    Greyson Sheffield was related to Lord Collier? God, Fanny decided, must be rolling on his celestial floor, overcome with hilarity at his jest.

    Sheffield’s smile was vulpine. “I warned you earlier that I was a lost cause. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes, Hayden.” He inclined his head toward Fanny. “Or her stripes, as the case may be.”

    Was he taunting her? He had to be, but his gaze seemed merely quizzical. She didn’t trust that impression. Not for an instant. “Mrs. Walcott, did you say?” he asked mildly.

    “Yes.”

    “Hmm,” he said. “You look most familiar. We haven’t met before, have we?”

    Could he really not know her? But then, why should he? His affect on her life had been far greater than hers on his. He’d likely forgotten her the moment he’d walked out the door in Mayfair. Besides, it had been more than six years ago, and she was no longer a girl, and certainly no longer that girl.

    “Have we?” he pressed, cocking his head.
     
    She shook her head.

    “No,” he said. “Of course not.” He looked at Amelie. “So, you are the witch, are you?”

    Amelie’s eyes grew round, Bernard started, and Lord Hayden made a tight, disapproving sound.

    “Grey, that was surely uncalled-for,” the young man said.

    Sheffield made an impatient gesture. “But that is why we’re here, Hayden. To see to the continued health of the town’s witch. Besides, judging from the demonstration outside, it appears that Miss Chase has rather embraced the role. Tell me, Miss Chase, are you a witch?”

    Fanny’s protective instincts flew to the forefront, overcoming her desire to fade into the background. Her impulse wasn’t the only one; Bernard’s cheeks puffed out and Hayden flushed.

    “See here, Grey,” Hayden said. “You might speak to your music-hall charlatans in such a way, but this is an innocent young lady.” He turned, flustered, toward Amelie. “My uncle is a barrister whose work for the Crown brings him into contact with very low company. I am afraid he has forgotten—”

    “No, sir,” Amelie broke in quietly, her dignity in no way compromised by her trembling lower lip. “I am not a witch.”

    “That’s good, because I daresay there’re a number of tutors who would be unnerved to learn they haven’t been teaching Latin conjugations but dire incantations.” At Amelie’s look of confusion, Sheffield went on. “ ‘ Amo, amas, amat . . .’?”

    The unexpected quip surprised Fanny. He’d sounded amused, almost friendly, and humor and kindness were characteristics she hadn’t expected of him. She wasn’t sure she liked finding them. He’d once swept into her life, shattered it, exposed it to be tarnished and tawdry, and then left her to pick up the pieces. She didn’t want him to have any qualities she could admire.
     
    She studied him as he continued speaking to Amelie. He looked older, she decided with uncharitable pleasure. The seams lining his lean cheeks were deeper, the crinkles at the corners of his exotic-colored eyes more marked.

    Her pleasure faded. Being older should have made him less