“Much,” he confirmed with a nod. “Declan got nearly obsessed with that fucking spell. Had to try it. Had me sourcing the ingredients, things I’d never even seen used before. Flowers I’d never heard of, water from some river in Norway, grass from a high hill on the Isle of Skye . . . I should never have tracked it down, any of it, but it was like . . . dunno, s’ppose it’s like when people get gold fever or summat. Couldn’t seem to make myself stop, and we were gassing each other up the whole time, the way lads do, and all the while I was thinking, ‘We won’t really do it, though. We’ll just prove that we could.’ And then Declan did the fucking thing.”
They turned another bend in the road, and now Tamsyn could see the turrets of Tywyll House against the sky even as the clouds seemed to be moving back in, getting thicker.
“At first, I thought he’d just disappeared. There was this blinding flash of light, a smell like sulfur, and he was gone. Not even a mark on the floor where he’d been. I called his name, and I . . . I think I wanted it all to be some grand joke. That felt like something Dec would’ve done, you see. Trick me into doing a basic invisibility spell, scare the shit out of me, then reappear laughing his ginger ass off. But it wasn’t a joke. He was gone.”
“When I asked if he was dead . . .” Tamsyn said, trailing off, and Bowen tipped his head back to look at the sky.
“I said ‘yes and no.’ And that’s the truth of it. Didn’t see hide nor hair of him for weeks. His parents were ringing, and I kept making excuses. Told teachers he was sick because I didn’t know what else to do. Meanwhile, I was spending every night tearing my bloody hair out trying to learn more about the spell, trying to see if I could bring him back. And then one night, he showed up again, only . . . only he wasn’t him. He was like a ghost, but not a ghost. Could talk, could hear me, but you could see right through him. He said he had no memory of what had happened, no idea what he even was anymore.”
“Oh, Bowen,” Tamsyn said softly, and Bowen scrubbed at his face again.
“Anyway, that’s when I got my da involved. I don’t know what he told people or who he talked to at Penhaven, but the word got out that Declan had died in a spell gone wrong. A spell he was attempting alone, of course—couldn’t let the Penhallow name be attached to a scandal like a boy dying.”
There was something darker alongside the grief in his voice now, something Tamsyn suspected was shame, and she murmured, “You were young, Bowen. Practically a kid.”
“I know that,” he said. “And Saint Bugi knows Declan’s reminded me that he was the one who decided to do this of his own free will. But . . .”
He trailed off, and Tamsyn could only nod.
The house was in sight now, lit up and cozy, and seeing it chased some of the lingering sadness from Bowen’s story away.
They stopped there at the edge of the drive, and Tamsyn turned to him. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, and now there was enough light that she could see his eyes: darker than hers, nearly black, and surrounded by thick lashes, because of course they were. He looked so sad and so handsome, and Tamsyn lifted a hand to his face, his beard damp against her palm.
“Oh, Christ, girl, you can’t look at me like that and touch me,” he said, his voice raw. “It’s fucking hard enough resisting you as it is.”
Tamsyn felt her stomach swoop, her heart flutter, and she was leaning in before she could even think, his lips so close, his body radiating heat against the damp chill of the night.
His breath was warm on her face, the soft hair of his beard just brushing her mouth, and in the space of a breath, they’d be kissing, but it was good, holding out like this, letting the moment stretch and heat up between them, breathing each other in until she pressed herself up on her tiptoes, her lips finally touching his . . .
And then, with a crack of thunder that could’ve brought Tywyll House crumbling to the ground, the skies opened up, and freezing
rain poured down, soaking them both.
Chapter 16
Bowen had never felt a particular need to punch the sky, but as soon as the first fat drops of rain landed on him and Tamsyn and she shrieked, stepping back from what was undoubtedly about to be one hell of a kiss, he was ready to go to war with weather itself.
Or maybe it was for the best, he reasoned, as they made a mad dash for the house, their coats pulled up over their heads, their boots nearly sliding on the slick lawn. Telling her the truth about Declan had cracked him open, left him raw and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to being, and kissing her would’ve probably broken him even further, opening up a door he would’ve had no hope of ever closing.
And he needed it closed.
One of the footmen was there at the door, towels already in hand, and they both took them gratefully as Lady Meredith swanned in wearing tweeds and a worried expression.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “When Emerald said the two of you had headed off to the village, I couldn’t believe it. In this weather?”
“It was my fault,” Tamsyn said, blotting at her sopping hair. “American.”
Bowen wasn’t sure what nationality had to do with this, but Lady Meredith’s expression immediately cleared as she said, “Ah, yes, of course.”
With that, she turned and flicked her fingers in the direction of the upstairs.
“I’ve started hot baths for each of you,” she said, and sure enough, Bowen could hear the distant clanking of ancient pipes.
“That has to be a handy spell in a house like this,” Tamsyn commented, and Lady Meredith nodded.
“Yes, it’s second only to the spell that alerts me to Madoc digging in the garden the second he starts.”
At that very moment, a distant alarm started ringing, and Lady Meredith rolled her eyes.
“That boy, I swear. Emerald! Go get your cousin!” she called out.
“It’s raining!” came Emerald’s reply, and with one elegant wave, Lady Meredith managed to both send a footman heading out toward the terrace and direct Tamsyn and Bowen up the stairs. “Tamsyn, the en suite in your room is for you. Bowen, your bath is through the hidden door on the right side of the bed. Tap the painting of Saint Cian three times and it’ll open.”
Together, he and Tamsyn trudged up the stairs and into their bedroom. He couldn’t be sure, but Bowen thought Tamsyn’s eyes briefly darted to the bed before she opened the door leading to the en suite bathroom, steam billowing out along with the scent of orange blossoms.
“You know, I’ve always thought magic seemed like more trouble than it’s worth, but this? This is amazing.” She turned back to him with a grin. “Hope your bath is just as good,” she said, and then she shut the door behind her, the steam and scent still lingering.
Bowen crossed the room quickly, because if he spent a second contemplating her getting naked just a few feet away, slipping into hot water with an appreciative groan, her tanned skin going that peachy rose from the heat . . .
Thank sweet fuck Saint Cian was such a grim-faced-looking bastard, because that cooled some of Bowen’s desire as he tapped three times on the painting, just as Lady Meredith had suggested, and sure enough, a panel in the wall swung open, revealing a second bathroom.
This one was smaller than the main en suite, but the tub seemed even bigger, a massive claw-footed antique that was nearly filled to the brim with steaming water. No orange blossoms here, but the deeper smell of bergamot mixed with something woodsy.
The room was lined in dark green tile, the fixtures copper, and the only light came from a small lamp on the corner of the sink. A thick pile of towels was stacked next to it, and as Bowen got undressed, he realized there was a full-length mirror in the corner.
He looked like a drowned rat, his long curls still damp as he yanked his jumper over his head, then reached out to turn off the taps.
Sinking into the water was indeed as blissful as he’d hoped, the heat so intense on his chilled skin that it tingled and burned at first before seeping deep into his bones.
With a low sound of pleasure, Bowen sank lower into the water, his arms braced on the sides of the tub as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He could’ve fallen asleep there, and damn near almost did, before he became aware of a small sound at the door.
