As she dried off, Emmeline told her what had happened at the house while she was away, and how worried she had been. Touched, Elsie kissed her on the cheek.
Once she was dried and in her dressing gown, Elsie stifled a yawn. “Let’s heat some water for the others. They’ll be wanting to bathe, too.”
Emmeline smiled. “I’ll do it, Elsie. You should rest.”
Elsie looked around the room, all her things mingled with Emmeline’s. “You’ve done so much already.”
“Just let me. You’re limping, besides. I don’t mind. It’s, well, it’s the only way I feel useful. I don’t have any magic or money.” She pulled back the linens on the bed that she and Elsie would be sharing for the next two weeks.
Elsie let out a sigh. “Emmeline Pratt, I’m going to buy you chocolate for all this.”
Emmeline beamed. “A fair trade.”
And so Elsie let her friend maneuver the tub while she lay down.
She tried her best to sleep, and she did in short spurts, a minute here or there, but her mind kept replaying last night over and over—What if I seriously injured that servant? What if he was under Merton’s control, too? After a time, her thoughts shifted to her confessions to Irene and what Elsie would do if the other spellbreaker blew the whistle on them. To Ogden and what he must think of all of this. To Bacchus and what he might be thinking of her.
Eventually she gave up. Her hair was nearly dry, so she combed it through and let it hang loose. When she stepped out of the room, she noticed the door across from her—the one to her room—was closed. If the sounds she’d heard coming back and forth in the hallway while she snoozed were any indication, the tub had been taken to Bacchus next.
She hesitated in the doorway, then turned back to get dressed. Paused. Glanced at the door again. Down the hallway. She heard Emmeline in the kitchen downstairs.
Biting her lip, she crossed to the other door and knocked. “Bacchus?”
“Yes?”
She hesitated. “Can I talk to you?”
A pause. “I’m a little indecent at the moment.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Just through the door, then.”
She thought she heard movement in the water. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Well, that was a lie, but Bacchus knew about all the wrong things, so there wasn’t much point in reiterating them. Her ankle was a little better, but not wanting to push her luck, she slid down the frame so that she sat parallel to the door. Tucking her good foot beneath her, she asked, “What happened at Seven Oaks?”
“I didn’t go to Seven Oaks. I came straight here after I learned you were missing.”
Emmeline had mentioned a telegram. “Are you going? To Seven Oaks, I mean.”
More shifting in the water. “I’m not sure. Not immediately. There are more pressing matters at hand.” A second of silence, then, “I should probably write to the duchess, if only for propriety’s sake.” He was slipping into his Bajan accent again.
Elsie’s lip quirked. “Yes, you probably should.” Weaving her fingers together, she asked, “What about your servants?”
“John and Rainer will continue staying at Master Hill’s.”
“Oh.” She pulled her hands apart, weaved her fingers again. “I didn’t see them this morning.”
“I spoke with them briefly. They’re well.” A shuffling sound followed.
“Bacchus”—she leaned her head on the door—“tell me about Barbados.”
Another pause. “What do you want to know?”
“The things no one else does. I know it’s hot and tropical and full of sugarcane. But what else can you tell me?”
The floor creaked. “The air tastes good.”
A chuckle crept up her throat. “What?”
“It’s a mix of sweet and salt, from the plants and the ocean. Here the air smells like smoke and rain. In Barbados it’s like a delicate dessert. Sweet and savory. Unless you’re too close to the fish market.”
She smiled.
“It’s green. The sugar plantations are green”—a hint of disdain slipped into his voice at that—“but the rest of the island is green as well—what the European settlers didn’t destroy. There are palm trees and thick grasses. They seem to sing when the sun goes down.”
She tried to imagine it. “How do they sing?”
“It’s hard to describe.” Now his tone was wistful. “The insects, the breeze in the blades . . . it’s not something I’ve heard on this side of the ocean.”
“Do you live by the ocean?”
“All of Barbados is by the ocean.” Another creak. “It’s not a large island. But I live in an old plantation house. Jacobean style, if you know it.”
Elsie considered a moment. “The sloping roofs.”
“Indeed.” He sounded pleased.
Elsie adjusted the picture in her mind—a place full of sunshine, green, and ocean, where the air tasted like the first bite of dessert and the night sang. It portrayed a fairy tale. “I would like to see it.” She spoke a little quieter. “That is . . . I would go to Barbados. We don’t have to stay here.”
A few seconds flitted by before he answered. “You have family here, Elsie.”
“I don—” She paused. Reggie. She had just found him, hadn’t she? And Ogden and Emmeline were almost family. “We could split our time.”
He didn’t reply.
Ringing her hands together, Elsie added, “Are you . . . Are you sure it’s worth all of this, Bacchus?”
The floorboards creaked, and suddenly the door opened. Bacchus stood there in breeches and a long-sleeved white shirt, the collar loose. His dark hair, lighter at the ends, hung wet over his shoulders, leaving speckles of water along the fabric that turned it translucent.
He looked down at her, tired but not angry. “Are we really going to have this conversation again?”
Elsie rolled her lips together. “I think it’s a valid question.”
He extended his hand, which she took, allowing him to help her up. She adjusted her dressing gown, ensuring her modesty.
Bacchus lifted a hand and ran the pad of his thumb along her cheek, sending a wave of heat coursing over her skin. “You are very much worth it, Elsie Camden.”
She stared into the beautiful green of his eyes. Right now they didn’t look like a stormy sea, or jade, or anything she could pinpoint. Perhaps they were the green of Barbados. They were just as fanciful as the place he had described, and she struggled to believe either of them were real.
She realized she was just standing there, staring at him—in her defense, he was doing the same—but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She memorized the slope of his nose, the shape of his hairline, the curve of his beard. His cheeks were newly shaved. He smelled like soap, but the faintest hint of citrus lingered under it.
Her heart danced beneath her breast, and before she could check herself, she whispered, “Kiss me.”
His eyes bore into hers.
And then his mouth was gliding across hers, tentatively at first. But when Elsie pressed her hands to his chest, he gained confidence and kissed her as he had in the carriage, with intent and meaning. A thrill coursed through her jaw and down her neck, not unlike the heat of a candle flame when pinched between two fingers, snuffed just before it could burn. Elsie’s hands took on a mind of their own and crawled up to his shoulders, then to his neck, the skin wet from the drape of his hair. His palms pressed into either side of her waist. She didn’t remember how they’d gotten there, but their weight invigorated her. Lent her courage.
He was a tall man, and Elsie desperately wanted to be closer to him, so she rose onto her toes and tilted her head a little more to the right, fitting her lips against his just so. An invisible string pulled taut between her heart and her hips when the kiss deepened, a slip of heat crossing her bottom lip. She only loosely recognized it as his tongue, but the sensation of it made her knees weak. He must have noticed, for his grip on her waist tightened. When Elsie parted her lips for breath, Bacchus claimed her, seeking entrance to her mouth, which she readily gave him.