Salt Magic, Skin Magic by Lee Welch

Author:Lee Welch
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: m/m romance, paranormal historical, fantasy, LGBTQ romance, Victorian, gay magicians
Publisher: Lee Welch
Published: 2018-08-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The following afternoon, the Greys arrived; Mr Grey, Mrs Grey, Miss Harriet Grey, and two younger girls who looked just out of the schoolroom. John understood that the family had no noble connections, but that Mr Grey had made a fortune in textiles. Mr Grey’s plump, red, untroubled countenance was vaguely familiar; surely John had seen him at some Manchester mill? Mr Grey gave no sign of recognising him, but all the same, he mentally rehearsed a few remarks about Lord Dalton’s business interests, in case Mr Grey should suddenly remember him and think to quiz him on his place in the world.

Mrs Grey was a worried-looking lady with fluttering hands and a nervous laugh. She was obviously ill at ease taking tea in such exalted company, but Lady Dalton was doing her best to be charming, and her best was considerable. Mrs Grey was soon smiling more naturally and talking with less forced animation. There were curd tarts and tiny sandwiches; very decent ones, for Raskelf. John gathered that Dalton had borrowed the Howarths’ cook.

The Lazenbys would not arrive until the following day, and Miss Grey had obviously been told to press her advantage. Her light-brown hair was elaborately arranged and she wore a showy dress of primrose satin that suited her creamy complexion very well. She displayed none of her mother’s nerves, and accepted Lord Dalton’s antique courtesies with grace. Probably she was pretty enough to be used to all manner of attentions being paid to her.

Then Thornby made his entrance. He was late, of course. John gathered he made a habit of it to antagonise his father. But, for the majority of this party at any rate, the wait had clearly been worth it. All the female members of the Grey family froze and widened their eyes. Even Mrs Grey blushed prettily.

Perhaps in honour of the occasion, Thornby had abandoned his usual black, and indeed, the century. He was a vision of Georgian style in a cream silk court suit: tail coat and breeches, cream silk stockings, and a waistcoat of pale green and cream stripes sprigged with pink flowers. He wanted only a sword and powdered peruke and he would have made a suitable escort for Marie Antionette.

John found his own eyes had narrowed, partly with amusement and partly with speculation. It was impossible—for him, anyway—to look at Thornby dressed in such a way and not imagine undressing him. Mr Grey looked puzzled, and slightly suspicious, as if he was trying to work out whether Thornby’s costume was a subtle insult. Miss Grey almost dropped her shawl when Thornby was introduced to her; her first sign of nerves. Thornby bowed, very properly, and took her for a halting stroll in the long picture gallery, it being too wet outside to walk along the terrace.

As Thornby limped past, John could hear him saying, “Yes, a gin trap, Miss Grey. Such a cruel device! But let us find something more pleasant to discuss. Are you interested in

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