The League of Gentlewomen Witches by India Holton

Author:India Holton [Holton, India]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2022-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Alex lay it down as a general rule that if he doubted whether he liked a woman, he certainly ought to keep his hand out of her underwear while she leaned forward with her brow pressed against his shoulder, whimpering every now and again. But he did like Charlotte Pettifer—would like her even if she wasn’t doing interesting things with her own hand inside his underwear. And since he could not tell her so (of course not! he was a pirate and a rake; he did not talk about emotions), he could at least make her feel very good.

That she made him feel just as good was a bonus.

“I’ve always wondered something,” he said afterward, his fingers tangling with her bracelet as he tried lazily to distract her from tidying herself. “Why bees?”

Charlotte slapped his hand. He smiled and reached past her instead to take hold of a wheel spoke, casually navigating the house away from a flock of geese.

“Bees represent industry and community,” she explained, continuing to button up her trousers. “Therefore they are well suited to witches, as we work for the sake of England.”

He laughed. “You’re joking.”

“I most certainly am not.” But she paused, biting her lip, for witches are not only industrious but unfailingly truthful. (Except when stealing, swindling, evading taxes, providing details to law enforcement officers, and assuring their mother-in-law that a knitted yellow tea cozy in the shape of a chicken was exactly what they’d always wanted for their birthday. All for the sake of England, of course.) “Also, bees feature on the Wicken League founder’s ancestral coat of arms.”

Alex frowned, recollecting Black Beryl’s heraldic design. “No, it’s ravens.”

“Yes, er, I meant the deputy founder, Andromeda Plim. Beryl Black was, of course, our first leader and in no way whatsoever betrayed or murdered. Since we are making bold inquiries, Captain, why do you have a ring containing a portrait of Cecilia Bassingthwaite?”

Taken by surprise, Alex blushed. The realization she had found his ring’s secret compartment and looked therein threw him back into old memories—nuns searching his laundry for sins, Deirdre finding the money he’d secretly saved to run away from home. But his brain had long been a minefield of buried misery, and he was used to its sudden explosions. That they became more frequent when he allowed himself emotional intimacy with another person was why he generally did not do so. Hands in underwear—fine. Hearts involved—not.

But damn if Charlotte Pettifer and her spiky, fearless, witchy gorgeousness didn’t keep drawing out his heart.

He scowled at the sky as if he could fly away from her, even though she was in his house—standing between him and his wheel—smelling so enticingly of soap and softness that he wanted to lick her.

And now he was blushing again, like a callow boy.

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