Caress of a Witch by S.G. Slade

Author:S.G. Slade [Slade, S.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sam Grosser Books

Later, Rafe lay on his side and let his fingertips trail across the perfect skin of her back and shoulders. She really was very beautiful, he thought, and in spite of the instinctive desire her beauty had aroused in him, he realised he liked her more than for the possibility of an idle fuck, their union containing the promise of something even sweeter yet to come. He saw in her a trace of himself as he was in his youth – reckless, with a hunger for life she could never satisfy.

Her eyes were closed now, and for the first time she was peaceful in his presence, though he knew he had yet to fully earn her trust. Ah, who could blame her? He was the keeper of a bawdy house, after all, and she was a penniless girl who had run away from home with a fortune teller. And until tonight she had been a maid, although he hadn’t realised until the blood was already on her thigh. Strange that she had chosen not to tell him. Had she thought he would turn her out of his bed if he had known? He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he would have at that – he was not the scoundrel that Walter had painted him; he was just a man fallen on hard times, doing his best to make a living. But he was glad he had not been faced with the decision – it was no small thing to take a woman’s virtue in a world where her value depended on it.

Lying back, he let his mind wander over all he knew of Isabella Last. The fortune teller had haunted the English exiles in Calais and The Hague for as long as he could remember, inhabiting the edges of society and searching for he knew not what. Once, spurred by boredom and wine, and against his better judgement, he had let her read his palm. He had known it was a mistake as soon as her fingers touched his skin, her spirit reaching into his to search for hidden truths, forging a dark connection. He had been naked and exposed before her with nowhere at all to hide, and he had snatched his hand away before she even uttered a word. Afterwards, he had met the disdain in her gaze with false bravado when she pronounced he had a blighted soul and that his wife had known it, before he stumbled away, bruised and in pain. How could a person read another so easily? Reach inside and touch their deepest core? That she was dangerous, he doubted not for a second: her offer to Kate must surely have concealed a darker purpose. But what could she possibly want from an exiled seamstress from The Hague?

Turning his head on the pillow, he saw that Kate’s eyes had opened, and she was watching him, eyes alert and wary once more. He let his face soften into a smile. One day, he hoped he might see trust in that gaze.

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