himself. That was what he’d do. He’d demand she remove the spell.
“Nikola?”
Io was asking him something. He rummaged around in his memory to find whatever it was she’d been babbling about. “No,” he finally said. “I am not afflicted by painful wind in bubble or any other form.”
“That’s always good to know,” she said pleasantly, a little smile curling the edges of her mouth. “So, anyway, I got fired from my last job by a boss who was Mr. Grabby Hands. Thanks, you can let go of me, I’m OK now. I was just a bit dizzy for a few seconds. Is Gretl here? I assume I had some sort of an accident, but I’ll be damned if I remember just what happened to me.”
He released his hold on her shoulders, stepping back a foot in order to better pin her with a look. “I wish for you to remove the spell you have cast upon me,” he told her with a firmness that he felt brooked no opposition.
“You want me to what?” Her forehead scrunched up, her nose wrinkling in such an adorable manner, it almost brought him to his knees.
More gasps sounded around the edges of the room, but this time they were less shocked and more fearful.
“She’s a witch!” he heard Frau Leiven cry. “She’s cast a spell on the baron! Where’s the witch finder? Someone get the witch finder!”
“Oh for the love of Mike,” Io said, peering around him to where the servants stood against the wall. “A witch? I’m not even remotely Wiccan.”
“Mike?” Nikola pounced on the word. “Who is this Mike? Is he your lover?” A sudden surge of hatred for this lover made his heart pound. He hated Mike. He had no idea who the man was, but he hated him with every morsel of his being. He had to curl his fingers into fists in order to keep from grabbing her and demanding to know where this wastrel, this Mike, was located.
Io was back to looking at him, as she should be, but he could have sworn there was real confusion in her eyes as she answered. “No. My last boyfriend’s name was Thomas, but he was a real dick, so I dumped him.”
“Dick?” How many lovers did she have? There must be limits, even for prostitutes. If nothing else, time must be a factor. If she serviced customers on average ten hours a day, at one hour per customer, with four days off per month, then that would make a yearly maximum of… He did the calculations in his head, didn’t like the answer, and decided his equation was faulty.
“Oh, sorry, it’s slang for—” She waved a hand toward the front of his breeches. “Penis.”
Instantly, he was hard.
More gasping ensued from the woodwork. “The witch speaks words of the devil!” Frau Leiven declared, her reedy voice ringing with righteousness. “She will bespell us all if she is not tortured to reveal the truth about her dark master, beheaded, and burned, her ashes scattered to the four quarters so she cannot resume life and bespell us all again.”
“Really? All that just for saying ‘penis’?” Io shook her head at the emotional woman. “I’d heard there were some uptight folks in this part of the world, but I thought it was all just a bunch of bullshi—er—hooey.”
“You will cease speaking of your many lovers in front of my daughter,” he said sternly.
“Many lovers? I’ve had exactly three boyfriends—”
“She is a gentle and unlearned maiden, and does not know the ways of men.”
Behind Io, Imogen snorted, then instantly schooled her expression into one of innocence.
“Look, I know you guys are more conservative here—although really, beheading? Scattering ashes? And I’m sorry about saying the D-word if you have a kid, but really, you’re overreacting. And it was you who asked about my last boyfriend, not that I see mentioning him is going to corrupt your snow-white daughter, but still, you mentioned him first.”
“Papa—”
“Silence.” He narrowed his gaze on Io, picturing her beheaded. The thought gave him no pleasure. Quite the contrary, such an idea
“Nikola?”
Io was asking him something. He rummaged around in his memory to find whatever it was she’d been babbling about. “No,” he finally said. “I am not afflicted by painful wind in bubble or any other form.”
“That’s always good to know,” she said pleasantly, a little smile curling the edges of her mouth. “So, anyway, I got fired from my last job by a boss who was Mr. Grabby Hands. Thanks, you can let go of me, I’m OK now. I was just a bit dizzy for a few seconds. Is Gretl here? I assume I had some sort of an accident, but I’ll be damned if I remember just what happened to me.”
He released his hold on her shoulders, stepping back a foot in order to better pin her with a look. “I wish for you to remove the spell you have cast upon me,” he told her with a firmness that he felt brooked no opposition.
“You want me to what?” Her forehead scrunched up, her nose wrinkling in such an adorable manner, it almost brought him to his knees.
More gasps sounded around the edges of the room, but this time they were less shocked and more fearful.
“She’s a witch!” he heard Frau Leiven cry. “She’s cast a spell on the baron! Where’s the witch finder? Someone get the witch finder!”
“Oh for the love of Mike,” Io said, peering around him to where the servants stood against the wall. “A witch? I’m not even remotely Wiccan.”
“Mike?” Nikola pounced on the word. “Who is this Mike? Is he your lover?” A sudden surge of hatred for this lover made his heart pound. He hated Mike. He had no idea who the man was, but he hated him with every morsel of his being. He had to curl his fingers into fists in order to keep from grabbing her and demanding to know where this wastrel, this Mike, was located.
Io was back to looking at him, as she should be, but he could have sworn there was real confusion in her eyes as she answered. “No. My last boyfriend’s name was Thomas, but he was a real dick, so I dumped him.”
“Dick?” How many lovers did she have? There must be limits, even for prostitutes. If nothing else, time must be a factor. If she serviced customers on average ten hours a day, at one hour per customer, with four days off per month, then that would make a yearly maximum of… He did the calculations in his head, didn’t like the answer, and decided his equation was faulty.
“Oh, sorry, it’s slang for—” She waved a hand toward the front of his breeches. “Penis.”
Instantly, he was hard.
More gasping ensued from the woodwork. “The witch speaks words of the devil!” Frau Leiven declared, her reedy voice ringing with righteousness. “She will bespell us all if she is not tortured to reveal the truth about her dark master, beheaded, and burned, her ashes scattered to the four quarters so she cannot resume life and bespell us all again.”
“Really? All that just for saying ‘penis’?” Io shook her head at the emotional woman. “I’d heard there were some uptight folks in this part of the world, but I thought it was all just a bunch of bullshi—er—hooey.”
“You will cease speaking of your many lovers in front of my daughter,” he said sternly.
“Many lovers? I’ve had exactly three boyfriends—”
“She is a gentle and unlearned maiden, and does not know the ways of men.”
Behind Io, Imogen snorted, then instantly schooled her expression into one of innocence.
“Look, I know you guys are more conservative here—although really, beheading? Scattering ashes? And I’m sorry about saying the D-word if you have a kid, but really, you’re overreacting. And it was you who asked about my last boyfriend, not that I see mentioning him is going to corrupt your snow-white daughter, but still, you mentioned him first.”
“Papa—”
“Silence.” He narrowed his gaze on Io, picturing her beheaded. The thought gave him no pleasure. Quite the contrary, such an idea
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