Whitecotton is silent for a moment. He watches me, then his gaze flicks to his feet before it slowly shifts back up to meet mine. “She is not a witch?” he asks, his voice hushed.
I shake my head once. “I questioned her. She said she was not, and I didn’t detect any deception in her gaze. Maybe you can get more from her? Perhaps I am just a bit too close?”
His lips twitch. “Too close because she is beautiful?” he asks.
I shrug a shoulder, though he has hit the nail on the head. I am too close because she is the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen and I have never been attracted to another the way that I am her.
“She is stunning. Though I’m not sure if she is or it’s a spell.”
Whitecotton shakes his head once. “She is beautiful, James. Believe that. It’s no spell. I saw her just from a distance, through a window, and she was a vision. I imagine up close she is even more attractive.”
“She is,” I agree.
“If you’d like my opinion. I am more than willing to observe her.”
“I would.”
His lips twitch and I try not to read anything into his expression or to try and guess at what he’s thinking. There is a moment of silence and he gulps down the rest of his drink, then I watch as he silently stands and walks over to pour himself another glass, bringing the bottle over to pour me another as well.
“What happens when she isn’t a spy, when she isn’t a witch? What will you do with her?” he asks.
I want to tell him that I don’t know, but that’s a lie. I’m pretty sure that I’ll do exactly what I want to do with her right now. Keep her. Marriage may not be something that I’ll ever consider again, but with her, I’ll definitely have no issue keeping her for myself.
“Does it matter?” I ask.
He arches a brow, then clears his throat as he shifts in his seat. “To me? Not really. To her? Probably. Most women value their reputation. I know out here, it isn’t always the case, but in general, most women know their worth and it isn’t being the bedmate to the ruler of a country without a certain something on their finger and a change in their last name.”
“I don’t think she is anything like the women of this country. I’m not sure where she hails, but it isn’t here and judging by the clothing she arrived in, I highly doubt that she is too concerned with any of those things. She was wearing trousers like a man,” I grunt.
Whitecotton chuckles. “You’ve known women who wear trousers.”
“Most of them were attracted to other women,” I deadpan.
“Touché.”
“Just meet her. I want your input.”
“As a friend or as an advisor?”
“Is there a difference?”
There is a moment of silence and Whitecotton chuckles as he shakes his head a couple of times. “Not really, I suppose.”
“Go on up to your normal room. Dinner is in just a few minutes.”
Whitecotton drains his glass again before giving me a sharp nod, then stands, turns on his heels and walks out of the room. I watch after him, wondering exactly what he’ll think of Birdie Collins, then I find myself wondering how much I even care.
BIRDIE
I decide to keep the little journal for late-night reading. As much as I want to pull it out immediately and get lost in the pages, I don’t. I’m not about to get caught doing something that I’m not supposed to and have this guy do something crazy to me. He already suspects I’m some kind of witch, he doesn’t need any more ammo.
Glancing at the clock, I notice that it’s been thirty minutes, which means it’s time for dinner. Shifting my gaze back to the window, I realize that the sun has set even more in the distance and it’s completely dusk and on the verge of nightfall.
Standing to my feet, I use my palms and smooth down my dress. Walking over to the very small mirror, I take in my reflection. It’s a very crude mirror, more like a piece of tin than anything else. But my reflection looks back at me and I can’t be mad at it at all.
My shape is gorgeous. I’m not very curvy, I’m more of a thin and straight body type, but with this corset, my small breasts are pushed up and together, my waist looks even tinier than usual and with the full skirt of the dress, I look like I have legit hips.
The boots have a small heel and I feel, dare I say, beautiful. The dress isn’t anything luxurious. It’s a thick wool and is hot as hell, but its deep blue matches my eyes and even though my face is still red, it’s starting to lose its burning sensation and hot to the touch feel.
Hopefully that means it’s on the mend and my skin will turn back to its normal color. I’m not really one who typically tans. Normally, I burn and go right back to bright white. But seeing as I don’t know where I am, or the climate in this place, I don’t really know what’s going to happen.
Reaching for the full skirt of my dress, I grip the heavy fabric and tug it up just a few inches so that I don’t trip and fall when I walk out of the room. Reaching for the door, I slowly turn the knob and although Martha told me to just come down, I can’t deny that I’m a bit surprised the door is actually unlocked.
Inhaling as deep of a breath as I can, as tightly tied into this corset as I am, I take one step over the threshold, then another until I turn left and head down the staircase. With one hand in my skirt, I brace my hand on the banister and support myself so that I don’t fall flat on
