The command in Cynthia’s voice was impossible to ignore. Helena never reacted well to orders, but something about the marchioness wielding such power stroked along Helena’s spine, tightening her skin and creating a warm flow of energy from her chest to her fingers and toes.
Whatever Cynthia was guilty of, being a coward wasn’t it. She didn’t bruise like a flower in a hailstorm, which only added to her appeal and increased Helena’s frustration.
Clio tugged Cynthia back onto the couch and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘There are probably a few things you should know about the Blair women.’
‘Clio!’ Helena’s sharp tone had Hamlet yipping as he bumped his head against her skirts. What was her cousin thinking? They didn’t reveal their abilities to anyone who wasn’t coven or kin. Helena had made the mistake once with deadly consequences. She wasn’t about to let Clio repeat her errors.
Clio’s amber eyes flashed dangerously as the gas lights flared. ‘She is family now, Helena. And she needs to understand.’
‘Understand what?’ Cynthia’s dark brows creased her smooth forehead as she looked from Clio to Helena and back again.
‘She isn’tmyfamily,’ Helena muttered, earning another vicious glare from Clio.
She turned to Cynthia, softening her gaze. ‘Ellie, Helena, Aunt Rowan, and I have certain abilities that give us, er, skills most others don’t have.’ She patted Cynthia’s hand.
Helena’s own fingers twitched at the memory of how soft Cynthia’s skin felt, like petals kissed by the morning sun.
‘Skills?’ Cynthia shook her head. ‘What kind of skills? And what does this have to do with Hubert’s death?’
‘Just show her, lass.’ Uncle Lachlan’s gruff voice carried easily across the quiet room.
Panic gripped Helena. This was a terrible idea. To reveal such intimate, potentially deadly secrets about themselves to someone as well-connected as Lady Cynthia Burrows was foolish. There was no telling how she would react, what kind of hell she could bring down upon them if she wished. ‘Think about what you are doing, Clio.’
Her cousin smiled. ‘I have thought about this. And I trust Cynthia. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt us. Just as she didn’t do anything to hurt Lord Burrows.’
‘We don’t know that. You are gambling with our lives.’
Cynthia’s back stiffened. ‘I wouldneverput my friends or family at risk. And I didnotkill my husband. If you had made the slightest effort to know me at all, you wouldn’t be wasting your time quizzing me about Hubert’s murder.’ Cynthia’s sharp syllables cut through Helena’s jealousy and judgement.
She sucked in a harsh breath, but Clio interrupted her before she could launch a rebuttal.
‘Hel, you don’t trust Cynthia, but you do trust me. Would I ever put your life in danger?’ Clio’s fire sparked as her words added to an ugly feeling building like a swell within Helena. Because she knew her cousin would always protect her coven.
But fear still gripped her, sucking her down into cold, dark waters. ‘Never. But she might.’ Helena thrust her chin at Cynthia, unwilling to reveal secrets to someone who could become their enemy.
Cynthia’s glare was akin to harnessing sunlight through a magnifying glass. ‘You are a very disagreeable woman.’
‘I would rather be disagreeable than a slave to society’s whims.’ Helena raised a brow in silent challenge.
‘How lovely thatyouhave a choice. Some of us are born into expectations we can never escape.’ Cynthia turned away, silently dismissing her.
Helena didn’t need to hear Cynthia’s thoughts to know she had wounded the woman. The wave of shame gathered strength as it crested. Not that she cared about the marchioness’ feelings. Much.
Cynthia gripped Clio’s hand. ‘You are my sister now. Whatever secrets you share will remain safe with me.’
‘This is a rather large secret.’ Clio’s small smile was full of faith that Helena couldn’t understand. She pulled her hand free, turned her palm upward, and a blue flame flickered then flared. Helena nearly stepped forward, nearly doused Clio’s fire with her own power, but it was too late. Their witchcraft was revealed.
To Cynthia’s credit, instead of leaping away, shrieking, or swooning, her berry lips fell open on a silent inhalation. ‘What trickery is this?’
Clio’s flame flared higher as all the lights in the room glowed bright. ‘Not trickery. Magic.’
Cynthia shook her head, confirming Helena’s suspicions. She would reject them. Reject what she couldn’t understand. ‘You aren’t making any sense.’
Wiggling her fingers, the flame sparked and danced as Clio kept her gaze on Cynthia. ‘Sometimes, the universe defies sense. We are witches. Aunt Rowan, Ellie, Helena, and I.’
‘Witches?’ Cynthia’s eyes widened as she turned to her brother. ‘Thomas… you can’t believe?—’
‘I do. Because it is true. Look at the evidence in front of you, Cynthia. Clio is a witch, and I love her all the more for it.’
