Page 73 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“Ah, so that’s where you two went at lunch. Getting a hotel room and setting it up yourself.”

“I wasn’t letting him take credit twice.”

He carries me into a separate oversized water closet, complete with a bathing tub and …

“Candles?” I say as I scramble down. “And are those rose petals? And bathing salts?”

“They are.”

I pick up a handful of rose petals and let them fall, velvet soft, from my fingers. “Also not Julius?”

“All mine.”

At my sidelong glance, he mutters under his breath and says, “Fine. While I made the final selections, he guided my choices. However, that meant asking for his help, which was very, very difficult.”

I walk over to kiss his cheek. “I imagine it was. Poor baby. I do appreciate the sacrifice.”

“Good. He mocked me mercilessly for admitting I have no experience wooing women.”

“You should have offered an exchange. His advice on getting women into bed in return for your advice on keeping them there. That’s your area of expertise, and given the choice…” I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I like yours better.”

He kisses my neck and then begins pulling pins from my hair.

“All your work this morning undone so soon,” I tease.

“That is the whole point of doing it,” he says. “With each pin I put in, I imagine tugging it out again.”

“Am I preparing for a bath?”

“Not unless you want it. At Beatrice’s shop, you mentioned being behind in your spell practice. I thought you might like a chance to do that and give that potion more time to work.”

“That would be wise. An hour more should be ideal. I wouldn’t mind looking over Edith’s grimoire and trying a few spells, if you have something to occupy your time.”

“Am I allowed to watch? Or is that distracting?”

“Boring for you, perhaps, but not distracting for me.”

He tugs out a hair ribbon. “Then I will pour us some brandy and settle in by the fire.”

“I’m going to get out of this gown,” I say as he finishes untying my hair. “Put on something more comfortable, if we are in for the evening.”

“We are.”

I change in the bedroom with the door closed, much to Bishop’s amusement. That amusement falls away when I step out attired in one of the undergarments the Leeds seamstress tucked into my purchases. It’s a diaphanous silk camisole and equally see-through drawers trimmed in lace.

Bishop stares and then blinks, as if the lighting is poor because he must not be seeing what he is seeing.

“It is my spell-casting gown,” I say. “All witches wear them.”

“Then I have not known nearly enough witches,” he says. “Though, to be fair, I’m not sure it would look quite the same on most.”

He walks over, but when he reaches to tug down the shoulder strap, I step back.

“None of that,” I say. “Yes, I’m joking about it being for spell-casting, but it is designed for viewing pleasure, rather than immediate removal, and since you’re going to be watching me doing my spell practice, I thought you might appreciate the scenery.”

“I always appreciate the scenery. Which isn’t to say I’m not grateful for the extra effort.” His gaze slides down me with frank appreciation. “Wherever did you get that?”

“From the dressmaker in Leeds. She suggested some honeymoon nightwear. This is the most comfortable of the pieces, which means it’s also the most modest. The others are … Well, you might call me wanton, but I’m not sure they should be worn outside a brothel.”