Chapter 19
Edwina practically radiates smugness as we settle in our train compartment, heading for our next destination. I can only assume Miss Vaughn detailed her evening with me. An evening that was entirely without kissing or touching. An evening that resulted in a win for Edwina and a loss for me.
If I’d been thinking straight when I returned to my room with Jolene last night, I could have forced myself to simply kiss the girl. Just a quick brush of my lips to ensure I remained tied with Edwina in our bet. Even a hug could have constituted physical intimacy.
But the fact remains that I was not thinking straight. I was thinking about Edwina. Obsessing, more like. While my state of mind has leveled to neutral, allowing me to slip back into my poet persona, there’s one thing that hasn’t changed.
My attraction to the woman sitting beside me on the train.
Monty and Daphne sit across from us. I didn’t argue when I entered the compartment and found the only open seat was beside Edwina. I figured sitting beside her would be better than sitting where I could easily look at her time and again. But such assumptions were folly, for I’m all too aware of her proximity, her scent, her every motion from the corner of my eye. I can’t stop myself from gauging any change in her aroma, can’t stop myself from trying to smell the other male on her. As a fae, my sense of smell is stronger than a human’s. Furthermore, the type of fae I am—one I don’t care to bring up if I don’t have to—makes me particularly attuned to certain bouquets.
To my relief, Edwina’s scent is mostly unchanged. Either she bathed well, or Archie didn’t leave much of a mark?—
Why the fuck am I assessing her smell? Her bathing habits? It’s none of my blooming business, attraction or no. And…since when am I so attuned to her scent in the first place? I’ve never made a habit of smelling people, not even ones I’m attracted to. Everyone has a scent, and it’s meaningless. Merely data, the same as the shade of someone’s hair or eyes. Yet hers strikes me like a blow to the skull, a tantalizing blend of ink, parchment, and air after a lightning storm. A bouquet that has me breathing deeper, yearning to lean a little closer…
“Last night was great, wasn’t it?” Monty’s voice has my spine going rigid. Only now do I realize I was leaning closer to Edwina.
I shift my posture until I’m angled toward the window instead. The outskirts of the city speed by as the train moves east.
“Where were you all evening, Mr. Phillips?” Edwina asks. The joviality in her voice has me equal parts bristling and melting. Bristling because her jolly mood reminds me why she’s so damn happy. Then melting because…because something is fucking wrong with me, and now I find myself liking her voice.
I don’t even like her as a person, yet now I like her scent, her voice, and am inexplicably attracted to her face and body. And want to spread her naked form beneath mine and taste every inch of her flesh?—
With a shake of my head, I shift a few more inches away from her. William the Poet doesn’t melt for anyone. He’s sharp and brooding and seductive. He only has eyes for his painful past.
“I spent the night on the dormitory roof,” Monty says. “Mr. Somerton was right about Moonpetal. I haven’t been that relaxed in months.”
“Wish I’d slept on the roof,” Daphne mutters with a pointed look at Edwina.
Edwina grimaces.
Monty glances between them. “Oh, what’s this? Did I miss something?”
Edwina shakes her head profusely, but Daphne rises to all fours and bares her teeth. “Miss Danforth, it seems, forgot my existence last night. As a result, I was rudely awoken by activities I shouldn’t have been privy to.”
I clench my jaw. What I wouldn’t give to leap off this train right now. The last thing I want to hear are details of what Edwina did with Archie.
Monty releases an exaggerated gasp. “You forgot about Daffy Dear?”
Edwina’s face twists with apology while she wrings her hands in her lap. “I’m so sorry. I gave you my pillow as payment, though. Remember?”
The pine marten huffs but settles back on her haunches. “You did give me your pillow.”
“To be fair,” Monty says to Daphne, “you should have seen that coming. Miss Danforth has a bet to win.”
“I didn’t want to see anything coming,” Daphne says. “Thanks to this workaholic, I didn’t have to.”
My gaze whips to Daphne, my pulse quickening. My mouth falls open, a question burning my tongue. I need her to clarify at once, but…but…
I release a steadying breath. William the Poet doesn’t care. William the Poet doesn’t need to know.
Monty chuckles, and I find his narrowed gaze is locked on me. Then, with a smirk, he shifts his attention to Daphne. “Care to elaborate?”
“Oh, I think Edwina should explain,” Daphne says.
“We kissed and that was enough for me,” Edwina says. “He left, and I decided to get some writing in.”
Daphne’s mouth falls open in the pine marten equivalent of a teasing grin. “She fell asleep on her notebook and woke up with ink all over the side of her face.”
Edwina absently rubs her fingers over her cheek.
Yet I’m still lingering over what she said. She’s finally given me something I can latch onto without coming across like a besotted fool.
I turn toward her with an arched brow. “So, you only kissed? After all that research you were so adamant to do with him?”
“I told you last night,” she says through her teeth, a ready glower on her face, “it didn’t matter if Archie provided material to study, so long as I could earn a point in our bet. Something not even you were able to accomplish.” She says the last part under her breath, a victorious smirk on her lips.
Monty leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “This is getting interesting. Back up just a touch. What did the two of you talk about last night?”
Edwina and I both go still. We meet each other’s eyes at the same time. My face is slack, but she recovers first. That triumphant grin is back on her face and she shifts her gaze to Monty. “Mr. Phillips, correct me if I’m wrong, but is it true that when a pureblood fae states the words I promise, what follows is as binding as a bargain?”
“Why are you asking me?” Monty says. “You have a pureblood fae beside you.”
“Daphne then.” Edwina glances at me sidelong for only a moment. “I want the answer from someone who isn’t a talented actor.”
Fuck. Has she gleaned the truth? That I can lie, not only when I’m on the stage, but when I’m playing a more subtle role in everyday life?
“It’s true,” Daphne says. That teasing baring of her teeth returns. “Why? What did Mr. Haywood promise?”
Edwina gives me another sideways look, her smugness growing like a rose in bloom. It draws out my competitive side. Makes me want to wipe that look off her face. She purses her lips, then mutters, “I wonder if he even recalls.”
I scoff. If she wants to play this game, I can play too. Angling my body toward her, I cross one knee over the other until my foot brushes against her silk skirt, then I prop my elbow on the backrest. “Oh, I recall, Weenie. You don’t have to be shy about sharing. Tell them. Tell them what I promised you.”
To my great delight, her smile falters and her posture stiffens. I keep my eyes on her profile, daring her not to shrink away. Finally, she angles her head to lock her gaze with mine. Her breath hitches, the motion visible even through the pleats and folds of her high-collared white blouse.
“On second thought,” Monty says, rising from the bench, “I think I’ll visit the smoking car. Join me, Daph.”
Daphne leaps off the bench. “Is it because you smell what I smell?”
“Yes, my little mustelid friend,” Monty says as he reaches the door to our compartment. “That is the smell of sexual tension. We’ll leave you to it.”
Edwina’s cheeks blaze crimson as they close the door behind them. “That is not what this is,” she says as she shoves the bridge of her spectacles.
I lean closer. “Is it not?”
Her chest heaves again, her composure shattered. “You…you don’t even like me. Why?—”
“I offered to fuck you, Ed, not marry you.”
“Yes, but after everything you told me, surely you can’t…do things with me unless?—”
“Weenie.”
Her expression deepens to a scowl. “What?”
“If you want me to keep my promise, stop overthinking it. Don’t worry about whether I can adequately perform based on what I shared with you on the balcony. Simply trust that I can.”
Surprise flutters over her face. Is she beginning to understand? That attraction—or rather, lack thereof—won’t be an issue between us? The way her breaths continue in sharp bursts emboldens me. After how flustered she’s made me up until now, I’m pleased with how easily I can do the same to her.
I angle my head slightly, and my eyes fall on her lips. “Do you still not believe me? I can show you right now.”
“There’s no point,” she says, though there’s an unsteadiness to her voice that belies her words. “The doors to the compartment may be closed, but this is neither of our bedrooms. If I redeem my free pass, as you called it, it wouldn’t count toward our bet.”
My lips curl at one corner as my gaze sweeps back to hers. A spear of sunlight flashes over her lenses, obscuring her brown irises for longer than I like. When the glare passes, I say, “We could practice.”
She huffs. “This is a public space. I know how you feel about making love in public spaces.”
“It doesn’t seem so public to me.”
Her lips part, and for the briefest moment, she looks like she’s truly considering my offer. Then she shakes her head and averts her gaze. “You’re trying to distract me. All I wanted to know is if you were serious about your promise. If you are, that’s all we need to discuss. I’ll use my free pass against you when you least expect it. For research.” She tacks on the last part with a stern look before averting her face again.
“You may be finished talking about my promise, but I’m not.”
She rolls her eyes, still not looking at me. “You can’t take it back now.”
“Oh, I’m not taking it back. I only want to rework the terms. If you get a free pass, I want one too.”
She whips her gaze back to me, eyes wide. “Pardon?”
“I want a free pass to use against you too. One without an expiration. I propose we create a single free pass that we exchange between us. Meaning, you are currently in possession of it, but once you redeem it, I will get to use it next. Then so on and so forth.”
“Why would I agree to that? As it stands now, I can redeem my free pass the next time you’ve found a lover, and I’ll have two points to your zero.”
“Yes, but think how many more opportunities you’ll be given to sabotage me.”
She blinks at me a few times. “I’ll only have those opportunities if you redeem the ticket and place it back in my possession.”
“Exactly.”
Her eyes narrow to slits as she assesses the possibilities. “If we’re constantly trying to sabotage each other, we might never accumulate points with any other lover.”
I don’t know if I’m imagining the relief on her face, but I certainly feel it in my chest. Still, I do all I can to mask it behind an arrogant front. “I may have made it sound like you have a choice, Weenie, but you don’t. While I’m bound to keep my promise, I didn’t agree to any binding terms that constitute a formal bargain. That means I can alter my conditions for keeping said promise, which I now have. I will let you redeem your free pass, but only if I get one as well. Do you agree to these terms?”
She narrows her eyes again, her fingers anxiously tapping her lap. Then her hands go still, face slack, as understanding seems to dawn on her.
Yes, I realize it too. If we continue to sabotage each other, and neither accumulates any points with anyone else, she’ll always remain one point ahead of me, thanks to her kiss with Archie. And if I never return the pass to her after she uses it with me, she’ll have a two-point lead, at least for a while.
It’s a gamble for both of us, but I still intend to play with her to my advantage. The truth remains that I am the more capable and experienced seducer between us. I may have failed to keep our bet in mind last night, but I’ll be prepared next time. Edwina isn’t the only person on the isle I’m capable of being attracted to. I can accrue points. And if she refuses to rise to my bait with the free pass, I’ll do everything I can to torment her. Aggravate her. Arouse her. Until she’s begging me to let her redeem it.
“Fine. I agree to the terms for the free pass.” Her tone is grudging, but the tightening of her lips tells me she’s hiding a smile. She thinks she’s already won, but our game has only just begun. Lifting her chin, she faces forward again.
A dark smear stands out against the pale skin of her neck, just above her lacy collar. I furrow my brow, tilting my head to the side for a better look.
She frowns as she catches me staring. “What?”
I tap the side of my neck that mirrors where the stain is. “You have something here. Ink, maybe.”
Her cheeks flush and she rubs at the spot on the wrong side. I shake my head, and she scrubs at the other side. The stain doesn’t so much as budge.
“Let me.” Before I can think better of it, I remove my arm from the backrest, push her hand out of the way, and rub my thumb lightly over the smear. Just like her efforts, mine are fruitless.
Or…not quite. In a different way.
I glance at her profile just in time to see her lashes flutter shut at my touch. Her pulse leaps beneath my thumb, the column of her throat trembling from the force of it.
Something about that racing pulse sends my own skittering. My stomach tightens, half with desire, half with the pride of knowing a simple brush of my thumb has that much sway over her. How much more can I ruffle her?
“Hold still,” I say, voice low. Inch by inch, I lean in, half expecting her to pull away as I bring my face closer to her neck. She freezes, even as I lower my mouth to her collar. Even as my lips press against her flesh. Her pulse beats faster now, and her scent fills me. I part my lips and slowly drag my tongue over the stain, tasting bitter ink, the salt of her skin, and something floral like soap or fragrance oil. She releases the smallest squeak, a sound that borders on a whine. My breath hitches as I imagine what other sounds I could coax from her. I’m almost of a mind to try…
But no. That won’t come for free. If she wants more of me, she can beg me with those two words.
Free pass.
I pull away from her, the ink stain no longer visible, and return my arm to the backrest.
She swivels her face to mine, her expression some mix of terror and elation. “You just licked me.”
I run my thumb over my bottom lip. “You’re welcome,” I say with a wink.
I’ve never seen a shade of crimson like the one that blooms in her cheeks. She slaps a hand over her mouth as if recalling the sound she made, then looks pointedly away from me, her gaze locked on the compartment door.
I finally angle myself away from her, sobering from our heated taunting, and slip out of my role…
Or back into it?
It dawns on me what I just did. Everything I said. I hadn’t planned any of that. How does she draw out this side of me? The side that dares her to be bold, only to raise the stakes and act bolder myself. The side that competes with her again and again, not to crush her, but to watch her clash against me.
Who the fuck am I when I’m with her? Am I the confident seducer I was a minute ago? Or the foolish fae male who’s hyperaware of her proximity and scent, like I’m returning to now?
Maybe both.
The compartment door slides open, and Edwina leans forward in her seat as if desperate for the interruption. Monty saunters in with Daphne at his heels. “Oh, good. No one came to blows.” With that, he tosses two dark green velvet blankets at me and Edwina.
She assesses hers. “What is this for?”
“Did you not read the itinerary?” Monty says as he settles in across from us. Daphne nestles into her blanket while Mr. Phillips spreads his over his lap. “It’s about to get cold once we cross the border.”
“Oh, right,” Edwina says, spreading the blanket over her skirt and taking the opportunity to put more space between us. “We’re going to the Winter Court next.”
Her neutral tone tells me she doesn’t realize the significance of our destination.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the blanket folded beside me. William the Poet dreads our next stop. He has from the start. He hoped Edwina might never find out what awaits her there. Because the Winter Court is home to Edwina’s biggest and most influential fan. A queen. The woman who propelled The Governess and the Rake to fame in Faerwyvae. William the Stage Actor dreads our destination as much as the poet does, for how could he not resent both Edwina and her famous fan for the stage play that stole his career?
Meanwhile, Will…
I release a slow sigh, aware of Edwina’s movements as she nestles beneath her blanket. The taste of her skin sizzles over my tongue.
Will thinks Edwina is brilliant.
Beautiful.
A thorn in his fucking side, yet it’s somehow a delight.
As I watch the scenery shift from blue sky to puffy white clouds, I let myself admit that Edwina is so much better than she realizes.
I suppose it’s time she knew it too.