Chapter 12
In Nigel’s humble opinion, the chaos of the fairgrounds in full, swinging, holiday mode was his own personal definition of hell.
So many shouts and sounds and colors, and far too much motion and goings-on.
He’d spent the better part of his adult life cloistered in the quiet confines of academia, and he simply wasn’t prepared for quite so much humanity.
Though he had to admit, he would probably enjoy it a lot more if Luna—not her roommate—hung on his arm. And if he didn’t have to watch Luna strolling ahead of him beside Officer Ward.
So what was this? A lie? A trick? Or had they only met by chance?
No, not by chance . . . Nigel’s jaw hardened.
Ward didn’t just happen to bump into Luna.
No doubt he was scanning the crowds for her all this while.
A task made easier by virtue of his lofty height.
Nigel had spent the better part of the last several hours searching for her himself, though he had been on the lookout for her green wool suit.
He wasn’t prepared for her to have gone home and changed.
He wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in that cherry-print dress with the little cardigan.
The fabric moved lightly with her lithe figure, the flared skirt swaying and fluttering around her shapely calves.
She’d changed from her dilapidated boots into a pair of simple, well-worn black pumps, which showed off the delicate bones of her ankles.
Catching himself staring, Nigel hastily drew his gaze back up, but lingered a moment to admire the gentle sway of her hips, and—
“Oh, this is one of my favorite games, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony’s voice exclaimed suddenly, very close to his ear.
She gave his arm a ferocious tug, and Nigel found himself pivoted on heel and redirected toward a games booth with a garishly painted sign.
THE BAD APPLE, it declared in bold, gothic typeface above a picture of a mean-looking, personified red fruit, thaumatically-animated to stick its tongue out at passersby.
It was—in Nigel’s considered opinion—grotesque.
He turned to inspect the booth itself, and beheld a full-bodied individual, naked save for a pair of very tight little pants, painted a brilliant red all over.
He wore a hat with a large brown stem and green leaf sticking out of it.
The Bad Apple himself, presumably, in the flesh.
He stood on a plank above a tank of water, cavorting and making faces and shaking his bum.
Gamers paid for handfuls of rather bruised-looking apples, which they flung at a target over the man’s head, trying to dunk him.
None succeeded, for he caught apples out of midair and sent them hurtling back with some violence.
This was all part of the fun, apparently, based on the laughter, curses, and applause of the gathered audience.
Nigel cast about for an escape. The booth stood opposite a dancing platform, which was currently empty, as it was too early in the day for the dancing to begin. He thought perhaps he could dart across it and vanish into the crowd on the far side—
“Go on, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony said, smiling winsomely up at him.
He looked down, struggling valiantly to keep his gaze fixed upon his companion’s face, despite the rather significant amount of her displayed prominently just below his nose and pressed against his arm. “Oh, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m not much of a one for . . . projectiles.”
She giggled. “You can’t do any worse than these poor fools. Come on. Win me a prize!” She pointed to a display full of cheap little trinkets: costume jewelry, pillboxes, pen knives, pocket watches, and garish lace garters.
Nigel again sought for escape . . . only for his gaze to land on Luna.
It would seem Ward had angled her back to The Bad Apple as well and even now, while she laughingly protested, pressed an apple into her hands.
With a bob of her dark curls, she squared off in front of the red-painted man, who winked and made kissy faces at her, much to the amusement of the onlookers.
Luna set her teeth, drew her arm back, and threw.
Her apple splashed harmlessly in the water tank.
She looked up at Ward, shrugging apologetically.
The wardsman grinned, passed her another apple, and this time—Nigel’s face went hot—placed his hands on her waist and angled her a little sideways.
Then he bent his handsome head, murmuring something close to her ear.
Luna flushed a pretty shade of pink, then drew her arm back a second time, and took her shot.
This one got a lot closer. The Bad Apple snatched it from the air and took a large bite from it, winking broadly at Luna.
She laughed, shaking her head. “See? That was better! You’ve got a strong arm, Miss Talbot,” Ward declared, and her face lit up with pleasure.
Nigel let out a slow breath.
Then he turned to the vendor. “Give me an apple,” he said, plunging his hand into his pocket for coin. “Give me three.”
“There you go, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony cheered. “I could use me a pretty new pair of garters. You can help me slip them on later!”
Nigel felt his face go as red as the apple in his hand. Conscious of Luna’s observing gaze, he faced the dunking tank. The Bad Apple stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his tongue noisily. Nigel didn’t aim for the target. He aimed for the apple-man’s face.
His first toss landed in the tank.
His second and third did as well.
“Three more!” he growled, and the vendor handed over the missiles. He prepared to hurtle the first one, only Bryony stepped in close. “Here, Mr. Grimm,” she purred. “Let me help you.”
Suddenly her hands were on his hips. Nigel was so shocked by this turn of events, he nearly dropped his apples.
But Bryony angled him, very much as Ward had done for Luna, then ran her hands slowly along the line of his shoulders.
Quite a languorous touch, and Nigel couldn’t help the shock of heat that went through him.
She put her scarlet lips close to his ear and said, “Now draw back your arm, keep your eye on the target, and . . .”
He obeyed. Forcing himself not to look at the Bad Apple himself—who was wriggling his bum and blowing raspberries—he focused on the big red dot in the center of the target. Only it wasn’t a big red dot he saw, but Ward’s handsome face. Right there. Surrounded by concentric circles. Winking.
“Go!” Bryony cried.
Nigel let loose. His missile hurtled through the air, through the reaching hands of the red-painted man. It struck center with a resounding ding!
The Bad Apple had just enough time to exclaim, “Oh sh—” before he plunged into the water tank. He burst through the surface in a fountain of bubbles and bobbing apples, sputtering curses. His red paint ran like blood in the water.
Nigel wiped his hands in satisfaction, not quite deaf to the enthusiastic cheers of the onlookers.
He turned to find Officer Ward watching him.
Did the wardsman sense the faintest trace of Dire Matter, infusing that apple-toss?
Nigel met his gaze without flinching. Until Bryony dragged him over to the prize display, that is.
“Those there!” she declared, pointing a bright red nail. “He wants those!”
The vendor handed over his prize, and Nigel found himself in possession of a pair of vibrant purple lace garters. He stared at them, uncertainly.
“Well, now, Mr. Grimm,” Bryony twittered, leaning plumply against his arm. “What will you do with those I wonder?”
“Oh, um, I’m not sure,” he murmured. And stuffed them into his trouser pocket.
Bryony’s lip stuck out in a little pout, but Nigel scarcely registered it.
He was looking for Luna. She and Ward were already moving on from The Bad Apple, but he half-caught Luna’s gaze, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
A crowd of howling teenagers streamed across his field of view, blocking her from sight, and when he spotted her again, Ward was guiding her deftly over to the high striker.
But she had looked back at him. Of that, Nigel was certain.
Trailing Bryony in his wake, he made his way through the busy throngs toward the high striker. With every step he took, his reasonable, internal voice wailed: What are you doing, man? Make yourself scarce! Let her have her day with Ward, if that’s what she wants!
Only, did she truly want a day with Ward? Because he wasn’t totally convinced.
Luna stood with the crowd gathered around the high striker, waiting for Ward to take his turn.
Nigel took a step to join her, only to stop short, his heart suddenly in his throat.
Her cardigan. She’d unbuttoned it. Revealing sights Nigel had never before glimpsed, for her work blouses were all buttoned to the throat.
Even that rainy afternoon when she’d worn his dressing gown, she’d kept it carefully secured in front.
Now the sweetheart neckline of her dress revealed a perfectly tasteful display of collarbone and sternum. Hardly an image of lust-fueled fantasy, and yet . . . Nigel’s mouth went suddenly dry.
His heartbeat returned with a painful thud, however, when he realized where her gaze was fixed.
She chewed her lip in a contemplative way, her attention totally taken up by the sight of Officer Ward, who had rolled up his sleeves, showing off the might of his muscular forearms. These flexed impressively when the vendor handed him the heavy hammer.
He faced the high striker, planted his feet before the tilted lever.
The onlookers—many of them female, congregated for a good show—murmured with excitement.
Ward cast Luna a quick glance, then brought that hammer down with profound force.
Up shot the puck.
Ding! went the bell.
“Oooooooh,” said the crowd. Several feminine voices catcalled enthusiastically. Nigel thought these people rather too easily impressed.
Ward turned, winked at Luna. Then he hit the lever again.