Chapter 16 Ow.
“There, let me have a look at it.”
Very gingerly, Nigel lifted the icepack from his face, turning so the thaumatic light bulb hung in the nurse’s pavilion could illuminate the damage. Luna, standing before him where he perched on the edge of a medical cot, peered at his face and reached out to prod his cheekbone with her fingertip.
“Ow.”
“Oh, sorry!” She tsked and shook her head. “Well, you’ve turned a striking shade of purple, if that’s any comfort to you.”
“Should it be?”
“You’ll be the envy of all the violets and irises back in the shop.”
He grimaced. “Just so long as the begonias don’t take one look at me and despair.”
“I don’t think begonias come in purple. Not our varieties in any case.”
“There’s a relief.”
Luna smiled softly, then, with a little sigh, took a seat on the cot beside him. This surprised Nigel greatly. He’d thought she would abandon him to the ministrations of the nurse on call ages ago. But here she was, swinging her feet, ankles crossed demurely, hands folded in her lap.
“I’m going to tell Officer Ward to . . . to . . . to write-up that Bad Apple man, or something,” she declared with rather more venom than one expected from a woman in cherry-print. “That was malicious assault on his part, I’m sure of it! He was out for vengeance after the dunking you gave him.”
“You’d have a difficult time making a case for malice,” Nigel said, pressing the icepack back into place. “We were directly opposite the apple-chucking event. Casualties were bound to occur eventually.”
“No.” Luna shook her head. “He did it on purpose. I don’t think he expected anyone to actually hit the target!
You were the first, and I bet he spent an age painting himself red all over like that, only to have to do it again.
See?” She pointed a finger, closing one eye, and clicked her tongue. “Motive.”
“Perhaps you missed your calling, Miss Talbot. You should have become a solicitor.”
“Because they’d definitely let someone like me into law school!” she snorted. But the way she unconsciously tugged at the cuff of her left sleeve reminded Nigel all over again how limited her life’s options had become in recent history.
Her hand came to rest on the edge of the cot.
Inches from his own. How easy would it be to just slip his fingers over hers?
To feel again that warmth of connection which they’d shared several times today, beginning with that moment when she reached over the shop counter, placed her hand atop his, and urged him to come.
It was strange how the day had played out.
How he’d felt pulled away from her at every turn, and yet all the most meaningful moments of the last several hours were those brief times when they reconnected.
Almost as though those moments—the funnel cake debacle, the fete wheel, the damnable Haunted House, their awkward dance—even this little sliver of time, right here and now—those were the only real parts of the day.
The rest was nothing but inconsequential blur.
Only that inconsequential blur had included Officer Ward. Who always managed to draw Luna back to himself. And she was obviously happy to be reclaimed each time.
Nigel cleared his throat and adjusted the placement of his icepack. “So,” he said, “Ward seems . . . nice. For a wardsman.”
“Yes,” Luna nodded. “He is. Very nice.”
“Does it ever get confusing? Ward the Wardsman?”
“I find it rather convenient, actually. Makes it easier not to forget his name.”
Nigel blinked. One wouldn’t expect a young woman to be at risk of forgetting the name of the man she was stepping out with. “Well, I—” he began.
Luna turned to face him quite suddenly then and interrupted in a rush, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Grimm.”
“Sorry?”
She bit her lip and looked down at her lap again, her fingers twisting together. “About today. The apple.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
“The stupid unicorn.”
“How can you apologize for that worthy missile? It came through for me in my hour of need!”
She snorted and covered her mouth with her fingers. Then, looking at him sideways: “The Haunted House.”
“Unless you personally planned, designed, and executed that hideous projection, I don’t see that you have anything for which to apologize.”
“The . . . funnel cake?”
His lips pulled back from his teeth in a brief flash of a smile. “Perhaps not the best introduction to the culinary delights of Saint Jollify. All right, Miss Talbot. I’ll forgive you for that one.”
Luna giggled. And he liked the sound. So much. It filled his brain with little bubbles of sunshine, which was the absolute antithesis of anything his brain had been filled with for so many years, it actually, physically hurt. But it was a good hurt. A wonderful hurt, in fact.
Then, staring down at her hands rather hard, Luna added in a dropped voice: “Also, the um, the lunging at you. In the fete wheel. And then . . . and then holding onto your hand like that.”
Nigel felt himself go very still. He wondered, how did one breathe again? He seemed to have forgotten the knack of it.
“That was stupid of me,” she continued all in a rush. “And I’m sorry for it. I should never have behaved with such . . . such . . . such impropriety. You’re my boss, and there are certain modes of decorum, and . . . and . . .”
With an effort of pure will, Nigel somehow managed to draw air into his lungs. “Think nothing of it,” he said, adding what he hoped was a casual toss of his head. He may have just given himself a neck sprain.
“Oh, but it’s so embarrassing! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day.”
“Really?”
He turned to her abruptly, dropping the icepack away from his cheek.
At first, she continued to present him with nothing but the side of her face.
The dark coils of her hair, so carefully pinned into neat curls, which bobbed around her ears and shoulders.
The little red ribbon which held it back from her smooth forehead.
Her sweet nose with that slight bump, her upper lip, a little fuller than the lower.
Her lovely, pale complexion, not as pale as it was when he first met her, not now that she was getting regular meals.
Still such a contradiction of delicacy and strength.
She bit her lip, and he knew she was aware of his scrutiny. Slowly, her eyes turned toward him. Met his gaze. Held it. The nurse pavilion light gleamed in the dark of her pupils, like distant stars. Nigel could easily believe whole universes were contained in those depths.
A soft shade of pink stole across her cheeks. Her eyelids fell slightly, her gaze lowering.
Did he imagine it, or was she looking at his mouth?
How close they were sitting. Barely any space between them on that little cot. Close enough that he could just about feel the shape of her shoulder against his. His chest was too tight to allow his lungs any room to expand. His own gaze dropped to those soft lips of hers, slightly parted.
Before he knew what he was doing, he leaned toward her. Just a little, the barest fraction of movement.
Luna caught her breath, turned away. “Well, of course!” she said in a slightly higher pitch than before.
“I know I can be, um, impulsive sometimes. But this . . . this job means too much to me. You know how hard it was for me to find a position, and life for a girl on her own in Ballycastle, well! It’s not what I thought it would be, that’s for sure.
I would never want to do anything to . .
. to . . . to compromise our . . . my . . . position.”
Nigel sat up a little straighter, pushed a lock of hair from his forehead, then hastily reapplied the icepack.
“Naturally,” he said in tones of completely un-flustered cool.
“You needn’t worry about that. You’ve done nothing improper.
” He waved a dismissive hand. “Truly, Miss Talbot, you mustn’t think a thing of it.
If an employer can’t account for how these rickety fair rides toss one about, he’s not much of a man to work for, is he? ”
Luna lifted her lashes briefly. “You’re so understanding, Mr. Grimm.” She swallowed, and a little smile pulled at her mouth. “You might be the most understanding man I’ve ever met.”
Nigel couldn’t help wondering exactly how many men she’d known in her life and what sort of bounders they must be if he of all people ranked so high on her list.
They were quiet for a little while. Music played from a distance, calling those who had strayed back to all the merrymaking and fun to be had on Saint Jollify. Presumably the dancers were still going round and round the dance floor. Were Bryony and Ward amongst them?
“You should go,” Nigel said, his voice thick.
Luna pinched her lips and raised her eyebrows.
“Go. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He shifted the icepack slightly so as not to freeze his skin. “No reason to sit in a musty old nurse’s station on my account. No doubt Wardsman Ward is waiting.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Mr. Grimm? Don’t you want me to walk you home? I’ve got a tea that’s good for bringing down swelling.”
“No, no.” He chuckled at the idea of needing an escort, even as a selfish part of him wanted to leap at the excuse to keep her near. “I’ll be fine. I’ll sit here a while longer then be on my way. Hopefully the ice will take care of the swelling, and I won’t frighten anyone on the sidewalk.”
Luna smiled softly then slid off the cot and smoothed out her skirts. “See you tomorrow morning then. Bright and early.”
“Tomorrow morning, Miss Talbot.”
She opened her mouth as though to say something more, but closed it again.
Then, offering him a thin-lipped smile, she slipped away.
He watched her weave between rows of medical cots, her cherry-print skirts swaying with the gentle movement of her hips.
The icepack dropped away from his face, and he held it in both hands in his lap, little caring how it dripped.
Movement on the left drew his eye. Nigel looked up into the stern face of the nurse on call, a woman who looked to be made up of about ninety-five percent iron.
She studied him through her spectacles, taking in his bruises, then clucked her tongue severely and shook her head.
“You look as though you’re in a bad way,” her deep voice rumbled.
“Oh, really?” Nigel touched the tender skin around his eye. “Is it serious?”
“I’m afraid so,” she replied. “You go on like this much longer, you’re in serious danger of breaking your heart over that girl.”