Chapter Sixteen
By the third rehearsal, the Starling brood had begun to draw a crowd of curious onlookers.
It was typical, at least so far as Hattie remembered, from back when they’d performed under the Grand Pavilion with Willa at their head, and not worth fussing over, as the same people would likely turn out to see the full performance on showcase day.
Still, Rhys seemed to take issue with it.
Or with one onlooker in particular.
Hattie wouldn’t have noticed her there at all if he hadn’t spun so suddenly, lighting up like a taper at Michaelmas, his curls quivering with outrage.
“No!” he had sung, pointing a damning finger into the crowd, aimed at a coif of stylish, golden-blonde hair in their midst, until the others parted to reveal Persephone Boswell. “This is a closed rehearsal! Begone!”
“‘Closed’?” she repeated, drawing nearer with a smirk on her lips. “You’ve no walls. How can it be closed?”
“‘Walls’?” Rhys repeated, leaping off his pedestal and knocking over several of his props in the process as he prowled toward her. “You know what has walls?”
“No,” she said, raising her pale brows. “What?”
He grimaced, coming up short. “Our … erm … house?”
“Oh, devastating,” Ruby murmured.
“My goodness,” Libba said quickly, stepping to Rhys’s side with a hand to his shoulder. “Lovely to see you again, Seph.”
“Miss Elizabeth!” Persephone said, turning her attention to Libba with a blinding smile. “How do?”
“It’s ‘Liberty’ now, actually,” Libba replied with a grin. “Come, let’s talk … elsewhere.”
Which won a groan of disappointment from the rest of the tourists amassed outside Rhys’s pavilion.
“Oh, go grouse by the shore!” he snapped at them, until they began to reluctantly disperse. “Ingrates.”
“I think perhaps we’re done for today, anyhow?” Errol suggested, looking for all the world like a man trying to swallow his amusement. “I think we’ve got the gist now, anyway.”
“Until the dress rehearsal,” Monica put in. “We can do that at the house, I suppose.”
“Which does have walls, you know,” Malcolm said with a grin.
“Does it?” Ruby replied, already packing up her things. “Oh, Hattie, come here. I’ve something for you.”
She withdrew a strip of linen, waiting for Hattie to draw close enough, and tipped a vial of pale-blue liquid over to dampen the edge of it. She waved it in the air for a moment, then turned and passed it under Hattie’s nose.
Immediately, the world swam a bit. Hattie could feel her pupils flaring, her skin prickling with sensation at the gust of clashing scents that hit her all at once. Salt, smoke, rain.
“How?” she whispered, staring at the dancing motes of color in the sky. “Ruby, how?”
“Excellent,” said Ruby, grinning like a cat. “And look at this.”
She produced her hand, holding it open with a delicate wrought-metal charm in her palm, shaped like the number eight.
Hattie stared at it, still dazed.
“It will go on the vial,” Ruby announced, closing her hand and pulling away all of her surprises, dumping them into the leather bag she’d brought with her. “I’ll bottle it up tonight. You can give it as a wedding present if you wish, though of course, I demand credit.”
“Of course,” Hattie said, still a little stunned and resisting the urge to reach out and snatch the scent from Ruby. “Yes.”
But Ruby was already gone.
It wasn’t until later, watching the last of her things get moved out of her bedroom en route to the master suite, that she realized why it had affected her so.
It was the maids pulling her linens loose and, in so doing, dislodging the two little port glasses, stained with dried-up wine, that had been hiding under her bed.
They’d rolled out, knocking against Hattie’s feet, and with them, a flurry of memory had hit her in exactly the same register of color and scent as that wave of doused linen under the pavilion.
Elias here in her bed.
Elias digging his hands into her hair.
Elias’s tongue in her mouth.
She shivered.
He hadn’t kissed her again, had he?
Not like that.
Why hadn’t he? Why not?
She had followed the maids closely, wanting to seal herself in the master suite the instant her things were deposited there so she could dig out the red dressing gown and hold it to her face. She wanted to wrap herself in it and ponder these questions.
She wanted to, but she could not.
She was forced to address other duties. The paintings. The pianoforte. The showcase. Dinner.
But the scent still clung to her, haunting her in wisps around her person.
And when he began his ritual with the crystal wineglass at dinner that night, it was all she could do not to throw her plate aside and crawl across the table to claim him.
“First night in the baroness’s chambers, I hear?” Mal said to her, as though he could not tell she had gone half-rabid by his side.
Perhaps he was attempting to quell the madness.
She turned her head in a snap, trying to process what he’d said.
“I saw the painting you had covered and set aside,” he continued, swirling his own wine, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Willa as a child. Intriguing.”
“There are three paintings of her,” Hattie said, more terse than she’d intended. “That one, the one with her late husband, and the one with us. I cannot find the last. Do you know where it is?”
Mal shook his head, his smooth brow wrinkling for once. “No. That is odd. Where it could it have gone?”
“I’d forgotten we sat for that,” Ruby said, a little wistfully. “Elias, were you there for that? Or had you left already?”
Hattie’s head swiveled back around to watch him, to observe his answer.
He gave a soft smile, setting his glass down with his long fingers lingering on the stem.
“I wasn’t here for the sitting,” he said, “but she made me sit for the painter when I came home for Christmas so he could add me to the ensemble. I’m in it, but I wasn’t really with you all. There but also not.”
“Just like you always were, I suppose,” Monica said softly. “But I’m glad you are there, even so.”
He gave her a little chuckle, shaking his head. “I did it to myself, you know.”
No one replied to that, though Hattie thought they all looked a little shocked that he had said it.
“I’m ready for dessert,” she announced, startling most of them. “Something sweet, please!”
“You heard her,” Rhys said, looking a little alarmed. “Get the baroness her sugar before she has an episode.”
“Not the baroness yet,” Elias pointed out, fingers sliding over that carved crystal, reflecting the red of his wine onto his knuckles as he observed her. “But soon.”
Hattie managed not to make any noises of abject distress.
“Ah, my berries,” Errol said with delight as the crumble was served. “You’re all in for a treat. They were particularly plump and juicy this year.”
At that, Hattie did moan. Just a little. And filled her spoon and her mouth to prevent any further outburst.
She did not watch Elias Selwyn eat his berry crumble or the way he smoothed out the dollop of clotted cream over the rich compote and buttery rolled oats. She did not document the curve of his smile as he lingered with the spoon over his lips before taking a bite, every time someone spoke to him.
She ate. And minded her business.
“Fittings tomorrow,” Monica reminded them all as they’d dispersed. “Do not try to wriggle out of it. Rhys.”
“Me?” he said, already clipping to a trot to get away from her.
“Rhys!” she said again, exasperated. “I know you modified that jacket! Come back here.”
“Do you think she’ll catch him?” Elias’s voice, rich and soft, sliding over her skin like warm rain, asked at Hattie’s ear.
She could feel him, the heat of his body, just a little too close, and closed her eyes for just a fraction of a breath, memorizing it. She shivered, turning to gaze up at him, so close, she could smell the sweetness of fruit and cream on his breath.
He paused, surprise flashing in those dark-blue eyes, as though he could see the desire in her face. His gaze flickered over her features, settling on her berry-stained lips. “Hattie,” he said, a little hoarsely. “Stop it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she breathed, marveling at how the air seemed to spark and crackle between them. She wondered if it would shock her if she reached out to touch him just now. She turned her eyes up to lock on his. “Do you want to see the suite? Now that it is finished?”
He inhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. “Do you think that wise?”
“Yes,” she said in barely a murmur. “Come.”
He watched her for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides, and then released a gust of air, taking a hurried step back with a shake of his head and widening of his eyes. “God,” he said. “You have to stop.”
She frowned. “All right. I suppose you can see it after we’re wed.”
“That is when I’m supposed to,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “See it.”
She nodded, disappointment sagging in the heat that roared through her chest, dripping there like melting ice. “All right,” she said again. “Good night, Elias.”
She turned, her back to the suites where her bedroom had once been, and sucked in a crisp, little gust of air, steeling herself to spend her first night above. As mistress of this house.
She made it around the corner.
Six steps.
Maybe seven.
Almost eight.
And then she felt his hand encircle her arm, just above the elbow, pulling her around to face him as he backed her against the wall, the full warmth and power of his body looming over hers as he pressed all of that delicious, shimmering heat into her gown.
Her hands came up immediately, her fingers curling into that thick, dark hair, the heels of her hands sliding along the sharp angles of his jaw as his mouth fell onto hers, his tongue rolling into her mouth.
She whimpered into it, tasting him in turn, wrapping herself in the indulgence of it as the storm cracked and the rain unleashed in her senses.
She felt her body arching, pulling him closer, willing him into every recess of her very flesh.
She slid a leg between his, inviting him to pin her completely, to make her one with this wall to his heart’s desire as his teeth raked over her lips.
“God, I want you,” he breathed, his hands trailing down over her throat, whispering over the sides of her breasts as he anchored her waist into place.
Hearing it, hearing him say it nearly broke her. The beautiful chords of his voice, wrapping around those words while he loomed over her, tasting her, feeling her. She could have melted into a puddle on the spot if not for her grip on him, anchoring her on this plane.
“Have me,” she begged. “Elias, please.”
He groaned, his hands flexing on her, thumbs creeping up to trace the bottoms of her breasts, so close to crossing the line, to touching her in a way that could not be undone. He rocked his hips against hers, showing her in no uncertain terms that his want was real.
She gasped, her hands faltering, digging deeper into his hair as she dragged him closer, deepening the kiss, desperate for more of it. “Elias,” she said again somehow.
“Hattie, we can’t,” he breathed, returning every kiss, making no move to release her. “Not yet.”
“We can,” she argued, letting her hands slide down his face, over his shoulders and the planes of his chest. “We should.”
He made a helpless, primal sound, his hands quivering on her. “You want me to have you in Willa’s bed?” he asked against her mouth. “Before we’re married?”
She nodded, flicking her tongue against his lips.
It seemed to break some of his resolve, his hands coming up to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over the lace that hid them from him as he gave another press of his hips against her. “We have to stop,” he grumbled, raking his eyes over her like this, under his thrall. “Oh, Jesus God.”
“Why?” she asked, burning from the inside. “Why do we have to stop?”
“Because I am going to devour you if we don’t,” he groaned, squeezing her breasts in his hands and licking his lips at the effect of it. “Jesus,” he said again.
She let her fingers trail down to his hips, tracing the line of his waistband as her eyes flickered shut to enjoy the sensation of him touching her this way. She wanted to touch him too. To cross that threshold, to run her fingers over forbidden parts of him.
And he seemed to realize it too.
It was the only thing that appeared to actually bolster his resolve. His damned resolve.
He kissed her once more, very hard, his breathing labored and hot. “Patience,” he said against her mouth.
“I don’t have any patience,” she said, helpless with want as he pulled away. “Elias, why?”
He took her hand with him, dragging her palm to his lips, his eyes sparkling with heat and desire. “Because,” he said. “The torment is part of the pleasure. If nothing else, my Hattie, there has always been the sweetness of torment between us.”
She sighed, dropping her full weight back against the wall and wrapping her arms around herself. “I do not wish for torment,” she told him. “But if you do, I shall endeavor to provide it.”
Elias blinked. “That’s not what—”
It made her smile, a little thrill that spoke to the truth of his statement darting up her spine. “Good night, Elias,” she said to him. “I hope your dreams provide all the suffering you crave.”