Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DAPHNE
I don’t know how I manage to snap out of my stupor in the wake of Monty’s words, but as soon as I do, I take aim with a vengeance and pop enough bubbles to secure second place amongst the rest of the contestants. Not that I was in much danger of losing to anyone else. The rest of the players are still struggling to grow their vines past shoulder height.
But the private game between me and Monty…
I march up to him, my cheeks burning hotter than ever. He stands just outside the stall, and when he catches my furious glare, he smirks. “Ah, sweet victory. How does it feel to lose?”
Now I regret facing him because I can hardly look him in the eye as his taunting words echo through my mind all over again. My stomach flips with a strange medley of sensations. Embarrassment. Amusement. And…was there a part of me that maybe liked his vulgar teasing? Why are my lips curling into a grin?
“You played dirty,” I say, throwing a harmless punch at his arm. My eyes refuse to lift higher than his chin.
He catches my wrist before my punch can land, then lowers his face into my line of sight. His voice is rich with mirth. “You played dirty first.”
I avert my gaze slightly, still not daring to look at him. “I was stating facts,” I mutter. “You were teasing.”
“Was I?” He leans into view again until I finally meet his eyes. “Or was I merely stating facts too, dear?”
My stomach flips all over again. Not only because he just called me dear—not Daffy Dear, not Daph—but because I’ve never been on the receiving end of his flirtatious mocking. I’ve only seen him tease others like this, like when he’d rile up Edwina and William during his matchmaking game. But he’s never teased me this way, not with such sexually charged subject matter, and I can’t pretend his actions are for the sake of matchmaking. If he wanted to tease me to make my suitor jealous, he’d wait until Conrad was paying attention. But he’s still playing the shooting game.
The feel of Monty’s fingers around my wrist absorbs all my attention, as do the scant few inches that separate us. My breaths grow heavier in my chest, and Monty’s mirth begins to fade into something more serious. Something like the intensity he showed during our painting session.
This would be a great opportunity to tease him back. I shattered his composure during the game. I could do it again. But even though my mouth opens, my words don’t come, and I find myself drawn deeper into silence. Deeper into his gaze. It’s strange because I don’t normally love prolonged eye contact, but with Monty…I don’t hate it. Moreover, I can’t keep myself from studying the particular shade of gray in his eyes. Like a storm cloud. A shade so beautiful I’m suddenly desperate to paint?—
A drop of moisture lands on my lashes, forcing me to blink. Then another falls on my cheek. I tilt my face back and find an overcast sky overhead. The clouds must have overtaken the blue while we were playing our game, and now rain has begun. In a matter of seconds, the light sprinkle turns into a deluge.
A burst of laughter escapes my lips. I close my eyes and lift my chin higher, luxuriating in the feel of the cold drops dancing over my face and hair. Soaking my arms. Then a tug on my wrist reminds me Monty is still holding onto it.
“Come on.” He gently guides me back under the stall’s awning, where the now-finished players and several other carnival guests crowd in close to the counter. I grin at the sight of the grass becoming soaked, at the stalls filled with people desperate to wait out the shower. Meanwhile, it takes all my restraint not to run back onto the grass and pounce from puddle to puddle.
I love the rain.
Yet that love is not one I can heed, the proof being the aghast looks I catch from those in the stall across from us. One woman whispers into another’s ear, their eyes on me. As both break into laughter, I’m thrown back to my debut season as the source of mockery and gossip.
Did you see her tear into that steak with her hands?
Did you hear her growl when I merely bumped into her?
I shake the memories from my head, burying the part of me that yearns for rain, and remind myself that being soaked through is not admirable in society. Instead of fantasizing about frolicking through puddles, I should be fretting over my hair like all the other ladies are doing.
“You’re drenched.” A panicked male voice draws my attention to the side, where Conrad shuffles between bodies to reach me and Monty. Araminta and David follow in his wake. “Are you all right? Why were you just standing there?”
My mood sours. I’d forgotten about Conrad during the shooting game. His incompetence was wearing on my nerves, so playing with Monty was a much-needed break. Is that what Araminta meant when she talked about being annoyed by David’s obsession with her? Because I was certainly annoyed.
“Why were you staring at the rain?” Araminta asks, genuine concern in her eyes.
“I like the rain,” I confess, but no one hears me over the rhythmic beat of droplets that pound the awning overhead.
Araminta arches a brow at Monty. “And why were you just staring at her ?”
My breath catches. I swivel my face toward Monty but he’s pointedly ignoring our group. And Araminta’s question. Did he even hear what she said? Is it true? Was Monty…staring at me while I was basking in the splendor of the rain? I recall his expression before the downpour began. The intensity that swept over his expression. I shudder to think he continued to watch me like that, even after I turned my face to the sky.
Yet the shudder I feel…
It isn’t at all unpleasant.
Conrad steps in closer. He lifts his hand to the sodden ends of my short hair, and I habitually flinch away. Thankfully he pulls his hand back. His expression turns sheepish as he tucks his palms in his trouser pockets and rocks back on his heels. “After the rain lets up, would you care to join me for tea in the concessions pavilion?”
I open my mouth to refuse him, but I’m not sure how to best go about it. Or if I even should. Is accepting his offer essential to continuing Monty’s courtship lesson?
When I don’t answer, he speaks again. “We could warm up and dry off?—”
“We’re leaving.” Monty’s voice silences him, and something warm and heavy falls over my shoulders. It’s Monty’s jacket, and a glance at him shows he’s doffed his gloves and rolled up his shirtsleeves, his cravat now hanging loose. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to dress down. Then his words register in my mind, and the next thing I know, his fingers lace through mine. He gives me a wicked grin.
And then tugs me out into the rain.
The breath leaves my lungs in exhilarated surprise as we dart over the wet grass, our shoes making squelching sounds that are almost as loud as the downpour.
“What are we doing?” I shout at him, my words strangled with laughter.
“We’re running.”
“I can see that.” I can also see more disapproving faces staring out at us from under the safety of the tents, but I find it hard to care this time. This is heaven for me. But for Monty…he’s not normally playful like this. His play tends more toward words and jests. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so much as canter. “We could wait it out.”
“We could, but you wanted to run, didn’t you?” His curls have uncoiled into damp strands that cling to his face as he turns a wild smile to me. “You love the rain.”
My pulse kicks up, and I can’t take my eyes off his face as he continues to pull me on. I’m so moved I could cry. He knows I love the rain. He heard me say so when no one else did. He could tell I wanted to frolic and play.
I utter a yelp as my foot slips in the slick grass, but my shout quickly dissolves into another strain of laughter. “We might fall.”
“We might,” he says. “That’s why I’m holding on to you. I can take you down with me.”
“So we can fall together.”
“Something like that.”
We’re nearing the park’s entrance now, where a line of coaches await. Soon our jog will be at an end, and I wish with all my heart it would last.
I’m still breathless as our hansom cab pulls up outside my apartment building, and my fingers are chilled to the bone. The rain has only let up slightly and the temperature has dropped. That’s Earthen Court spring for you.
A giddy smile curves my mouth as we dart from the cab through a light sheet of rain. We race up the steps to my building’s entrance and catch our breath all over again.
“That was probably the most fun I’ve had in this body,” I say, facing Monty on the top step.
I expect some quip about how I clearly need to do more interesting things with my body, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Monty gives a shaky nod. “I’m glad,” he says through mildly chattering teeth.
I frown, taking in his pallor contrasting the pink in his cheeks and nose. “Are you all right? You’re pale but your cheeks are flushed.” I lift a hand to his cheek. His eyes widen at my touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m a little sensitive to rain.”
“You’re sensitive to rain?” I echo with a scolding look. “To rain ? The stuff we just ran through and soaked ourselves with? And why the hell are you sensitive to it?” A ripple of panic moves through me. I’ve heard some humans with weak constitutions are prone to suffer during rain and cold weather, but Monty has never seemed anything but fit.
“I’ll be fine.” He tries to give me a reassuring grin, but its effect is negated by the hunch of his shoulders and the way he crosses his bare forearms over his chest in an attempt to warm up.
“And you gave me your jacket! Monty, you fool. Come on. I don’t care if you were already planning on coming up or not, because you are now.”
“I really will be fine, Daph. I was merely walking you to your door like a gentleman, but I’ll be on my way.”
My heart clenches at how much weaker his voice sounds than usual. I glance out at the street where the hansom cab has already departed. “No, you’re coming inside.” When he opens his mouth to argue, I say, “Come inside or I’ll bite you. I’m incapable of lying, which means I must follow through. Now do what I say, or I will bite you. Hard.”
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “That’s just a recipe for a good time.”
“There he is,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
I open the door to my building and am gratified when he follows me inside. I wince with every step we take upstairs, knowing we’re leaving soggy footprints and probably mud behind us. I’ll make it up to my landlady later and clean the stairs myself.
Once inside my apartment, I close the door behind us and order, “Clothes off. Now.”
“Daph—”
“Don’t argue. Just do it. We already made enough of a mess on the stairs. I won’t have my rugs soaked out of misplaced modesty.”
With a resigned grumble, he turns away and begins to strip. I tug off my shoes and stockings, then reach for the tiny pearl buttons at the back of my dress. With them so slick and my fingers so cold, I can hardly gain purchase on a single button. My landlady employs a maid in the building for times like this, but I’d rather not ring for her and draw her attention to the soaked stairs. Instead, I turn my back to Monty.
“Will you loosen my buttons?”
His only answer is a sharp intake of breath.
I glance at him over my shoulder, but now it’s my turn to inhale. He’s dressed down to his underpants, his musculature coated in a sheen of moisture, his hair dripping rivulets over his face. I’ve seen him shirtless twice now, but never out of his trousers. Fresh bruises mar his ribs, proof of his most recent fight at the club. It never occurred to me to go last night, but now I wish I had, just to know how he got each contusion. I’m struck with a sudden realization of how much of his life I’m not a part of. It’s been so easy to fall back into a friendship. To converse like no time at all has passed. Like he didn’t hurt me with his dismissive goodbye all those months ago. But now I’m aware that time has passed and Monty has a life outside of work and our arrangement. He has a past I know very little about. He has hobbies I was only vaguely aware of before. He has a sensitivity to rain that I’ve only discovered today. What else is there to know about him?
Hunger fills me, a yearning to know everything.
I face forward again. “Please,” I say, my voice coming out softer than I intend.
His footsteps approach.
Then his fingers fall on my top button. It occurs to me now he may not be in any better shape than I am to unbutton my dress, but the thought is barely out of my head before I feel the first button loosen. Then the next.
Leave it to Monty to maintain expert skills at undressing a woman, even when he’s unwell.
Although…
Now that I think about it, despite all his previous talk about being a womanizer and a rake, I’ve never seen him with a lover. Not once. Not a single dalliance during The Heartbeats Tour. Not a single concrete anecdote about past or present paramours.
Only salacious teasing and a reputation for rejecting advances from the ladies at work.
The next button comes loose, and his fingertips skim my back, just above my bralette. I suck in a gasp as his fingers flinch away.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“It’s all right,” I say with a chuckle, my attempt at lightening the mood. Yet somehow it only gets tenser. A heavy, vibrating, fluttering energy settles in my chest, tightening my lungs. At the same time, I feel safe. Comfortable. Trusting. What a curious contrast. It takes all my effort to keep my voice nonchalant. “I could hardly expect you to unbutton me without making contact with my skin.”
He says nothing, only loosens the next button. I could probably undo the rest on my own, or at least shrug out of my dress now, but I can’t find the will to tell him that. I look at him over my shoulder again. That intensity has returned to his face, and the next time his fingertips skim my back, over my silk bralette this time, he doesn’t flinch away.
A strange sensation burns low in my belly. It’s something I haven’t felt before, not when another person is touching me, at least. It’s the way I feel when I read sexy scenes in books or look at romantic artwork. It’s how I feel when I’m posing before the mirror, preparing to sketch?—
My breath hitches again as I understand what this might be.
Is this…arousal? But what could be arousing me? The feeling of someone touching me, or…
Or Monty touching me?
“There,” he says, voice soft as he steps back. All my buttons are loose now. He turns around to give me privacy—not that I care for it, considering my confusion over the double standards regarding human nudity—and I let my dress drop to the ground. I rush to my linen closet for towels and a blanket, wrapping one of the towels around my torso before handing the rest of the bundle to Monty.
“Get comfortable on the settee,” I say and set about lighting my stove and hanging our clothes on the drying line. Slowly, my apartment gets a little warmer. I’m already feeling warm enough, which may be partially due to the flush of heat I felt when I was aroused, but I worry about Monty.
By the time I return to him, he looks worse than ever. He’s slumped on my settee, body trembling beneath the blanket I gave him. How the hell did he unbutton my dress in this state? I thought he was feeling better after we got inside my apartment. I crouch down, still dressed in only my underclothes and the towel, and press my hand to his forehead. It’s even hotter than it was before.
I glance at his still-soaked hair. “You didn’t even properly dry yourself.”
“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish smile.
“What are you apologizing for?” Taking up one of the barely used towels, I perch on the arm of the settee, just behind his head, and begin drying his tresses.
“For taking advantage of your hospitality.” His words are slightly slurred.
“You’re not taking advantage of anything. I’m the one who ordered you in here on threat of biting. But if it assuages your guilt, we can count this as the favor I owe you for winning the game.”
“Ah, right.” He releases a weak chuckle. “You had fun, then?”
A grin curves my lips as I squeeze the towel around his hair. “I did. But you really shouldn’t have run in the rain with me if you’re so sensitive to it.”
“I’ll always run in the rain with you.”
I frown down at him and his uncharacteristically sentimental tone. “You truly are a mess right now, aren’t you?”
He makes a noncommittal sound followed by another “Sorry.”
“Who knew Monty Phillips was a master of apology when he’s sick.” I remove the towel from his hair and lean over him. His eyes are closed, his expression pinched. He continues to shiver even though my apartment has warmed significantly.
I descend from the arm of the settee and tuck the blankets tighter around him. My gaze settles on the steady rise and fall of his chest, and an idea comes to mind. Dropping my towel to the floor, I close my eyes and turn my attention inward, focusing on the second side of me. The small, soft creature. The hunter. The part of me that loves frolicking through rain even more than my seelie self does. I connect with that version of me and feel a hum of magic radiate up and down my limbs, infusing my blood and bones. A shudder racks my body from my head and down my spine. Once it reaches my toes, I land on four soft paws.
From the ground, I stare up at the settee. Monty looks larger now that I’m in my pine marten form, yet it’s a view I easily recall. In a single leap, I hop onto his chest and settle my small body at its center, letting my warmth radiate through the blanket to infuse him.
I did this once before, during The Heartbeats Tour. After a late night out, he returned to the place we were staying at, seeming a little worse for wear. Now I wonder if he’d joined an amateur boxing match in the city we were visiting. He settled into a chair, complaining that he was cold, and I offered to curl up on his chest until he was warm. That resulted in both of us falling asleep. When I awoke the next morning, I was mortified, bemoaning my humiliation over having slept with him. I’m embarrassed to recall how naive I was then, and the situation was only made worse when Monty teased me.
…I have a type. Four legs and furry isn’t it.
I still don’t know why it hurt me so much when he said that. Why would I expect a human to see an animal fae as anything else? Of course it meant nothing to him that a fae creature slept on his chest. It truly wasn’t a big deal.
Yet it still hurt that he felt that way.
I study his face from where I lie, and I remind myself that he could hurt me all over again. He could say something cruel or cutting. He could push my friendship away like he did before. My yearning to understand more about him, to learn the hidden sides of him I’m only just starting to suspect are there, could lead to pain.
The kind of pain that made me drunk and reckless once before, so desperate for a lasting connection after Monty rejected me that I got myself handfasted to someone I had no intention of marrying.
My friendship with Monty could lead me back down that sharp and agonizing path. It might be better to keep my distance—to tuck tail and run from him—as soon as our bargain is fulfilled. Run. Hide. Isn’t that what I do when I’m afraid?
As I close my eyes and lower my head, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, I remember that Monty is the one who ran with me today.