Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MONTY
I don’t stop walking until I exit the lobby doors, filling my lungs with crisp night air. There’s nothing but quiet all around me, nothing but the sleeping countryside surrounding the hotel, and the music from the ballroom too distant to hear. No guests funnel through the lobby doors and no coaches circle the courtyard, as most of the hotel’s guests are either sleeping, dining, or attending the wedding.
Yet not even the silence and solitude set me at ease. With tense fingers, I extract a cigarillo from the case in my jacket pocket and place it between my lips. It takes me three tries to light it with my igniter, with how my hands shake, but soon floral smoke fills my mouth. The scent, the taste, the routine, all serve to calm my racing pulse.
After another soothing drag of my herbal remedy, I drop myself onto a bench at the edge of the cobblestone courtyard. I flick the ash from the end of my cigarillo, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
Why did I so badly want to stop Daphne from dancing with Patrick Wright? Why did it enrage me to see them settling in for another dance? Patrick’s interest in her shouldn’t come as a surprise. He asked me to introduce him. He talked to her throughout dinner like she was the only person at the table. But that’s not what has me riled, is it?
No, it’s what Thorne said to me just as I was about to cut in.
He’s looking for a wife, not a fling. He’s exactly the kind of person you’d want to match her with. A good man. He won’t hurt her.
He won’t hurt her.
Unlike me.
I know that’s not what Thorne meant. He meant I had no reason to fear the man had foul intentions with Daph. Even if Thorne had meant it the other way, could I blame him? I’ve never given him any reason to believe I’m anything but a careless rake. In fact, I encouraged him to think that way about me. It was the mask I wore, to keep him from fully respecting me. From caring too much.
He’s exactly the kind of person you’d want to match her with .
Thorne was right, and this was always the goal from the beginning. Daphne needs a husband. I need a case study. Patrick’s show of interest is not something either of us should discourage. If they form a relationship, both Daphne’s and my problems are solved. I’ll have the perfect ending to my case study. Daphne will have incontrovertible proof that she can’t become Clyde’s mate. Yet there’s one key component that’s missing; there was no spark between them. I sensed not a single flicker. Not when they danced. Not when they spoke.
The only spark…
The only spark I sense…
Panic seizes my chest, tightening it in a vise. I take another deep drag of my cigarillo, willing the ache to leave, but it doesn’t. Not fully. Maybe it’s been there all day. Or perhaps it’s been weeks. I wish I could blame the emotionally charged ceremony, as it left my emotions raw, but I’ve felt this way before. This terrifying flame burning in my lungs.
I remember the last time.
It was on a night much like this, during The Heartbeats Tour. The gala. The first time I saw Daphne in seelie form. I recall the shock that tore through me, followed by a fierce protectiveness when I watched her dance. I’d already been protective of Daphne throughout the tour. She was the smallest of us, and while she was armed with a fierce bite, I still wanted to look out for her. That instinct grew when I saw her in that beautiful dress, dancing awkwardly with one partner and then the next. Then came the partner with the roving hands, and I stepped in.
But that wasn’t where my panic ignited. It was later that night, after the gala had ended. Our lust-addled authors had decided to make the kitchen in our shared suite their personal fuck nest, so Daph and I got the hell out of there. We found an empty balcony and there we spent the next couple of hours. She drank her favorite berry cordial while I smoked. We didn’t even talk much; we simply enjoyed the quiet night. Then Daphne climbed onto the balcony rail. My heart lurched into my throat, but she kept her balance with ease, just like she did in unseelie form. She extended a hand into the dark, grasping at something I couldn’t see.
Then I realized what she was after. Cherry blossoms were raining down from the night sky. Or—more accurately—our hotel. The gala took place in an enormous living tree. Everything from the walls to the furnishings to the balcony was composed of this tree. I’d come to take such marvels for granted, for we’d been traveling across the isle, staying in a multitude of marvelous places. I’d grown used to whimsy. But then, as I watched Daphne snatching cherry blossoms from the air, her black hair limned blue in the starlight, her feet balanced on a twining, living balustrade, I felt like I was experiencing whimsy, beauty, and magic for the first time.
She finally caught one of the blossoms.
And turned to me with a joyous smile.
I’d never seen her smile before. Not in seelie form. It was so similar to how she bared her teeth to express her happiness as a pine marten, yet new. Different. Stunning.
That was when I felt like my heart had caught fire. When my lungs pinched tight.
The spark.
It was a pleasant flame at first, but my stomach sank, taking all my beautiful, burning awe with it.
Because I knew then, as I watched her so wild and free, so beautiful and innocent, that she was too good for me.
She was someone I could hurt.
I left her on that balcony shortly after, feigning fatigue, and I kept my distance in the following days, weeks, months, until I severed our friendship the day I got fired.
The memories cloud my heart, doubling my panic. How did I get myself in the same position I was in then? How did I let things go so far?
I take another drag, tipping my head back to exhale a lavender-scented cloud.
She’s still someone I could hurt.
…someone who could hurt me .
I frown. No, that’s not it. I live a dangerous life. I’m racked with debt. I could hurt her.
She could hurt me .
No, I hurt everyone around me.
Everyone I’ve loved has hurt me .
I shake the small voice from my mind. I’m truly losing it, aren’t I? I’m the one who hurts people. I hurt my sister and all my friends when I sank into my dark mood after I found out about my mother.
And not a single friend noticed the pain you were hiding .
I hurt Briony and Thorne in my matchmaking attempts, partially to keep Briony from liking me and to encourage her affections to grow for Thorne, but partially because I liked causing trouble. I enjoyed the discord I stirred.
Briony disliked me the moment she laid eyes on me. Before I’d said or done a single cruel thing.
I hurt my first love, Cosette?—
I didn’t think my engagement would upset you, Monty. This time it isn’t my own voice speaking to me but a memory from the past. It’s not like you and I were ever serious .
I…I hurt my fox?—
I can’t be your pet anymore. I’m leaving .
I even hurt my father, in all my disobedience?—
Why did you keep me from my mother?
Because you’re male and I needed an heir.
I close my eyes tight against the memories and rub my chest as if it will rid me of this invisible ache.
“Monty?”
My eyes fly open at Daphne’s voice. The sight of her standing beside me is so unexpected that my cigarillo nearly slides from my lips before I catch it. My eyes lock on hers, and every dark emotion that clouded my chest disappears. The tightness leaves my shoulders. My lungs expand. She hasn’t said more than my name. Hasn’t done a thing more than simply stand there. Yet her presence is enough. It’s enough.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, a rasp in my voice. I try to smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“I came to find you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Her gaze slides down to my cigarillo, and her mouth quirks at a corner. “Lucky guess.”
I clear my throat and control my tone to keep it steady. “You’ve had enough dancing for the night?”
She heaves a sigh. “I’m tired. It’s exhausting trying to be well-mannered and demure. I know tonight was supposed to be a chance to perform for your case study, but I’ve done my part. You’ve clearly done yours as well, considering you’re out here.”
I sit up straighter, surprised by the bite in her tone. “You’re angry with me?”
“You said we’d do this together. That you wouldn’t leave me to do this by myself.”
She’s right. And yet…
“I can’t be there for every step of the way. There are certain…lessons you can only advance on your own with your suitor.”
“Yes, well, I’ve gotten as far as I can with Mr. Wright.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s asked to call on me next weekend, which means we’re on Lesson Four. Waiting to see if his actions align with his words.”
I clench my teeth. “Is that why you came to find me? To update me on my case study’s success?” I can’t help the ire that infuses my tone.
“No, I came to find you because…because I wanted to be with you. I wanted to dance with you tonight, not Mr. Wright. Yet you left.” She stomps as close to me as she can, arms still crossed, until she’s standing between my legs. Her glare is furious as she stares down at me. “You left me all alone with him.”
I want to argue that she wasn’t alone, she was in a room full of people, but that’s not what she means, is it? She wanted to enjoy the night with me, just like I wanted to enjoy it with her. The case study was a mere excuse for her to attend the ceremony and ball.
The truth is, I wanted her here. With me . No one else.
I stare up at her furious face, beautiful in her anger.
With every fiber of my being, I want her all to myself. I want every inch of her. I want to drag my hands under her skirt, up her thighs, and pull her onto my lap. I want to kiss her until she’s dizzy. I want to bury myself inside her, show her just how badly I want her too. I want to fuck her here on this bench, make her come in this dress all over again. My body radiates with need. With desire. With an unquenchable thirst for her.
Holding her gaze, I extinguish my cigarillo and toss the butt to the ground. Then, slowly, I reach for her knees. She shudders at my touch, the anger on her face shifting to surprise. My fingers skate higher, over the smooth silk of her stockings. Then higher, where the top of her stockings give way to soft flesh. When my hands frame her hips, I give them a squeeze, then pull her onto my lap.
She utters a small yelp as she lands on my thighs, straddling me, her hands braced on my shoulders. I lean back slightly, bearing my weight on one arm while the other hand reaches for her jaw, her cheek, tracing the angled tip of her ear before my fingers slide around to her nape. Her breasts pulse above her neckline, her breaths sharp. My cock hardens as her lips part. I claw my fingers into the ends of her hair, ready to pull her face to mine. To taste her lips for the first time.
If we kiss, it’s real .
I freeze, and my mind catches up with what my body is doing.
She senses my sudden trepidation, her hands tensing on my shoulders, her eyes volleying between mine as a furrow forms on her brow.
Fucking hell, I want to kiss that furrow away. I want to show her how I feel. But what I feel is more than the lust that courses through me. It’s more than want. More than this aching need.
It’s bigger. Softer.
It’s love.
I fucking love her.
And I will not use her for pleasure when I can’t be what she needs. If we can’t be what I desperately wish we could be. Because I’ll only end up hurting her.
She’ll only end up hurting me .
I banish the voice from my head and slide my hands out from under her dress, wrapping them around her waist instead. With a quavering sigh, I drop my forehead to her shoulder and squeeze her tighter, wishing I never had to let her go.