Chapter 23
Iopened the door to find Casimir standing on the threshold of my dormitory, looking like some Byronic hero in his leather jacket, his raven hair flecked with droplets of rain, a soft smile gracing his lips.
Gwen had left early to meet her study group in the library, and we were alone, which was fortunate, considering how flustered Casimir’s presence made me.
We were supposed to train in the Grotto in an hour, and I’d just assumed I’d meet him there.
“Bad news,” he said in lieu of a greeting.
I blurted, “What are you doing here?”
He arched a brow at the question. “Training, remember?”
“I… uh, I need a few minutes,” I said, feeling my face go hot as he ran his gaze over my disheveled appearance. I’d thrown on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt, and my hair, still wet from the shower, fell in tangled ringlets down my back. I shivered in the doorway.
Casimir smiled crookedly. “I can see that.” He was, it seemed, entirely unaffected by my embarrassment.
I shut the door behind him as he slid past me and sank into my chair.
I tried to ignore him as I continued readying myself.
I pulled on a dove-gray sweater, wool socks, and laced up my leather boots.
I considered adding a necklace to the ensemble but then thought better of it.
I felt Casimir’s eyes on me as I checked that my dagger was still sheathed in my pocket.
“Well? Are you going to tell me what the bad news is?” I asked, the question coming out more harshly than I intended.
His smirk grew. “The Prescott brat is pressing charges. He’s gone to his daddy all in a tizzy over his broken hand.”
My bag fell to the floor. “He’s what?” I said, aghast.
Casimir shrugged. “It’s a slight hiccup. First offenses are only a misdemeanor.”
From the haughty smirk plastered on his face, I had a very hard time believing this was his first offense.
“Can’t you just—I don’t know, make it go away?” I said, exasperated.
Casimir’s expression turned positively wicked. “Farrow, are you asking me to glamour him? Or worse, the judge?” He gave a mock gasp of outrage. “If only I had a necklace of pearls to clutch—”
“Stop being an ass,” I snapped. “You know what? Don’t glamour him. See if I care when Monty’s daddy’s lawyers throw you into the penitentiary.”
“If I’m locked up,” he took a step toward me, “who’s going to come to your dormitory and make you blush?”
I turned away so that he wouldn’t see my cheeks redden further. “I understand it’s your prerogative to be an impossible prick,” I began, “but can’t you wait til I’ve had coffee? It’s barely eight in the morning.”
Something darkly flirtatious shadowed his expression. Something dangerous, violent, and not at all sweet.
“Admit it. You want me to glamour him,” he said.
I fought the urge to walk across the room and kick him in the shin. “No, I don’t.”
He arched a brow in challenge. “You know he deserved it, Farrow. I dare say you even enjoyed watching him writhe in pain.”
“I did not!” I replied, affronted.
Casimir went on, “You should’ve heard his screams when I broke the little bones in his hand…” He sighed wistfully.
“You’re despicable!” I remonstrated.
He gave a lazy shrug, as if discussing the depths of his despicableness was entirely pointless. “So?” he prompted. “What do you want me to do about dear Monty?”
I glared at him for a long moment. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I cried, throwing up my hands. “Fine. Casimir, will you please do yourself a favor and glamour the other raging, arrogant pain in my ass to forget that you broke his hand so you don’t end up in prison?”
Amusement sparked briefly in his eyes. “Done,” he agreed.
“Great,” I growled, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
Neither of us spoke for a moment, until he commented, “I’ve never seen your room. It’s more… eclectic than I expected.”
I swung my gaze over the chaotic assortment of plants, books, and trinkets scattered across Gwen’s bookshelf and desk, clashing gloriously with the cacophony of fuzzy pink and blue pillows tossed across her bed.
I snorted. “Yeah, well, Gwen and I are staunchly opposed to minimalism as a design concept.”
“Clearly,” he said, eyes glittering. “Well, I like your side of the room better, in any case.” He stood, stretching his arms. “So, are you ready to train?”
“As ready as I can be,” I replied dryly. Better to keep both of our expectations low.
“I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you.” Casimir chuckled, taking a step closer.
My spine locked into place at his close proximity, my limbs going rigid, my breath hitching in my throat. My body was far too attuned to him, too sensitive to whatever gravitational pull drew me in. I felt my cheeks growing hot as he approached, at the way his gaze burned through me.
Meeting those bottomless eyes felt dangerous. Daring. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and staring into the abyss. Like murmuring Bloody Mary three times in front of a mirror and pretending not to feel frightened.
I forced myself to meet them anyway.
“Better make these last few days count then,” he said, his breath ghosting across my face.
Because that was all the time we had left, I realized.
He was standing far too close.
Something clenched low in my belly, tense like coiled wire. Faintly, I was aware of my heart, thrumming like a caged bird against my chest. My eyelids fluttered, my body strung as tight as a bow, ready to spring. If this was a glamour, I couldn’t tell. I wasn’t sure I cared either way.
“You know,” he murmured, “if you’d just wear the damn necklace, this would be a whole lot easier.”
I clenched my jaw, at once defensive. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather learn how to resist glamours so I don’t have to rely on a piece of metal.”
He sighed, and his breath ghosted across my neck, making me shiver. “So stubborn…” He traced the line of my jaw with his knuckle, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
I waited for him to lean in to press our lips together, but he made no move to close the last few inches of space between us.
And then I realized; he was going to make me do it, the prick. Of course, he was. As if reading the irritation written on my face, he gave me a familiar, arrogant smile.
It pissed me off enough that I seized the collar of his jacket and hauled his mouth to mine. The flash of surprise in his eyes just before they fluttered closed told me I’d won this round.
But then he took control of the kiss, his lips fierce and demanding.
I hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back that night on the veranda.
I gasped as his hand trailed down my spine to press against the soft curve of my lower back, the other entwined in my damp hair, all the while pressing me harder against him.
For once, the nagging voice in my head fell silent, though I should have been dismayed by the way my body melded to his, by how quickly I forgot myself.
It should have alarmed me enough to stop, to pull away.
But just like that night at the manor, I was on the brink of being consumed by him.
And just like the first time, I was powerless to stop myself.
I groaned into his mouth as his hands trailed lower, cupping my ass.
The fire in my belly spread like wildfire through my veins, boiling my blood.
My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting him everywhere.
His body was flush against mine, and it was still not close enough.
The heat coming off him was kindling to the fire already raging through me, his tongue a torch igniting every nerve.
Seized as though by some momentary madness, my hands slipped lower on his abdomen, fumbling over the clasp of his belt.
He went rigid.
I released him at once, and he staggered back, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks a vivid shade of cerise.
Oh, fuck.
Rejection washed over me like a bucket of ice. My face burned with my rising mortification and horror at what I’d just done.
Casimir cleared his throat. “Ah, I–I’m sorry.”
This was possibly the first time I’d ever seen Casimir stumble for words.
“I’m just not sure now’s the time to—”
“Yes!” I squeaked. “I mean, no, you’re right.” I nodded furiously, not daring to meet his eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if my face were the exact shade and color of a tomato.
He cleared his throat again.
Then, in a voice I hardly recognized, I heard myself saying, “We should probably keep things professional anyway.” I trained my gaze on Gwen’s collection of stuffed toys so I wouldn’t have to witness Casimir’s reaction. Coward, I thought.
A fuzzy bunny rabbit stared back at me with accusatory marble eyes.
What in the actual fuck was wrong with me? Two minutes ago, I had been grabbing at his belt, and now I was insisting I wanted to keep things professional? I rambled on, the words spewing from my mouth like vomit. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. For either of us, I mean.”
Shut up, Arden. For the love of all that is holy, shut up.
Steeling myself for another wave of humiliation, I forced myself to meet his gaze, and was unsurprised to find his expression indecipherable apart from a rosy flush that lingered across his cheekbones.
He nodded. “Whatever you want, Farrow.”
He held my eyes for another moment, as though trying to probe past my own impenetrable mask.
I attempted to appear as stoic and unaffected as possible until he broke whatever enchantment held me prisoner and—at last—looked away.