Chapter Ten #3
“Stop this.” Pushing his hand from my shoulder, I turned and faced my fiancé. The couple from the willow tree had vanished, likely headed to rejoin the party—thank the Sisters. I could not imagine they’d have overlooked this display. “Leave us be.”
Our eyes locked. I was unnerved when, rather than the mocking sarcasm I expected to find in Noé’s, I was met with only an intent thoughtfulness—as though he were carefully considering not only my words but also the meaning behind them.
In reaction, I smoothed my expression, guarding my emotions from his view.
His brow furrowed. A second later, his standard chilliness returned, sweeping the softness away. “Fine,” he spat. Then to Eliot: “I’ll be waiting.”
He slunk back in the direction of the statue where he’d been perched earlier. As he left, I shifted toward Eliot, reaching to take him by the wrist. “Eliot—”
He interrupted before I could get any further. “Promise me you’ll never love him.”
I dropped his hand. Eliot’s tone was firm, his entire body angled toward mine. When I glanced up at him, startled, he swallowed. “Swear it, Lovett.”
The desperation in his voice—the urgency, as if he were frightened that at any second, I would slip through his fingers and be gone—made me feel dirty. Still, I did as he said. “I swear.”
His features crumpled. Drawing me near to him, he folded his arms around me, tucking my head beneath his chin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The warmth of him made my eyes prickle. “It’s all right,” I murmured softly. Leaning away, I looked up at him, laying a palm against his chest. “We don’t need Lucie to bring down the Weavers, Eliot. We will make a new plan, the two of us. That is how we did it the first time.”
I thought it was the proper thing to say, but Eliot’s mouth twitched as though I’d struck him. “The first time ended with me standing alone.”
He released me before I could fashion a reply.
“Best not keep your fiancé waiting,” Eliot said. There was still an acrimonious underbite to his words, though I could tell he was attempting to suppress it. “I’ll write you once I’ve seen whether I can reason with Lucie.”
Gently, he caught up my hand, brushing his lips over the underside of my wrist. “Good night, Lovett.”
With that, he departed. I curled my fingers toward the heel of my palm, as though I could hold the feel of his mouth there, preserve it like a bit of dried sage hung over a mantel.
It had little effect. The sensation of him was already fading by the time he strode away.
—
I dreaded the ride home.
The party had swelled further while we’d been in the garden, distending until there was not a crevice of the townhome which was not occupied by the frothy mass of a well-dressed body.
Still, I would have rather dwelled in the chaos all night than followed Noé out the front entrance, down the steps to where our carriage awaited us.
The roads of the capital were unusually quiet.
Through the coach window, I watched the sea roll by, mainland Balmoore little more than a dark crescent in the distance.
Had it been daytime, I could have picked out the craggy forms of the cloisters looking in from the coastline; now, though, they were hidden, wolves in the dark.
We rode in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour before Noé spoke. “I noticed you speaking with Anais earlier.”
I glanced at him sidelong. My fiancé was sprawled on the opposite side of the carriage, his back against the wall, one leg pulled up on the bench and the other dangling loosely toward the floor.
In his left hand, he held a drink, which he’d taken from the Winn residence without asking and had been sipping on for the duration of our drive.
Observing him, my lip curled. “She approached me.”
“And?” He shifted his legs. “Did you ask about her missing gloves?”
“I didn’t have time. Eliot…”
My voice cut out. I was not sure what I’d been going to say.
Noé cleared his throat. “He was hard on you, out there.”
The change in subject made my skin grow cold. Looking away, I replied, “I betrayed him.”
Noé hummed. “Did he not do the same to you during the Vainglory, with Sybil?”
My neck reddened. I hadn’t expected him to bring up Sybil. “Did you not do worse than both of us, when you courted his sister and hid the truth of her death?”
“Of course I did worse.” Noé shrugged, unbothered. He took another swallow of his drink, grimacing at the coach wall. “I always do worse. It is the most basic precept of Eliot’s and my friendship.”
Coolly, his chin lolled my way.
“I’m only saying, he’s a hypocrite.”
I glared at him. “I am not interested in hearing anything you have to say.” Our gazes met for only a second before I ripped mine away, facing back toward the window. “Don’t cut in for me next time. I can fight my own battles.”
His laugh stung me—low and sardonic, as if he were amused. “All right. I won’t.”
“Wonderful.” In emphasis, I took my ring off and placed it on the seat beside me, aware of his eyes tracking me all the while. The agate glinted in the moonlight; when I looked up at him challengingly, he glanced away.
We did not speak for the rest of the trip home.