Chapter 11 Lovely to Lure a Man to His Death #3
“Hush, boy.” Mrs. Grant sent him a quelling glance. “Only fools undervalue eggs.” She smiled at Diana. “And the mermaids?”
“A curious case of multiple tales that might or might not be the same historical figure. A princess who traveled in a barrel by sea. A mermaid who lured a singer to his death.”
“I want to be a mermaid,” one of the younger girls whined.
“Would be lovely to lure a man to his death,” the other younger girl added.
Both looked rather wistful.
“No more questions,” Temple grumbled. “Let the poor woman eat.”
Mr. Grant chuckled, Mrs. Grant nodded, and the rest of the room rolled their eyes but did as Temple demanded, focusing their own attention to their plates.
“Temple,” Mr. Grant said through a mouthful of food, “how is the king’s request going? Are you making progress?”
“Trying to,” Temple muttered. “But you lot are likely going to set me back with her.”
Mr. Grant’s laugh flung toward the ceiling and filled the room. “Not that request. The one about after-death communications.”
“You know dam—”
“Temple,” his mother warned.
“You know perfectly well it cannot be done.” Temple tore into his asparagus with more power than the poor vegetable could handle. It ripped quickly in two, both ends flying off the plate. “Damn.”
“Temple.” Another maternal warning.
“Introduce him to a medium,” Mr. Grant suggested. “They’re thick on the ground these days.”
“I do not think it matters,” Mrs. Grant said.
“It’s a Sisyphean task. You could be working on refining the summoning stone, but instead you’re stuck attempting to communicate with the dead.
” She snorted. “Just look at you. You’re skin and bones.
It’s too much. You should not have accepted the title. ”
Skin and bones? He seemed quite solid to Diana. But… now that she looked closer… His face was rather pale, his cheekbones sharp, his eyes tired.
He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead. “Do not worry, Mother. I’m still working on the stones.” And working on the king’s request and visiting Diana almost every evening and hiring a runner to track Apollo.
With the tines of her fork, she speared the rogue asparagus ends and put them back on his plate. “Eat, Temple,” she whispered.
He bloomed. Right in front of her, the quickest flowering she’d ever seen, his entire body as bright as the orbs dancing on the lawn as he stuffed the rest of the asparagus into his mouth.
He held her gaze as he did it. She wanted to laugh at his puffy cheeks, his sudden exuberance.
He’d ignited a brightness in her, too. It felt lovely to care for someone’s well-being as they cared for yours. An exchange of concern, a partnership.
It felt rather powerful. More so than that power she could summon now if she wished, wiping out this room to replace it with the grand dining hall she was used to at her grandfather’s house, her cousin’s house now.
That seemed a sin, though, to cover up a room such as this.
These walls were not grand, but they were hand-painted with a lovely summer landscape.
And the furniture was not expensive, but it was well used and well cared for.
The chairs were mismatched, but that created a kind of charm because each chair seemed an extension of its occupant.
The twins’ chairs were matching. Sybil’s chair was delicate and painted white and gold.
Mr. Grant’s was solid, big. And Ajax’s chair was his mother’s lap, his very own throne.
Diana ate while the others bounced conversation around the table. So unused to boisterous meals. Her own had always been silent, broken only by her aunt’s censures and the sound of a spoon spinning in a teacup.
Temple stretched his arm behind her, resting it along the back of her chair. He did not touch her, but she could feel the steadfastness of that thick corded muscle. She did not look at him, but she could feel Temple’s gaze on her.
He jumped a little, and his arm fell away from her chair, seeking the inside of his pocket. He pulled out a glowing stone like the one he’d give her. “Damn. I’m being summoned. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave.”
Cries of displeasure. Grumbles of disdain. The dishes nearly shook with the force of the family’s disparate feelings, but none of them stayed Temple. He stood and held out a hand to Diana.
She took it and stood. “Thank you, everyone. It has been a lovely evening.” That the absolute truth.
Temple bundled her toward the door, but before he could open it, Ajax appeared, the left side of his golden hair sticking straight up with… something, and his cheeks bulging.
“We’re off now, Jax,” Temple said, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair, then thinking better of it and sticking his hand in his pocket.
Ajax barely glanced at his brother, though. He eyed Diana. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth and deposited a soggy… something… into his palm. He held it out to her.
She leaned sideways toward Temple and mumbled from the side of her mouth, “What am I to do?”
“Take it. It’s a gift. He likes you. Don’t want to anger the gods.”
“Right, erm… With what?” Her bare hand? She shivered.
Temple produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. “Here.”
She accepted the handkerchief, then she accepted the… was it a biscuit? She wrapped it up tight and put it in her pocket without wincing. A minor miracle, that. “Thank you, Mr. Ajax.”
“Welcome.” The boy grinned and bolted, calling out, “Bye, Tempy!”
“Quick,” Temple said, shoving her out the door, “before anyone else catches us.” They darted into the night, and he helped her into the waiting carriage as the driver extinguished his cigar and lumbered up into the seat.
This time, he sat next to her on the forward-facing bench, his shoulder nestled snuggly alongside her own. “I am sorry we have to leave early. But…” He opened his fist, revealed the glowing summoning stone. “The king waits for no man.”
He looked tired suddenly, eyes dark and heavy, cheeks sunken.
“It’s quite all right. Tempy.” She grinned.
“Absolutely not.” He hid a yawn behind his hand, then it fell heavy to his thigh as his eyes fluttered closed. And before Diana could figure out how she felt looking at him like this—exhausted but oddly at ease—his breath deepened, slowed, and he fell asleep.
She watched him sleep all the way back to Finsbury Square, and when the carriage rolled to a stop outside the potions shop, she laid a hand on his shoulder, waking him with a gentle shake.
But he did not wake. His head rolled toward her arm on a deep inhale.
When he exhaled, her name was carried in the hush of his breath.
And somehow that drifted her hand upward.
She cupped his cheek. His skin was warm and rough. His eyelashes thick and dark. “Temple,” she whispered. “Temple, wake up. We’re he—”
His hand swallowed her hand. His cheek leaned into her palm. His lips lifted oh so slightly into a satisfied smile.
She should drag her hand away and tell him to behave. But she didn’t want to. So she cradled his cheek and let his sneaky arm curve around her waist, tugging her closer. So close. Until she was almost in his lap and his forehead was leaning against hers.
“I’ll stay here until I see lights on in your room.”
“You do not have to. Lady Guinevere’s is highly—”
“Guarded, I know. Still.” His hand flexed on her waist. So very proprietary.
Now she slid her hand away from his rough heat, standing in the narrow confines of the carriage.
He helped her onto the street, and she almost went into the darkness of the alley without saying a word.
But the light from the half-moon above drew her back.
He was halfway out of the conveyance, watching, poised and ready.
Just in case. She had to crane her neck up to study the shadowed planes of his moon-drenched face.
“Thank you,” she said. “For tonight. I do not think I’ve ever had a lovelier time.”
“My family is your family.” His voice was a wink, a challenge.
She wanted to meet it. “The king awaits, my lord.”
He slipped his hand in the pocket, and she knew it was to palm the stone, hot there, demanding. “Go.”
She did this time, down the ally, through the back door, and up two flights of stairs. She stopped in the dark hallway. A shadowy figure stood at the end, right near her door.
The form transmuted her heart’s beating into terror. She took a step backward, palms already sweat slicked, breathing ragged. Apollo had found her. Apollo would—
“Miss Chester?” She nearly collapsed. Not Apollo’s voice. Lady Guinevere’s guard. His footsteps echoed as he walked toward her.
“Mr. Bran. You scared me. Is all well with Lady Guinevere?”
“Yes.” He stopped when they stood beside one another in the narrow hallway, shoulder to shoulder. “She needs to see you. First thing in the morning.”
She started to ask why, but he strode off before she could make more than a peep of a sound.
Why did Lady Guinevere wish to see her? Had she done something wrong?
Diana entered her room and pushed back the curtains.
Temple’s carriage was still in the street in front of the shop, and he leaned against it, looking up at her window.
She pressed a palm to the glass, and after a moment, he ducked back inside the carriage, sent it rolling down the street.
Diana closed the curtains and shoved the table away from the window, tugged and pushed the bed until it sat there instead, the length of it snug against the window frame.
Heavy from exertion, her arms and legs trembled, her breath rattled.
Her mind, though, had sunk into a curious stillness.
Only one question pulsing there: Had Lady Guinevere decided to send her away?
If she curled up next to the window, she was as close as she could be to where Temple had been. She could close her eyes and see him there still, waiting outside the carriage to ensure her safety.
She curled up against the night-cooled glass and pulled the summoning stone from her pocket.
Alchemists. What a secretive lot. Sybil had said something, hadn’t she?
About loose lips and alchemist secrets? Temple seemed to have plenty of those, even though he claimed his family believed in collaboration between the classes.
Temple would likely marry her with the intentions of keeping half his life hidden away. But then, she would do the same.
If she did, an alchemist might understand.