Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“Thank me?” Ginevra stepped back, staring at him with bewilderment, but Sidney held her fast.
“I’ve been dodging memories since the war hoping they’d go away, and it only made them stronger …
but having a partner has made all the difference, I think.
” Sidney traced the small ridges of Ginevra’s knuckles with his thumb and exhaled.
“I know something’s broken inside me but working this case with you has given me hope that it can be repaired one day with more than sticking plaster. ”
For a moment, Ginevra was quiet. Sidney couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked at such length and was abashed, but he was also relieved she didn’t immediately spout some cheerful froth to lift his spirits.
Instead, she studied the lines of his face as though she found that more eloquent than his confession.
“I understand,” she said in a low voice, “at least, as well as I can. My own hardships during the war were very different from yours. I wasn’t shot, for one thing.
” There was a touch of wry amusement in her expression, but then it softened into a pain Sidney recognized.
“But Mother’s death was a wound I couldn’t really discuss.
Everyone at school was sympathetic, but in a chin-up, carry on sort of way.
Father was clearly not an option, and my stepmother was the last person to whom I wanted to divulge my heart.
I was so very lonely until I met Sarita and Tweety. And you…”
Gin cleared her throat, gently releasing his hands. Sidney ached to reclaim them but refrained.
“You and I are quite different, but we do share one trait,” she continued.
“Both of us are terribly opinionated and think our way of doing something is best; only my way embraces surprises, and you prefer predictability. You want to anticipate everything that could go wrong before you begin an assignment and then review it again after the fact—don’t try to deny it,” she said, when he started to grumble.
“If the Rook wanted you to move on, I rather wonder if he thought you’d toil over the details of Amélie’s capture until it made you sick with worry and regret—as it did. Perhaps you misjudged his intentions.”
Sidney started to bristle, and Ginevra reached up and smoothed the lapels of his housecoat—as though appeasing an offended cat, he realized with embarrassment.
But the gentle pressure of her hands against his chest did a remarkably fine job of softening him toward the Rook.
For if Sidney was being honest, something did feel different this time around.
He had chalked it up to Ginevra, that the Rook was kinder to a woman than to a soldier in the field.
But maybe—maybe—Sidney had been quick to assume the worst of him in France because he was angry.
Rather like he had with Ginevra.
Sidney felt he had already bungled one apology that evening and didn’t want to ruin another.
But when he took a breath to express how much he wished he could redo that first day in the library, Gin reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers trailing over the plaster at his temple.
“For the record though,” she said softly. “I don’t think you’re broken at all, Sidney. I think you’re perfect.”
Gin looked up to meet his eyes, and something wild brewed there, something so perfectly untamed that the distance between their lips felt compressed to a mere breath.
Engaged, engaged, engaged! roared the alarms in Sidney’s head—though if she didn’t trust Craddock to turn in Leland, perhaps that was crumbling apart? Just enough for him to slip inside?
He brushed his fingers down her cheek, and her head tilted into his hand. His skin remembered the warmth of her lips whispering past his in the rain, of her nose teasing him under the desk, and he desperately wanted to feel it again now. He wanted to discover if she tasted like jasmine—
A polite cough from the shadows made Sidney instead consider throwing himself into the privet’s embrace.
The electric edge to the night air dissipated like a lever had flipped, and he clenched his hand to his side.
With practiced grace, Ginevra assumed the implacable dignity born of generations and turned.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, Abbott?”
An older man stepped forward and bowed his head. “Your father has arrived, miss. He wishes to speak with you in his study.”
As though a heavy cloak had fallen over her, Ginevra’s shoulders went rigid. “Thank you, Abbott. I shall see Mr. Braithwaite back to his room and join the viscount after.”
“Yes, miss.” The butler bowed again and withdrew as silently as he’d arrived.
“You don’t have to watch me,” Sidney said. “I promise, I’m fine.”
“You doth protest too much.” Gin slipped her arm through his and led him toward the exit, but the intimacy was gone.
She might as well have been escorting a guest to dinner.
“Come. I won’t have you catching your death of night air.
It is my turn to play overbearing hostess, which is a role I usually leave to my stepmother. ”
Despite the gentle mockery, the catch in her voice at the last word made Sidney relent.
“Is your father going to be very angry we’re here?
” He wished to curl his hand around hers, to offer to accompany her if it would deflect some of the trouble.
But Ginevra kept her gaze on the grand house as they exited the maze, her fingers digging into his biceps like daggers.
“I don’t bloody well care.”