Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
Neal
It was the second to last night before we docked in Liverpool when Ansel came to our bedroom before dinner and started digging through our trunks.
“You need to change,” he said simply.
“Why?” Sorcha asked in response.
“Ball tonight. We’re going. Everyone is going,” he replied.
“Ansel, I have been talking to a whale for hours, and we were going to go watch for him after dinner,” Sorcha tried to protest.
“Appearances matter, lass,” Ansel replied, shoving Sorcha’s ball-gown bodice into her hands. “So change.”
“Fine,” Sorcha grumbled, shooing him out.
I was always mildly embarrassed to admit that I liked parties. Sorcha hated them. Ansel loved them. And I simply marveled at the logistics, enjoyed seeing my wife in a pretty dress, and liked an excuse to listen to a string quartet for a few hours. On a ship? Even more impressive.
I’d coaxed Sorcha into dancing with me then abandoned that prospect halfway through our first waltz when she looked immediately ill. We’d spent the better part of two hours seated at a booth in the dining room while she sipped chamomile, head heavy on my shoulder.
“We could try again,” she finally murmured. “I like the idea of dancing with you. Even if baby has mixed feelings.”
“Really?” I asked, taking her hand. “You want to?”
Sorcha nodded, finally smiling.
“We have to make up for our wedding,” she teased, letting me lead her out to the dance floor and pull her close with a hand against her low back.
“Guinevere has been staring daggers at Ansel all night,” I said as we danced. “I don’t know when. I don’t know what. But she’s going to try something. She’s mad.”
“He jilted her,” Sorcha said. “She’s allowed.”
“You’re taking her side?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not taking her side,” Sorcha corrected. “I’m saying that weddings bring up complicated feelings, and Ansel didn’t exactly handle it gracefully.”
A long moment passed, and she relaxed in my grip, then looked up and asked, “Want to give her something to talk about?”
I nodded as she stood up on her toes and kissed me full on the mouth. I expected her to pull away, but she leaned in—lips soft and warm against mine, tongue in my mouth, hand in my hair. Heat flooded through me as I felt her breath hitch. She was breathless and flushed when we finally separated.
“You’re liable to cause a scandal,” I murmured in her ear, “but you also don’t get to tease me like that. I will peel that dress off you and we will finish things when we get to bed tonight.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Sorcha giggled. “Besides, now that there’s no more occult sacrifices people will need something else to talk about. Now hold me. I’m dizzy.”
I pulled her close, her head on my shoulder, barely moving in time to the band any longer. Just feeling her breathe against me. The song drew to a close and Sorcha excused herself for the bathroom. I went back to my seat beside Ansel. I searched the crowd for Guinevere. But didn’t see her.
“Anything interesting?” I asked.
“That man, in the print tuxedo?” Ansel said. “Is investing in banana farms.”
“That’s terrible gossip,” I replied.
“Where’s Sorcha?” Ansel asked.
“Likely vomiting,” I replied. “I don’t know that dancing was the wisest idea. I’ll go check on her in a minute.”
“Her kissing you like that certainly wasn’t the wisest idea,” Ansel muttered.
I just shrugged. “We could’ve skipped the party and gone to look for whales. You’re the one who insisted.”
“Fair enough,” Ansel said.
“You sent word on to Liverpool? For temporary lodging? Transport up to Edinburgh?” I asked. “I don’t think Sorcha will take kindly to another chaotic transition.”
“I wrote ahead,” Ansel said. “Told them any preferences I could get her to put in writing while we were in New York. No balls planned that I know of. No suitors lurking. Iksura is being oddly well behaved since the spider incident in Washington. It should be an easy trip. We can stay in Edinburgh as long as she wants, or head straight up to Islay. Archivists have already worked out a way to get documents back and forth fast enough to run the Court smoothly from the island. We can dig into the portal investigation properly then too. I already have field researchers out seeing what they can find.”
“Cormac should have moved the Court back decades ago,” I muttered.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Ansel agreed.
I went to reply, but something was caught on my pant leg. Pulling. I glanced down and saw an enormous cat gripping my ankle, claws extended. The cat meowed loudly—its tone demanding, insistent.
“Do you think . . .” Ansel began, but I was already moving.
“She sent them,” I said immediately, glancing up and seeing two more cats winding their way through the ballroom, eyes locked on the two of us. “Come on!”