City of Ruin, page 25
With slow, careful steps, Greyson walks over to the fire, eyes flicking to me as he considers something. He doesn’t look entirely displeased, but his expression isn’t open either, not like I’ve glimpsed before and yearn to see again.
He braces one hand against the mantle, glass in the other, and peers down at the flames. “I wouldn’t have been very good company,” he finally says, and his thoughts are a chasm away.
The silence descends upon us as the sun disappears behind the hills, casting the room in evening shadows. Tension is thick and cumbersome in the air, nothing like what I was hoping for. In fact, it feels as if I’ve worn out my welcome already, and I can’t bring myself to ask about his feelings, not tonight.
I take a final sip of my drink. “Well, I simply wanted to thank you.” I walk to the bar cart. “I’ll leave you to your business.” Discarding my glass, I turn to leave.
“Selene.”
I halt halfway to the door. When Greyson says nothing, I look at him. He’s frowning, his thoughts churning as his finger taps the side of his glass.
Moments pass, and I force a weak smile. “I’ll see you at supper.”
“It didn’t reach your eyes,” he says, and confused, I glance back at him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your smile,” he says. “Just now—it didn’t reach your eyes. What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong,” I say. “But, I have to admit, I am a bit confused.”
He blinks at me.
“Why did you bring the children to see me?”
“So you could spend the day with them, of course. So that you would be happy.”
“Well, thank you. I was. But something’s changed since last night—even since this morning, I think.” My heart beats wildly, knowing I’m about to lay myself bare to him, and it’s terrifying. “You do such wonderful things, and then you’re a mask of—I don’t know what. Indifference, perhaps, or uncertainty.” I step closer. “Are you regretting this arrangement? I know it’s difficult for you to think of your future with someone else. I know you worry about the dangers as well, but if it’s too hard for you—if you’re forcing yourself and not yet ready, please tell me now so I know what to expect. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can bear it—that Paige can bear it.”
“Paige?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Yes, she asked me about me becoming her mother, and she’s terrified.”
His face crumples.
“Paige is worried that I will leave her, like Miss Knightly. And,” I say softly, stepping closer to him. “That if I have a child, I will die as Rebecca did.”
Face paling, Greyson looks away. “You spoke with Paige about us?”
“I had little choice. But don’t worry, I reassured her that this was a good thing—”
“You’ve decided then?”
Slowly, I nod. “Yes.”
“And your decision is your own, not some misplaced sense of duty or—”
“I guess that depends,” I tell him, and I can’t help the waspish tinge in my voice.
Greyson tenses, as if bracing himself.
“How do you feel about me?” I force myself to ask because I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into. If I am to live a life full of all but affection.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, his voice hardened, as if he’s just as frustrated as I am. “I have tried to make you feel at home here. To look ahead instead of constantly looking to the past.” His gaze darts to the new painting. “I brought the children here for you.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “And that was all very kind. But kindness and respect and gratitude are not affection.”
His mouth opens, but he hesitates.
“Greyson,” I say, his name feeling raw on my tongue. “Please don’t think I expect your undying love in this moment, because of course I don’t. I know our situation is borne of necessity, and I don’t pretend it’s anything different, even if I wish it were. Even so, I would like to know how you feel, or might feel, and if my place here is simply a role—one I have told you I am willing to fulfill for you, and Paige, and for everyone else who depends on this place, regardless of your feelings for me . . . But I’d like to know all the same.”
Greyson’s eyes rove painstakingly slow over my face. “You,” he starts, but his words taper off. “I’ve never wanted another woman more in my life,” he admits, and takes a step closer. My heartbeat thrums in my ears so loudly, I can barely stand it. “The first time I saw you with Paige by the pond, wrapping her little finger with your hair ribbon, I knew in that moment I was done for, and the guilt obliterated me.”
He lifts his hand, his warm palm cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing a lock of hair from my face. “The first time I saw your smile, I wanted more than anything to see it again. And I wanted to be the one to bring you the happiness you’ve been deprived of in this godforsaken world.” His words are so deliberate and earnest, I struggle to catch my breath. “So, how I feel about you—” His brow knits in what looks like pain. “Every day it changes and grows into something unrecognizable, and it’s nearly impossible to think about anything else. It’s always you. And I’m terrified I’ve only just found you after all these years of loneliness, when the future looms more uncertain than ever.” His words are a warm blanket around my shivering heart, and the torture in his eyes is akin to the restlessness in my soul.
“We are a curious pair then,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from him. “Because I’m terrified too.”
Greyson stares at my mouth, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. “May I?” His voice is a low rumble, and at first, my mind is such a haze, I don’t know what he’s asking. But as he leans in and tips up my chin, the word yes barely escapes before Greyson’s mouth closes over mine. It’s warm and soft and protective, and his knuckles brush featherlight against my skin as he cups the back of my head.
Our breaths mingle, and I taste the whiskey, smoky on his tongue as it seeks mine, eliciting a moan somewhere deep inside me. His thumb strokes my jaw, and a thrill travels down my spine, reaching my toes as I kiss him back. Longer. Deeper. It’s unhurried, a kiss that makes me feel cherished, and I never want it to end.
Strumming my fingers over the back of his neck, I coax Greyson closer. Another caress of his tongue. Another taste of his lips. Even his scruff against my skin elicits a delicious chill that awakens something inside of me I have never known before.
The clock strikes a quarter to seven and Greyson’s lips still. His hands fall to my shoulders and he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine as we each catch our breath.
“I’ve never been kissed like that before,” I rasp, fully aware how ridiculous I must sound. But I can’t bring myself to care.
Greyson lifts his forehead and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. His eyes are glazed but smiling when they meet mine. “Neither have I.” As Paige’s and Prudy’s voices reach our ears, the moment between us is all but broken. Greyson can’t seem to look away, and I don’t want him to.
Leaning in, he brushes a final chaste kiss across my lips. “We better get to dinner,” he whispers.
I can’t help my smile. “Yes. The master of the house doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
41
GREYSON
Another day passes and still no word from Collins. I meander the halls like a restless dog, unable to settle. Where is he? There are too many possibilities and none of them are good.
When I notice Prudy’s judgmental gaze as I pace from the end of the hall, I grumble, “How is Remy’s family?” Though I have taken the carriage to see them once, I’m not quite up to mounting Midnight to ride out again.
Prudy clutches a stack of freshly folded linens against her chest, and fleetingly, I remember her arrival in Briarwood, when I was just a boy. She’d been emaciated and frightened of this place, just as Selene had been, but now she runs the manor as if she was born to. Even if my nerves are shot and I haven’t slept, my trust in her brings me a familiar sense of peace.
“They are holding up, sir,” she says. “Better than you,” she adds, assessing me up and down. “The swelling will never subside if you keep pacing the way you are. You need something to keep your mind busy.”
“There are numerous things I need,” I mutter, and wave her concern away. I let the faraway giggles lead me farther down the hall, and I perch in the library’s doorway, unused until now, apparently.
Paige and Selene are curled up on the settee beside the fire, oblivious to the howling wind outside as they read aloud from a slender tome. The window drapes are open, allowing the muted daylight in, and the fire is blazing in the hearth. Everything is uncovered and dusted, as if it was never closed up and forgotten.
So, this is where they have been sneaking off to. I’d wondered since I’ve rarely heard them in the schoolroom.
The firelight illuminates Selene’s hair like liquid gold, and my fingers twitch at my side, imagining the feel between my fingers.
“Will she ever wake up?” Paige asks as she turns the page.
“What do you think?” Selene bites her bottom lip, and my skin heats, remembering the taste of it the other night, how supple her mouth was against mine. The yearning I’ve felt to be alone with her again.
I shift uncomfortably. No matter how many times I tell myself I must remain a gentleman, there is no denying the brazen, pretty little thing has stirred a base need inside me, and I’ve questioned my control far more than I should in her presence.
“I hope so,” Paige says, frowning. “It’s not a very nice story if she doesn’t.”
Selene smiles to herself. “No, it wouldn’t be.” She runs her fingers over the page. “But then, life isn’t always very nice, is it?”
Paige looks at her.
“Not to worry. The purpose of reading is to find a happy place, somewhere we can escape to when reality gets a little too frightening or cumbersome.”
“Did you used to read to Beatrice and Jon and the other children?”
Selene nods. “As much as I could.” Her voice turns somber. I’m not sure if it’s because she misses the children, or because she is thinking about her life at Bedlam. Either way, I realize the little governess has been saved by her stories more times than I care to imagine, and my heart feels impossibly heavy.
As if she can feel the buzzing of my thoughts and the weight of my gaze, Selene looks at the doorway. Her expression narrows a little with concern before her eyes settle on mine, and she simply assesses me, waiting. I’m not sure if my lips twitch with a smile, or if I’m too mesmerized by the gleam in her eyes, but I nod for her to carry on and I continue toward the servants’ quarters. There is a litany of things to be done, including plans for the foundry rebuild, and I’m desperate for a distraction.
If there’s one thing I hate more than fear, it’s the feeling of uselessness.
A familiar sound outdoors catches my ears, and I pause, straining to listen. The clank of bridles. The skid of horse hooves in the gravel.
Spinning more quickly than I should, I take a few steps toward the entry before the giant oak door opens and Collins strides in. He looks exhausted, his cheeks gray and his eyes red-rimmed.
“Thank the gods you’re all right,” I say. I clutch the cane in my hand like it’s a lifeline and step closer.
“I am fine,” Collins says, surveying me as I reach him. “A lot better than you, it would seem. Though, it was close,” he says drolly. “I had to stay with Chauncey while things got sorted with the Council, and I nearly throttled him.”
I chuckle with relief and clap him on the shoulder. “What news do you have for me?”
“After putting me off for nearly a day, the Council says they believe it was an accident, and they dismissed me, though I heard a rumor Draven arrived just as I was leaving the city.”
I frown, though there is little I can do about it. “No doubt he’ll have a story of his own, but at least you got to them first.”
“There’s something else you should know,” Collins hedges, but I wave him away.
“I know Draven told them about Selene,” I say. “Cecil all but said as much.”
“That’s not it,” he says more gravely, and I can tell I won’t like whatever comes next. Before he can continue, I nod for Collins to follow me to my study.
I pass by the library quickly, not giving Paige or Selene time to inquire about anything. “Well?” I say as Collins shuts the door behind us. I can’t help the bite in my tone.
“Cecil,” Collins starts. He blinks twice as I hold my breath. “He was Selene’s father.”
“Yes, we are aware of that as well.” Sensing that’s not all, I wait for him to continue.
“He promised Selene to Draven when she was eleven.”
Dread seizes my chest.
“He’d come to collect her the day her mother died, but she’d disappeared.” I’m not sure how it’s possible, but Collins looks more grim as he continues. “Selene met him on the road.”
“Yes, I learned as much,” I say impatiently, walking to the window.
“I don’t know what was said between them, sir, but Draven put the pieces together—he knows it’s her . . . And he wants what’s owed him.”
“What?” I grit out. My body coils with rage as I imagine Draven breathing the same air as Selene, let alone touching a single hair on her head.
“There was a gentleman’s agreement between them and everything—”
“Draven is no gentleman,” I growl. “And if she belongs to anyone, it’s me. I’ve paid for her. There is nothing he or the Council can do about that.” While I hate saying such words, it’s the reality of the matter. That Draven would even think such a thing was still possible makes me physically sick.
I look at Collins and he has a patient look about him, as if he’s waiting for me to calm down so he can divulge more. My eyes narrow. “Tell me,” I say flatly. “Everything.”
42
SELENE
I hum a tune I’ve heard Paige singing a time or two as I comb my hair in front of the fire, blazing in the hearth. My mind drifts to Greyson, locked in his study all afternoon, when heavy footsteps in the hall precede a knock at my door.
“Come in,” I say, assuming Martin will enter.
When it’s Greyson who opens the door, I rise to my feet. “Oh—” I glance around my chamber. “I wasn’t expecting it to be you.” My cheeks burn with excited anticipation.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, and though it’s a simple question, I detect a heavy uncertainty.
“I’m well enough, thank you.” I set my comb aside, not taking my eyes from him. “What did Collins say?” I ask carefully. “Greyson, has something happened?”
He purses his lips, clearly weighing his next words.
“Greyson,” I prompt.
“There is something I’ve learned that I think you would want to know,” he says.
“Oh?” My heartbeat quickens. I’ve never seen him look so out of place and unsure.
“Do you mind joining me in the library?” he asks. “Someone is here who would like to speak with you.”
“Is it something with the children?” I say, panic rising. I hurry past him out the door.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Greyson says as he follows me down the stairs, probably more hastily than he should, but I can’t think of that as my mind swirls. “But it’s sensitive information about your father.”
“It’s not like you to speak in riddles, Greyson,” I say, fully aware of how easily his name rolls off my tongue now. “You’re frightening me.”
When we reach the foyer, he sighs. “I apologize. It’s just, you’ve been through a lot this week and—”
“I’m not as fragile as you think,” I tell him, and hurry down the hall toward the library.
“Yes, I know.” I can feel his eyes on the back of my head, but Greyson says nothing as I step inside, stopping short in the doorway.
A familiar pair of beady blue eyes peers back at me. And as I register the man’s long nose and sandy blonde hair, I can imagine him perfectly, only years younger, with shaggy locks and firewood stacked in his arms, tending to my father’s fire.
“James?” I rasp. It’s as if I’ve been transported to the past all over again. I see him and my father dressed in matching riding jackets when leaving for my father’s business trips, and James standing at his side the day my mother died.
A tight smile tugs at his lips, and James rises from the settee. “Hello, Selene.” He looks me up and down, as if he can barely believe the sight of me. “You look very well.” In appearance, he is much the same, but he speaks with an air of importance now, not the innocence of the servant boy I remember.
“What—” I shake my head as I step closer, refusing to take my eyes off of him. “What on earth are you doing here? Were you—do you still tend to my father?” I take in his dusty robe that isn’t nearly as adorned as my father’s was, but it’s obvious he is of some social standing now. “You were here with him?”
James dips his head. “Yes, I’ve been with your father for many years.” The ache in his voice does not go unnoticed, but I can’t find it in me to regret his loss. I am, however, taken aback by the realization that James has clearly been much more than a servant to my father, though I’m not sure I should be. Even William was jealous of their bond growing up.
“Why are you here, James, after all these years?” I ask. There’s a strange glint in his eyes that makes me want to hold my breath.
“Master Blackburn said you have met Edward Draven?” He clasps his hands in front of him, and there’s a condescension in his tone I don’t like. It makes me bristle slightly, and I’m grateful for Greyson’s presence; it’s soothing on a newly opened wound.
“What of it?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Master Draven was the man your brother tried to save you from,” James states, and I take a moment to register what he’s saying. “The one who came for you the day I saw William sneaking you out of the house, just after your mother died.”
