“Madam,” he said, his breath barely more than a whisper. “Are you laughing at me?”
She shook her head rather than looking up, rather than answer.
“You are!” he insisted, taking another step toward her. “You are laughing at me!”
She made a sound like a whimper, a helpless thing, turning her body toward the wall so that he could not see her, but it was too late.
He crossed the remaining space between them and reached out to tilt her chin back toward him, only to find her red-faced and teary-eyed, half beside herself, hiccuping with the force of her laughter. She blinked up at him, half-heartedly trying to swat his hand away as he held her chin still, staring in awe at the gall of this woman and her twice-damned amusement.
“You … you,” she attempted, gasping through stuttering little breaths. “Pregnant?!”
She dissolved again, her laughter coming out in little sobs. “Pregnant!” she said again, and collapsed forward against his shoulder, her body shaking with the force of it.
He caught her, the warm, bundled feeling of her body against his chest, trembling with hysteria, filling him with the oddest mix of sensations and impulses, leaving him with no choice but to remain frozen in confused, awestruck horror.
He could feel her tears soaking through the linen of his shirt, right above his heart, her head still shaking back and forth like she was denying that she was laughing at him, her hands clutching at the fabric on either side of his waist.
He could smell the jasmine soap in her hair. He could feel the soft give of her curving, warm body. He could feel quite a lot, actually.
And yet, she was still laughing at him.
He wondered at why he’d been so resentful of numbness when this was the alternative.
She stilled after a moment, taking a series of long, ragged breaths before she finally eased her grip on him, tilting her head back to look at him with her red, puffy eyes with a kind of wonder.
“You said you wanted to toy with me someday,” she whispered, hiccuping a little. “I suppose now you have.”
He stared down at her with baffled resignation. “Whatever that was,” he assured her, “it was not intentional. And if one of us was being made a toy of, it was not you.”
She hiccuped again, pressing her lips together like she was trying to keep it inside.
“I am a virgin,” she said, still pressed up against him close enough to end his life.
He blinked. He reminded himself to breathe. “All right.”
She took a little breath, another skittering of laughter escaping, a tear slipping down her cheek as she shook her head again, trying to keep those lips firmly turned inward. “I can’t be pregnant, you see. Because I am a virgin.”
He wondered if he had died earlier today and this was hell.
“Oh,” he answered, because that was all he could make himself say.
She blinked, seeming to realize all at once that they were plastered together in an extremely firm embrace. She looked down at her own chest, mashed up against his, with a kindof wide-eyed horror, and echoed his “oh!”, taking a quick step backward, then hiccuping again.
He really couldn’t do much more than watch with a sort of desperate resignation as she wiped at her cheeks and tucked her hair back into order, sucking in several deep breaths through her pursed, ridiculously plush lips.
She steadied herself, giving him a bashful glance out of the corner of her eye and a shrug. “Apologies,” she said, shaking her head. “I quite lost myself for a moment there.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he croaked, still not trusting himself to move. “Better now?”
She hiccuped once more in answer and nodded.
“I … hm,” she said, bracing her hands together and stretching her neck from one side to the other. “I ought to head home and start my toilette. I have a new dress for tonight. It will match your coat.”
“Will it?” he replied, still not entirely sure his feet were touching the ground. “That sounds nice.”
She nodded and bit her lip, looking at him indirectly like she was suddenly shy about it. “Tell Mr. Zeller I will meet him in the palace foyer. Half six.”
“Half six,” Ambrose agreed, still staring.
