I remain in place, listening as the final guests are ushered outside.
* * *
With the manor quiet,its residents asleep, and all our hired staff either on their way home or settling in the guest rooms we’ve offered for the night, I’m finally able to seek out Elliot. It proves harder than I expect, finding no sign of him in the gardens, the parlor, or the kitchen. I make my way upstairs, wondering where he’s gone off to hide. With very little else to work with, I head toward the library. I don’t dare seek out his private quarters, even though I know they’re nearby, but I’m hoping he’s yet to retire for the night. There’s no way I can bottle in what I must say for even an hour more.
I make it to the library, finding the sconces alight with a soft glow, but the room is empty. My heart sinks. Where do I go from here? Did Elliot truly abandon me to finish the night on my own? A hint of irritation turns in my stomach, which helps burn away some of the residual rage and sorrow that continues to drag my steps.
With a sigh, I turn to the comfort of my silent companions, brushing my fingers along the spines of books as I slowly pace the perimeter of the room.
“Ah, I should have known I’d find you here eventually.”
I round on Elliot with a scowl. “Where the hell have you been?”
He smirks, as if amused by my reaction. “Looking for you. That and hiding.” Still wearing his prosthetic, he’s dressed down to his shirt and trousers, his cravat hanging loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal his upper chest.
I avert my gaze, fixating instead on the selection of titles on the shelf before me. “I take it you’ve done more hiding than searching for me, because I’ve been looking for you for the better part of an hour.”
He walks into the room and makes his way slowly toward me. “I’m sorry,” he says, tone genuine. “I couldn’t take any more pretending tonight. My lips were going to split in half if I had to feign one more smile. Besides, I didn’t see you even once after our dance. I was getting worried.”
I cast him a quick glance. “I was around. And when I sawyou, it seemed you were doing just fine pretending.” I hate the bitter edge to my tone, unsure how it got there.
“Was Imogen convinced?”
I swallow hard, dread sinking my stomach. “She was. Which brings me to the reason I came to find you.”
“Not yet,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me some peace from Imogen Coleman.”
I shrug. “You’re the one who brought her up. And it’s important we talk about—”
“Please.” He meets my eyes, looking worn and empty. An echo of what I feel inside. “Let it just be us for a minute.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I force myself to hold my tongue.
He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, as if relishing the silence between us. When he straightens, a small smile lifts the corners of his lips. Then, slowly, he extends his hand. “May I have this dance?”
My pulse quickens, but I convince my traitorous heart not to join it. “The dance is over, Mr. Rochester.”
“Humor me,” he says, voice deep and rumbling. But there’s another quality to it, one that’s somehow tired and playful at the same time. “You forced me to dance and talk to people we both hate. It’s the least you can do.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “I thought the least I could do was dance with you the first time.”
He says nothing, keeping his arm outstretched as his smile folds into a devious smirk.
It’s a smirk that has my mouth fluttering in response, and I can’t bring myself to ignore him. With a grumble, I put my hand in his and allow him to pull me closer. Right away, we close the space that we kept in public, his chest brushing against mine, his arm circling my waist to rest low on my back. Where our two hands meet, our palms press firmly together and his fingers lace between mine, something we never could have gotten away with when others were watching. In fact, we shouldn’t be doing this now, but I’m too tired to care, too drained to argue or analyze what any of this means. All I know is it feels right to be this close to him, to rest my head on his shoulder while he takes us in a slow circle to the music of our beating hearts. We neither waltz nor polka, but sway to a natural rhythm, something I’m sure only fae do when dancing.
I find my free hand moving from the top of his shoulder to behind it, until it rests softly on the back of his neck. He gently nestles the side of his face into my hair, his breath warm against my ear. He pulls me closer, his hand roving up my back until his fingertips meet bare skin. There they rest, sending my pulse racing at the warmth of his flesh on mine. I can’t help wondering how much warmer it would feel if his whole hand were pressed against my skin, not just his fingertips. And not just on my back, either…but everywhere.
He breathes in deeply, and when he speaks, his low voice echoes through my blood and bones. “Why do you always smell like mountain air and snow? Like everything I love?”
Love. The word sends my heart fluttering, and my fingers tighten on the back of his neck. I pull back slightly and meet his eyes. The tenderness in his gaze sends my heart skittering yet again, but with it comes a sudden self-consciousness. I’m painfully aware now—of him, of how close we are, of what I’m doing. Of what Iwishwe were doing, of how badly I want more of him. It’s enough to make every inch of my body stiffen. He pauses, holding my gaze, eyes swimming with concern. His mouth moves as if he’s about to speak. Before he can, I break away, taking a step back and gathering my composure. “I’ve humored you enough,” I say, forcing my words to come out even. “It’s time to talk about what comes next.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but then closes his eyes. With a nod, he releases a resigned sigh and makes his way to one of the seating areas. Lowering into one of the chairs, he motions for me to sit.
I don’t. Instead, I fold my hands at my waist and keep several steps away from him. The distance feels cold, but it’s necessary. I clearly can’t trust myself when he’s so physically near.
This seems to concern him, trepidation filling his eyes, face going pale. “What is it?”
Steeling my heart against the words I must say, I tell him everything.
