Minka scampers to the first rock and hops to the next with ease. In just a few graceful motions, she reaches the other side, then proceeds to rub her body in the grass.
Thorne crosses to the first rock, then stretches his long legs to reach the second. Shifting toward me, he extends a hand. I stare at it, remembering how that very palm felt as it gripped my waist in the coach. Unlike me, he wears no gloves. The quickening of my pulse hardens my resolve. Or perhaps it’s stubbornness. “I can cross on my own, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Very well,” he says and finishes crossing the stream.
I’m almost disappointed that he didn’t argue. I shake the thought from my mind and hop to the first rock. The second is a challenge, for it’s spaced farther than the first. Two more await. The next is perhaps the farthest away, but I’m undaunted. I might even call this fun. I perch one foot at the edge of my current rock and prepare to leap to the next.
My other foot meets its mark.
“Careful, Briony.”
I’m so caught off guard by the sound of my name—myfirstname—leaving Thorne’s lips that I lift my gaze to his and lose purchase on the rock entirely. I fling my hands out, much like I did in the coach, but this time Thorne doesn’t catch me. With a startled cry, I land on my backside, icy water soaking my skirts and chilling my legs. I’m too surprised to move. To stand.
A shadow falls over me, and I look up to find Thorne’s smug face staring down at me from the rock I slipped from. He crosses his arms. “I seem to recall you claiming not to be clumsy. Do you remember? You were drunk on Moondrop, and if my memory serves me, your exact words were ‘I’m not the type to fall or need rescuing from a big strong man.’ Yet you’ve required my aid twice in less than half an hour.”
I glower up at him, pursing my lips. I can’t tell him I fell because he called me by my first name. It’s bad enough thatIknow the truth. He’s only called me Briony once before, when we danced in the glade, right before he stole my memories. Even though I’ve since given him permission to address me by first name, it was a fully unexpected sound.
Thorne extends his hand, eyes dancing with mirth, lips pulled in an infuriating smirk. “Will you accept my assistance now?”
I feign humility and grasp his hand. As his fingers tighten around my palm, I tug with all my might—
He doesn’t budge.
A burst of laughter escapes his lips. “Did you…did you just try to pull me in?” His continued laughter tells me he’s amused at the concept. “I’m stronger than you. It will never work.”
Pouring all my strength into the move, I attempt to drag him down once more. But my tug is countered by his own. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m hauled to my feet. The momentum sends me crashing into his chest. Not wanting to fall again, I clutch the front of his jacket.
“Satisfied?” he says, voice low. I lift my eyes to meet his, our faces nearly as close as they were when he teased me in the department store. “Now you’ve got me soaking wet too. Can we carry on?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer and just leaps to the next rock, tugging me along after him until we reach the other side. My heart pounds with every step, still tangled in that moment when I collided against him. And then before that, in the carriage, when he caught me with such a firm and protective grip.
Finally, we reach the walkway that leads to the garden and the elegant manor beyond. With every step I take, I can’t help feeling like I just lost yet another unspoken game.
27
BRIONY
Ifeel guilty for dripping stream water all over the shining marble floors in Thorne’s foyer, but it can’t be helped. My skirts are thoroughly soaked, as are Thorne’s trousers, courtesy of him pulling me against him. I’m grateful I hadn’t changed into any of my new clothing before we began our journey here, but that’s only a small consolation. I can’t change into a clean ensemble until my belongings arrive.
“I’ll show you to your guest suite and have my butler fetch your things,” Thorne says. “I assume you’ll want a warm bath.”
“Please,” I say. The thought of a warm bath would sound lovely even if I weren’t drenched in freezing water.
Minka gives us a wide berth to avoid the puddles we leave behind and proceeds to prance ahead, investigating corners and peering under furniture. Perhaps looking for mice. Thorne leads us further into the foyer, providing a more thorough view of the manor at large. The ceilings are high, bedecked with crystal chandeliers that rival the ones at the department store, while the walls are papered in ivory-and-sage damask. Tall windows invite plenty of natural light and provide glimpses of the emerald hills outside. It may not be as large or as grand as Nocturnus Palace, but there’s something cozy about it—if a manor can be called cozy—in a way Monty’s city manor lacked.
“Mr. Hartshire,” Thorne calls as we reach the nearest staircase, one constructed of rich dark wood and intricately carved balusters.
A short man with a heavy build and neatly combed gray hair shuffles out from a corridor. “Mr. Blackwood! I deeply apologize for not greeting you at the door. I didn’t see your coach. And—” The butler’s eyes fall on the puddles of water at our feet, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Stones below, what happened?”
“The carriage lost a wheel by the southern meadow, so my guest and I proceeded on foot. On our way here, we…had a spill.”
“Oh dear. I’ll send out a wagon to retrieve your things.”
“Please do.”
“And…” Mr. Hartshire glances at me, a puzzled look on his face. Only briefly does he wrinkle his nose once more at the growing pool I’m creating. “Who might your guest be?”
“This is Princess Rosaline Briar. Monty’s…fiancée.” He says the last word with a bitter edge. Now that I’ve met Monty in person, I can’t tell whether Thorne’s bitterness is reserved for the fact that his friend must marry his enemy…or that I have to marry Monty.
