“I will yeah,” he said dismissively.
“Don’t give me that. I mean it.”
Felix let out an exaggerated sigh, then pushed up from the bench. “Can you stop trying to make me a good person?”
“Youarea good person.”
With a wolfish grin, he held up the money purse he’d snagged from her skirt pocket. “Am I, now?”
He ignored her glare, turning to stride across the room. He’d rather not get into the details ofwhyhe was avoiding Sarah.
Marlow knew why he hung around the nobles. She even seemed to understand it, for the most part. But he left out the gritty details, the full measure of the things he’d endured. He wouldn’t let her fight his fights, wouldn’t have anyone else die for him.
His mind brushed up against a memory. Hands in wielder cuffs, a noose tightening around a young girl’s throat. He froze, biting the inside of his cheek until the pain was enough to rein in his thoughts, then shoved the memory back in its box and tucked it safely away.
He didn’t need defending. Not anymore. He could take care of himself. Whatever needed to be done, he handled it, and he refused to dwell on it.
After taking a moment to compose himself, softening the roughness of his Copperhill edges and plastering the practised smile on his face like an actor slipping into character, he crossed to the bar.
Felix put a great deal of effort into the way he presented himself, not out of pride, but out of necessity. His parents had both come from poor families. He’d been given no advantage tohelp him reach his goals. So he meticulously stitched his facade together like a patchwork quilt, fragments shaped by books and people and careful observation. He used it as a steppingstone when the gap seemed too large to cross.
If he ever hoped to hold enough influence to make a real difference, he needed to forge connections with the right people. Thetypeof connection—mentorship, friendship, romantic—was irrelevant.
He’d met a few decent ones, like the professor who found him a fascinating enigma, amused at the remarkably intelligent lower-class kid with oversized ambition. Felix had hoped the man’s mentorship would help him gain admission to his prestige university, but the professor lost interest.
There was a sweet old Countess who said Felix reminded her of the son she’d lost to the war. But when she invited him to a dinner party, her husband threatened to have him killed.
Then there were the bored socialites. They enjoyed having someone tag along to stroke their egos and make them feel good about themselves in front of their friends. They were usually short-lived relationships, but often led to further introductions.
The worst ones were the spiteful wretches eager to make someone else suffer for their own unhappiness. Each of those offered a unique brand of torment, and Felix wasn’t sure he could handle another.
Lady Farrows fell among the bored socialites, and she’d seemed like a nice girl. He needed nice after the last monster. It had taken three months to heal the bruises the viscount’s son left. But sometimes her niceness crumbled away, and she’d talked down to him like all the others.
She allowed him no boundaries and took hesitation as a personal insult. He was starting to worry that he’d placed her in the wrong category, and he wasn’t eager for confirmation.
Hence the avoidance.
“Lady Farrows,” Felix said with a slight bow. “Can I buy you a drink?”
He opened the stolen money purse—for no other purpose than antagonizing Marlow. He didn’t pay for his drinks here, and though she never listened, Marlow knew she didn’t need to either.
As he studied the scant amount of caern inside, a hand snatched it from his grip.
“Taesan,” Marlow cursed as she stormed away, joining a group at a round table.
Sarah’s eyes went wide. “Did that girl just steal from you? Should I call the Watch?”
“That’s unnecessary,” he said. “Itishers, after all.” He dropped onto a barstool. “You were looking for me?”
Sarah perched beside him. “My father has forbidden me from seeing you. He doesn’t approve of”—her voice lowered to a whisper as she leaned in close—“the type of people who gravitate to this place.”
Not surprising.
Felix slipped his hands around hers. How did they all keep their hands soft as satin? “Then I suppose, for your sake, we should call it off.” His face was a pantomime of dejection. “I couldn’t live with myself if I caused unnecessary turmoil in your life.”
“No,” Sarah snapped. “I don’t want to stop seeing you, Felix.”
“Sarah,” he started, giving her a gentle smile. “We had fun, but don’t you think maybe this is a sign? Perhaps just for now—”
