“Cal,” she said again.
“My little sparrow,” he responded. Her cheeks were slippery with tears, He bent to kiss one, and then he kissed her on the mouth, tasting himself, and her, andthem. A fitting flavor for what they’d done here under the cloak of the night, animal and sweet. “Why are you crying?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He pulled the straps of her clothes back into place and she relaxed, though the next breath that came out of her caused her to sink despondently under his hands.
“I’ve upset you.”
“N-no. It’s just . . .” She tried to arrange her mouth into a watery smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve never—oh god, I d-don’t know what I’m doing.”
Ah. He brought her to her feet, reaching down to fix his fly before pressing her against him. She clung to him this time, desperate, fingers gouging through the screen of his shirt.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said again.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said quietly.
Nadine looked up and under the light of that forgiving moon, her eyes were liquid silver. In her upturned face, he saw the pale reflection of his own dark desires and the glitter of stolen starlight. It was like being struck by lightning, and it made him hold her tighter.
You would choose me, wouldn’t you?He pushed away the hair that had fallen into her face, studying the familiar silhouette of her cheeks and nose. Her eyes fluttered closed under his gentle caress and he thought,It’s me you want. Not the knife.
“I feel like you’re having a laugh at me,” she said unhappily. “Men like you d-don’t look at women like me.”
“I should think it’s rather obvious how much I enjoy looking at you,” he said dryly.
That made her squirm back as far as his arms would allow, a flush of discomfort in her face. “Butwhy?”
“Now you’re questioning my taste,” he said. “Which is an insult to yourself and to me. And if you truly don’t believe that I want you, you’re welcome to come to my room tonight and be shown a second time.”
“What?” Nadine gasped. “N-no. It’s late. I—we should go back. Before someone notices we’re gone.”
“Yes.” Under the line of dark trees, he thought he caught a flash of movement. It was impossible to say whether it was human or animal, but it made her grip him firmly by the shoulder, bringing her to his side. “I’ll walk you.”
“Such a gentleman,” she said, a trace of unhappiness in her voice.
Cal shook his head, ushering her along. “Not quite.”
C H A P T E R
E L E V E N
dry lightning
They staggered through the night as if wounded. Nadine was pressed limply against him, nearly boneless, and Cal wasn’t certain whether this was because of him or the drink. He chose to believe that it was because of him—that it was his mouth and hands that had left her barely able to stand, and had her clinging to him like a vine as he unfastened the heavy iron gate.
But desire was a heavy burden; it draped its coils around them like the chains on the gate, leaving behind the ferric tang of old blood. Those gates, once opened, could not be closed.
Nothing could buck tradition.
Grit crunched beneath their feet, caught beneath the soles of their shoes and the cobbles. Too loud for a silence this oppressive. Even the servants would be asleep at this hour, gone home or retired in the old servants’ quarters beside the carriage house. It made him feel like a trespasser in his own home. Or like game. Neither feeling particularly welcome or reassuring.
Nadine’s head lolled against his shoulder. “Cal?”
“Shh.” His eyes scanned the piercing gloom. “My father is fond of taking his nightcaps in the study.”
He didn’t have to elaborate; the warning of his father was enough. He had run into him in the dark hallways often, wandering without so much as a phone to guide him. There were few lights in the halls, anyway. Outlets and wiring were expensive add-ons in a building that one wished to preserve the structural integrity of—and in a darkness like this, time was meaningless.
Cal sometimes suspected that it was this darkness, more than anything, that his family longed for. That they wanted to return to an era of gaslamps and candles.
