Kehinde
Elswyth’s hands shook. The candle flickered beneath the letter, making the calligraphy twist and curl like serpents. Her faceflushed with heat. A single bead of sweat dropped onto the page. At least now she knew why.
Of course, Kehinde had been wrong. She wasn’t alone in the laboratory.
Behind her, Silas spoke. His voice was low and haggard. “What—what does it say?”
Elswyth ignored him, her mind flickered through dozens of plant essences—which would Kehinde have used for the euphoric? Sassafras? Kanna? And the aphrodisiac—saffron? Ginseng? The mushroom would almost certainly be psilocybin, and—
Silas wrenched the letter from her hands, starting to read.
“No!” Elswyth shouted. She grabbed it back, but he refused to let go. He could not read that letter. He shouldn’t betouchingthat letter.
From the look on Silas’s face, it was clear that he had touched the letter quite thoroughly. Sweat dripped from his brow, down his neck, and over his chest. His amber amulet shone like a crystal eye, catching the candlelight. She realized just how close he was; she’d pulled him toward her when she had grabbed the letter. Now she backed away, but Silas refused to let go, and she dragged him across the room. His face flickered between amusement and concern and helpless pleasure. Did he feel the same as she did, those waves of electricity beneath her skin? That hungry warmth, curling in the pit of her stomach like a snake? Of primal, unbearable wanting?
“I showed you how to read it,” he said slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “I think I should get to see.”
“You can’t,” Elswyth said. Her back hit the lab table behind her. It should have hurt. It didn’t. In fact, it felt good.Everythingfeltgood. The pressure of the cold table on her lower back. His chest pressing into her. The skin of his hands where their fingers touched around the letter. Her heart hammering in her throat. Everything in the world was made of pleasure. How had she not known that before?
“Tell me what you’re hiding,” he said in a low voice. His brow knit together, but his mouth hung open, his pupils swallowing his irises until they shone like ripe fruit.
“You first,” Elswyth said. It didn’t even make sense. What were they talking about? She ground her teeth, clenching and unclenching. Something curled pleasantly in her belly, like she’d stepped into a scalding bath, and she took a shuddering breath.This isn’t real,she thought to herself.It’s the poison. The poison. The poison…
She slid backward onto the table, her hand on his, both grasping the letter. He looked down at her, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead, his breath quick. Something shifted between them. Now she was sitting on the table, and he stood between her legs, still fighting for the letter. She could feel something pressing against her leg through the folds of her gown, which had crept curiously up her thighs. His free hand gripped the table to her left as if to steady himself. She looked down at her leg, where a stretch of bare skin lay exposed to the steaming air.
His eyes dropped to the bare skin as well. There, against the snow-white of her thigh, were the branching red lines of her scar. Like ivy, tracing delicately, breaking into rootlets and disappearing into her skirts. She looked at it for a moment, and in the dreamlike haze of the mushrooms she watched the scar moving. It writhed like a serpent, twisting and spreading until it covered every inch of bare skin.
“No,” she said. That seemed to break the spell. Silas droppedthe letter and took a step back, not hesitating for a moment. Elswyth stood, breathing quickly, and pulled her skirts down. Even through the blinding euphoria, her shame had won out. She could not bear the thought of Silas seeing her scars.
Silas, backing away, clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them his expression was stony. “That was inappropriate. I must apologize. I—I do not feel like myself, Miss Elderwood. You may think me a rake, but I am not a man who loses control. Especially not in the company of ladies.”
“Silas…” she started. How could she say that it was not his fault? She realized, then, that she had wanted him to touch her. Despite how he infuriated her. She had wanted him to touch her even before the poison took hold. And now she wanted to tell him everything, every truth, but her thoughts felt distant, unreachable, like butterflies that she could never quite catch.
“Perhaps it is best if we do not work in the laboratory at the same time,” he said coldly.
She stalled, her words caught in her throat. What had happened? Was it because he’d seen her scar? Of course. Of course it was. How could any man want her, deformed and monstrous as she was? Shame washed over her, stronger, even, than the euphoric poison in her blood. And then rage followed—at him, yes, and at herself, for actually wanting him. She was furious that, even as she rejected the notion of love, some broken part of her was still ashamed that she would never be desirable. Not even to a lascivious rake like Silas Blackthorn.
She turned away so that he would not see the tears in her eyes. “That is for the best. I have work to do, and I should like to pursue my scholarship in peace without… unwanted distractions.”
Silas’s eyes flashed for a moment, something dark cutting throughthe effects of the drug. Then he set his jaw. “Of course. I will ensure our paths do not cross again. Good night, Miss Elderwood.”
With that, Silas turned away and stormed from the room. Elswyth stood there, face still flushed, but the glow slowly fading. She watched him grab his sword and coat and flee through the double doors, not looking back.
She closed her eyes and stood in the laboratory for a moment, trying to slow her breathing, listening to the sound of liquids bubbling in glass vials and the slowdrip-dripof percolation. The mechanisms of reason, breaking through the euphoric call of the flesh.
When she opened them again, the glass panes of the greenhouse shifted with impossible colors. Elswyth exhaled slowly and crawled under her desk. Then she laid her coat down as a pillow, pressed her eyes shut, and tried to sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lady’s slipper is a variety of ornamental orchid known to trap insects in order to ensure pollination. In floriography, lady’s slipper representscapricious beauty.
A week after the incident in the greenhouse, Elswyth received an invitation. This was surprising, as invitations had grown scarcer since her outburst at the Forscythes’ dinner and the mysterious death of Captain Burr. And yet it appeared Venus Forscythe had not forgotten their agreement. What was more strange was that the invitation to her first ball came not as a letter but as a large brown box. A note came with it, penned in sharp script and silvery ink.
Dear Elswyth,
I’ve included something special for my mother’s ball tonight. (Apologies for the late notice; things have been so horrible since the business with Captain Burr, and I haven’t had the time to send you a formal invitation.) I noticed that you’ve beenwearing Persephone’s dresses, and don’t bother trying to deny it. They barely fit you and don’t complement your coloring.
I took the liberty of enlisting Madame de Lis (you know how difficult this was on short notice and so I’m sure you’ll be appreciative—it is Madame de Lis, after all) to construct you a gown that is more suitable. I do hope you’ll wear it to my party. If you don’t, I shall simply have to kill you.
