When they reached the ground, Elswyth didn’t let go. She just stayed there, face-to-face with him, breathing heavily. The light from the amberheart still thrummed in her veins, pure energy. Her fingertips buzzed with it. Still, she pressed it into Silas’s hand, almost frightened of the power it offered. Above them, confused shouts echoed through the layers of exposed roots.
“That was… quite exciting,” she said.
“Quite,” breathed Silas.
“We should go. Before they find us,” Elswyth said.
“We should,” said Silas. He leaned in a fraction closer. Elswyth watched his mouth. It seemed that each breath took them closer together, lips inching toward each other. Her hand rested on his chest where his heart beat thunderously. Soon it was all she could hear, a drumbeat edging her onward. His hand still gripped her waist, holding her firm. She wanted to melt into him.
Elswyth closed her eyes, and his lips grazed hers, sendingelectricity up her spine. Then she lifted up on her toes and pressed her lips firmly into his.
The softness of it was astounding. The warmth of his lips on hers, of his open mouth—she tasted him, the distant taste of juniper, of absinthe, but mostly of the sea, of saltwater, of Silas. Their kiss fell perfectly into rhythm, as if he, too, had been waiting for this, had been thinking about this since the moment they’d met. His hand lifted to cup her face, fingers resting gently on her scar.
Elswyth pulled away. The cold of the cavern replaced the warmth of Silas. The feeling of his heartbeat faded, faded, and then was gone. The hand around her waist protested but released her, and then they were standing apart.
She watched him: his messy hair, his surprised expression, the glisten on his lips in the light of the elderwood roots. His hands still hovered in the air, forming the shape of her.
“Have I… done something wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t,” Elswyth said. “I’m sorry.”
Silas looked confused for a moment. Then his expression darkened. “Of course. I understand.”
“Silas, it’s not like that—”
“No. It was improper of me. I should not have given in to my baser instincts.”
“I cannot, Silas, because I have responsibilities to my family. My father, my sister… I cannot become distracted by…”
“Bastards,” Silas finished.
“No! I—”
“I understand, Miss Elderwood. There is no need to lie.”
“It is not a lie!”
“Oh? Then look at me and tell me that you would walk with mein the park tomorrow. That you would allow me to court you in your home. That you would be seen having affection for one such as I.”
Elswyth faltered. Could she? If she wanted to regain the good graces of the nobility, if she wanted to find her sister, could she be seen with him, be courted by him? Could she marry him?
Elswyth didn’t know, and so she said nothing.
“I see,” Silas said, and there was a sadness to his words that surprised her. “Good day, Miss Elderwood. Thank you for accompanying me tonight.”
And with that, Silas Blackthorn turned his back and disappeared into the waiting dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Enchanter’s nightshade,Circaea lutetiana, takes its scientific name from the Greek enchantress Circe, best known for turning men into pigs. In floriography, enchanter’s nightshade meanswitchcraftandsorcery.
I hope that you are right about this, Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said. She fidgeted in the carriage seat, picking at the bulky cloak that covered her gown. Out the small window, the palace lights shone over the street. A dozen carriages stood before them, waiting for their turn at the entrance.
“I’m as sure as I’ve been about anything. Except for my marriages, of course.”
“You were married? You’ve never mentioned that.”
“Oh yes, three or four times. One does not become a matchmaker without some hands-on experience, you know.”
