He gave her a sly, knowing grin. Her stomach, and her understanding of him, both flipped. She lifted her glass to sip more wine as a cover for her confusion, but it was empty. He poured her more.
“A lily,” she said, wrinkling her nose. As soon as the glass was full, she took it and drank. “I don’t know. Thornless doesn’t seem quite right for a pirate.”
“Trust me,” he said, and she laughed.
?Ned sat back in his chair, watching her laugh, utterly charmed. She clearly could not hold even the smallest amount of liquor, and the consequence was a loosening of her reserve that not only brought her to laughter but made her eyes turn dark beneath their long lashes and her face soften so that she seemed at once older and yet more vulnerable; gentler and yet more deadly to his heart. She laughed in the same way she did everything else, with innate consideration—quietly, so as to not disturb the other diners, but spirited enough that it honored his joke.
Although he hadn’t been joking. Shewasdelicate, and dangerous, and the fact that he was completely seduced by it was going to make things very difficult indeed when the time came to throw her into jail.
Or out of a high window.
Whichever came first.
Leaning forward, he poured more wine into her glass. She might as well have one good night. “Drink up,” he said, smiling, watching her try to blink him into focus, and then sat back again contentedly as the waiter brought their fish. This was going to be fun.
They ate in quiet, commenting only now and again about the excellence of the food or the heat of the room, and Cecilia remained calm, impassive, undisturbed by fears for her aunt or disgust for her dinner companion. Some other woman in the room kept laughing, then weeping, dropping cutlery, then almost falling out of the chair trying to retrieve it, and at one point flinging a piece of duck off her fork halfway across the room while arguing a point aboutHiawatha. Cecilia paid her no attention. It would be unladylike to stare. She simply sipped her wine, ate her dinner, and conversed occasionally with Captain Lightbourne, maintaining her usual dignified manner.
When the cheese was finished and it was time to seek a room for the night, she was dismayed by how the hotel lurched as they crossed the dining room. Obviously there was a problem with its stabilizing magic. Perhaps someone was saying the incantation wrong. Cecilia suggested to Captain Lightbourne that they go up to offer their assistance, but he assured her it was unnecessary. Taking her arm, he helped her across the room while other diners watched them in clear admiration of their youth, elegance, and beautiful clothes. Cecilia imagined how amusing it would be to turn at the doorway and wave to them, and Captain Lightbourne laughed as if he had somehow heard her thought and envisioned it too.
“Well, I never!” a woman gasped. Cecilia looked around for her aunt but did not see her. At least, though, it proved Miss Darlington was safe, no doubt enjoying a cup of tea beside the dining room hearth, and Cecilia felt happy to go to bed knowing she need not worry about dear Aunty after all.
Lord Albert’s hat was returned to him, and they proceeded upstairs. Alas, the elevator was haunted by the ghosts of smugglers long lost on storm-tossed seas, and as they traveled up—and down—and sideways for a while—Cecilia tried to recall spells Pleasance used to mutter to ward off troublesome spirits. “Lady Victoria is unwell,” Captain Lightbourne explained to the elevator attendant, which didn’t sound much like a spell, but Cecilia repeated it anyway. Doing so only aggravated the ghosts, however. They shoved her against Captain Lightbourne, and he put his arm around her protectively. Charming man, shame she would have to assassinate him one day soon.
Suddenly the ghosts cried out and the elevator door opened, and Captain Lightbourne guided her to the relative steadiness of the corridor. “Good night,” she said in a mild, pleasant voice to the elevator attendant, who muttered something she did not quite hear (no doubt the correct warding spell) and closed the door behind them.
“Do you know,” Cecilia said as they stood for a moment, trying to decide which way to go, “I can barely breathe in this dress.” She tugged at the bodice and waist, writhing with discomfort. “I should have stolen one bigger.”
“Sh,” the captain said, and Cecilia rolled her eyes at his rudeness. A woman passing by also appeared aghast, as any woman would in response to a man publicly shushing his wife.
Wait.Wife?
Cecilia frowned, trying to remember that part. But she could not, and so she shrugged. The movement tightened the gown even further, and she abruptly reached the end of her tolerance. “No,” she said. “I cannot wear it one minute longer.” She began slipping the bodice down.
Captain Lightbourne caught her hand, to which she responded by pulling the glove from it, dislodging his grip, before continuing to undress. He countered by lifting her into his arms and carrying her along the corridor. Cecilia removed her other glove and slapped his face with it. He winced but did not stop.
“This is scandalous,” she declared, tossing her gloves to the ground in emphasis.
“I shouldn’t worry if I were you,” he replied. “It will get lost among all the other scandals of the evening.”
“And now I am gloveless and might fall victim at any moment to the Great Peril.”
“Ah yes, freckles. Well thank goodness there’s no risk of that tonight.”
“Nevertheless, I insist you put me down at once!”
“Don’t be anxious, Lady Victoria. It’s not wrong for your husband to carry you.”
“Oh. True. Very well, then, Lord Albert, but move a little more gently if you please, I’m becoming rather queasy.”
He paused beside several doors along the corridor, listening at each, attempting a handle here and there. Finally he opened one and stepped through into a dark room.
“This should do,” he said, and set Cecilia on her feet. She swayed alarmingly but managed not to fall. The captain tossed his hat onto a sideboard and moved about turning on the gas lamps. As the room blossomed into view, Cecilia saw a wide, plump bed draped in gold satin (and some other furniture she barely noticed due to the presence of The Bed). All at once she felt a torrid heat press against her skin from within.
“That’s a—bed.” She whispered the word as if it was lewd.
Captain Lightbourne glanced over his shoulder. “Yes,” he agreed.
“I mean, there is only one of it.”
