This had not been her experience. But her only partner had ever been Annabelle Rivers, and those afternoons were slow and exploratory, nothing like the blaze that roared with Karl. But she’d felt that need, that pull, so strongly. Was there something she was missing about the essentials of intimacy? “But wouldn’t it feel good to give in?”
“Of course it would!” Karl threw his hands in the air. “But don’t you see? What if I got you with child? What if your chaperones found out? What if your parents found out?” He ran his hands down his face.
“But we wouldn’t have to go that far,” she insisted. “We could just—”
“—That is what I’m telling you, Justine. I cannot control myself at that point. There are no half measures for me. I cannot. All. Or nothing. And we must choose nothing.”
“I don’t want nothing,” Justine said, getting to her feet. What a confusing situation. He liked her but didn’t? He wanted her but wouldn’t? “I want everything.”
“Of course you do. Who doesn’t want everything? Only very foolish people think they get to have everything.” Karl paced faster.
“I’m not a foolish person.” Justine had heard those words enough, and she was tired of it. She wasn’t a fool. Or a dreamer. Or inconstant. She was bigger than all of those things.
“I don’t mean you.” Karl stopped pacing. “Ich hasse Englisch.”
Justine paused. She only caught the wordEnglishand considering the only other time she’d heard him say it was inrelation to her, she could only assume that it was something derogatory about her. “What did you just say?”
“It’s English. This stupid language. I don’t like it. Not enough precision.” He put one hand on end and tapped it into his other, as if mimicking slicing bread.
“What does the language have to do with anything?” She was still suspicious.
“Go to bed, Justine. We will sleep and all will be well.” He went from looking furious to exhausted in the span of a minute.
Justine didn’t know that she had a balloon in her heart until it deflated as Karl dismissed her. Her head spun with confusion. She turned dumbly away from him, facing the endless dark.
**
Chapter Seven
His father had told him he was a smart one, leaving Augsberg to help Onkel Peter in his venture. That he was listening to his family, listening to his brain, not the lust in his blood to join the Austrian army, where yes, he would find glory for all of a minute before dying horribly on a faraway battlefield for no reason other than some prince’s greed.
The morning after he had kissed Justine, had nibbled his way down her beautiful neck, and run his tongue along her elegant clavicle, he had congratulated himself on that same intelligence. He had not been lying that it had taken every ounce of strength he had to tear himself from her. But it was the right thing to do. An honorable man was a man of restraint. Of fortitude and reliability. And lingering in his mind was the threat to his livelihood should it become known that he had strayed too close to his pretty English client.
But as the weeks wore on, Karl did not feel smart. What he had learned were “snubs,”auf Englisch, were his only direct communication with Justine. She no longer looked at him orspoke to him directly. They had switched from the two outings, one in the morning just the two of them, and then the later, easier group walk, to all-day big climbs of nearby mountains. Monte Rosa, Breithorn, Castor, Pollux.
At first, he could have sworn they were chosen because they were nothing but grueling. Fräulein Bridewell had said she would consult him about which excursions to take, but then, she informed him of her decision, rather than asking his opinion. It was his job to counsel and advise. It made him wonder if Justine had some hand in it, rendering him as useless as a pack mule. She had been upset that he’d turned her away that night, but what else was he to do? Ravish her with no thought to the consequences?
But the long mountain trudges were her penance then. If he had been consulted, he would have counseled towards something more pleasant, with better views.
Indeed, Fräulein Bridewell had insisted that she lead their marches, given that she was the leader of the expedition, and that they should go in their expedition order, which was another thing Karl thought was foolish. So regimented and strict in their thinking, the British. As the weeks had stretched, their different abilities and stamina changed. Being able to address this phenomenon seemed prudent, but Fräulein Bridewell would have none of it. She and Justine charged forward at the front, while he was relegated to the back with Lord Rascomb, who seemed to struggle with the steeper climbs.
Karl would have also counseled on eating well in the morning, carrying no meal as to move faster, and then eating when returning to the inn. This was how everyone did it. Every expedition he had worked with operated like this. And by the time those mountaineers reached the inn, Tante Greta’s food was nothing short of divine and holy.
But no. The English pushed a bag on Karl to carry, full of thermoses of tea and sandwiches. Sandwiches! Not even a proper cheese and meat and a slice of bread. But sandwiches. Sometimes even little cakes, and it made him frustrated more than he would admit, but he carried the damn pack up the mountain and down the mountain again.
By the time he was carrying an entire meal for the company, he knew this was punishment because he hadspurnedJustine. But hadn’t she understood why? He did this for her. He could not control that rutting instinct, and if she had any sense at all, she would understand that. Instead, she held it as a personal insult that he did not ruin her good name and impregnate her. Would her father really want some mountaineer’s babe in his daughter’s belly? No. This was the obvious, practical approach. But he hadn’t meantnever talk to me, ortreat me like your personal donkey.
Perhaps he shouldn’t feel so aggrieved. Perhaps it was his fault for taking her shunning so personally. This is what he’d advocated, wasn’t it? Some distance? She had certainly managed that. He no longer wanted to take her up to private meadows and trails that he alone traversed or take in the stunning views of the Zermatt valley only a local would know.
And then, to make matters worse, last week, her brother showed up. Mr. Francis Brewer was a mop-headed dandy who had no business being in the Alps. Swaying along on the donkeys coming up from Zurich, he heralded English rations that no one in Zermatt could have predicted. There were teapots and horribly stale flattened cakes made of oats, yet even more woolen clothing and extravagant party dresses and metal gadgets he had no idea what use they could be for. But Fräulein Bridewell treated him as if he were an arriving hero, and Justine welcomed her brother with open arms.
Karl wasn’t sure why it felt like surveillance, but it did. Her family could not have known how close he and Justine had been, and surely could not have had time to send her brother to interfere. But Karl found himself disliking Francis Brewer from the outset. And then came the late nights in the dining room, which interfered with Karl’s sleep, and he liked Mr. Brewer even less.
The cards slapped together as Mr. Brewer shuffled. “What do you say, a pfennig ante? Is that what they’re called here? Yes? A pfennig.”
“No,” Karl said, trying his best to be stern but not too inhospitable. He was tired. Another calf had arrived early this morning, and he’d been there to help things along. And then there were the goats, of course, and bottle-feeding the babies so they might milk the mother goats for the season. And then Tante wanted to make some cheese, even though it wasn’t one of the village cheese-making days. She sent him off to beg permission and obtain some rennet from a neighbor, because the English loved their cheese too.
Karl had been pushed and pulled, and all he wanted was to walk up a mountain without a pack laden with ridiculous foods. He wanted to stand on top of a crest or a ridgeline and stare out at the incredible sky and the sharp outlines of the peaks that surrounded him. The air was different there, sweeter somehow, and he wanted it. Alone.
