She nodded, too drugged on heat and lust to argue. The climb was soon. Everything was coming together so fast, andafterwas not so far away. “After.”
He kissed her neck, as chaste as a kiss could be on one’s neck, and pushed her gently to get her to her feet.
“Go on, then,” he said when they were both standing. “Liebchen.”
What had he said to her? Probably some form ofgoodnight, so she nodded and said, “Goodnight, Karl,” and went back up to her room in a daze.
**
“What do you think you’re on about?” Francis asked, cornering her in the stairwell after breakfast. They had thirty minutes or so until they needed to be back down to start today’s cross-valley trek. Karl had explained that he wanted to see the group’s endurance, and it was hard for him to see every person while in forested switchbacks. Ophelia had agreed, and they sketched out a cross-country trek. It sounded like an easy day to Justine, and she was more than happy to walk all day. She preferred it, actually.
But then, here was Francis, blocking her path, being a right nuisance. Who would not be joining their expedition, today or otherwise. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“With our guide, Mr. Vogel.” Francis jumped up on the landing of the stairs, barring her way.
“Ourguide? You aren’t going anywhere.” Justine walked around him, wishing she were wearing her accordion-pull skirts so she could hike them up and take the stairs three at a time. Well, two at a time. Her legs weren’t long enough for three.
Francis heaved a beleaguered sigh that sounded just like their mother. And it was one of those things that had always made her blood boil instantly. “The blond muscle-bound ox down there. Him. What is going on between you?”
Justine turned around, her anger mixing with that horrible need to be obnoxious. How often had her mother counselled her on controlling that? But Mama wasn’t here. Francis was. And he was a turd.
“What if I told you I was going to marry him on top of the Matterhorn as a publicity stunt for Ophelia?” She crossed her arms.
His face contorted in that entitled, superior way of his when their parents or governess wasn’t around. The face that was hell-bent on controlling her for no other reason than he thought he could.
“Ophelia isn’t climbing the Matterhorn for publicity. It’s thatguidethat can’t stop looking at you, and you, well. The scandal sheets got that part right at least: a harlot looks at men the way you look at him.”
“A harlot?” Anger flushed her body. “How dare you, Francis?” For years those accusations had chased her, despite when she behaved or when she didn’t. Rejected suitors made up stories and called her names when she didn’t allow them a kiss or a fondle. And now here was her own brother, believing the rumors and the gossips that had dogged her. “How. Dare. You.” She spun on her heel and ran up the stairs, a hot star in her chest, anger and hurt blooming in a horrible flower.
Ophelia was already there, her blue eyes wide. “What has happened?”
But Justine couldn’t speak. Tears, wet and furious, streaked her face. Ophelia took her hands and guided her to her bed. As Justine sobbed in frustration, Ophelia unlaced Justine’s shoes and slid them off, tucking them under the bed. Justine curled her legs under herself. Ophelia poured a glass of water from their ewer and handed it to her. It was cold, given the room was chilled from the night air seeping in through the window.
Justine drank and handed over the empty glass. Ophelia put it on her nightstand and sat down next to her, taking her hand. “What is the matter?”
“Francis,” Justine said.
And at that moment, a fist pounded on the door. “Justine, it’s Francis. You must come out.”
Justine had the urge to say a very unpleasant and shocking curse word she learned from Eleanor, given that she’d grown up around sailors, but Ophelia found her voice first.
“Francis, will you please give us a moment? Justine is indisposed.”
There was a begrudging grunt outside the door. “Fine. I’ll be in my room.”
They listened to the footsteps go down the hall and then the door open and shut.
“I hate him,” Justine whispered.
