Jenna Starborn (32 page)

His hold became rather tighter; his face became almost boyish in his eagerness to explain. “No—you misunderstand—very well, I admit it looks bad for me, but my motives were pure and my behavior almost blameless. I have never cared for Bianca Ingersoll, as you so easily surmised, but for years now it has been an accepted thing that we will marry. We seem to be a good match, financially at any rate, and everyone in our circle has expected it. Certainly Bianca has, and I had no reason—until recently—to fight the force of expectation with anything like real energy.”

“With the result that everyone of your acquaintance now believes you to be engaged,” I said tartly.

“A fiction merely—a convenience,” he said. “She no longer wants to marry me either, but she does not want her consequence to suffer by having our relationship so suddenly cool.”

“And why has she changed her mind about you?” I demanded.

“Because of the fortune-teller who spoke to her one night while she was visiting my home,” he said. “You remember the computerized gypsy, Jenna? And you know I had some hand in the gypsy's comments. Well, I spoke for the medium while Bianca was in the study, and I warned her that my fortune was much lower than she had been led to believe. I explained that my dubronium mines were nearly stripped and my financial concerns on other worlds in jeopardy. She was deeply distressed to hear this information, I assure you, and she treated me coldly for some days. Until we discussed our situation, and agreed we would not suit, but also agreed that it would look better for her if everyone still believed I yearned for her. So she went away happy enough, and plotting to ensnare her next victim—and if I am not mistaken, Harley Taff will be announced as her fiance in the very near future. He's a good man, Harley—deserves better than Bianca Ingersoll, but he seems to love her, and he will treat her well. A happy ending all around, wouldn't you say?”

I gazed up at him through the latticework of shadow and saw the hopeful, sincere look on his face, but I was not yet ready to be convinced. “And you still agreed to play the part of pursuing suitor, to save the reputation of a greedy, shallow woman who did not care for you in the slightest? You have made a fool of yourself before your friends and your own household, merely to minister to her vanity?”

“It served some purpose of my own as well.”

“Indeed? What purpose?”

“It made you jealous. It made you examine your own feelings toward me, and realize their strength. My charade made you speak out, as otherwise you would never have had the courage to do. It made you declare your equality and your love—it made you mine.”

As he spoke, he attempted to gather me closer, into a true embrace, but I pulled back with some force. “You played this game merely to make me show my hand?” I demanded. “Mr. Ravenbeck—”

“Call me Everett.”

“Mr. Ravenbeck, that is contemptible.”

“No, no, not contemptible. Desperate,” he amended, drawing me against his chest and squeezing me so tightly I felt the air dance from my lungs. I struggled still, though I admit, some of my indignation was melting before a fire of joy and excitement. “I did not know how to make you love me—I did not know how to make you realize that a love such as ours was possible, except by showing you a love that was impossible, a supposed love that did not truly exist. I knew you would see my engagement to Bianca Ingersoll as the mockery it would have been, and I counted on you to compare it to the genuine manifestation of love. And you see? I was right—for you have admitted all, and now by your own words I have you. You are caught in a net of your own making, and such a net cannot be sliced or unknotted. I have you now—and you are mine—”

I looked up to make one final rejoinder, and his mouth came down to cover mine. Such a shock as went through me then! My whole body came alive with delight and wonder; I felt emotions coursing through my veins like scattered lights and colors. I was Amazement—I was Desire—I was Ecstasy and Rapture and the slightest bit of Greed. He crushed me closer, and I was Breathless, and I made a small, wordless sound of protest designed to signal my need for air.

His hold loosened slightly, though he did not release me. Indeed, he merely shifted his grip on me so my head was buried against his chest and his cheek lay on top of my hair. I panted against his shoulder, full of wonder and strangeness, and a little frightened at the wild exultation that made me feel expanded to twice my size.

His own voice, when it came, was scored with an exultation of its own, but so fierce and unbridled was it that it sounded almost more like rage. “The gods of the universe may gather to hurl what storms they may, but this is my course, my goal, my great achievement, and I will not falter or veer away now!” he cried, but in a voice so low I could not believe he was addressing me. “I have her, I will keep her, and no sanction, human or divine, will ever part us.”

I looked up to reply, but before I could speak, a great boom of thunder pealed through the night. The faintly glowing walls of the forcefield suddenly blossomed with yellow light; the air crackled around us with latent danger. I felt my hair lift and swirl, while the skin on my arms ran with an electric energy. The thunder snarled again, and a great snap! killed the feverish light of the fence, leaving it vaguely iridescent as before.

“We must get inside!” Mr. Ravenbeck called over the continued low protest of sound. “I have no idea what trouble this portends!”

“Let us run for the house!” I cried, and on the words, we were dashing back across the lawn, hand in hand, half laughing and half fearful as thunder chased us back toward safety. We flung ourselves inside the foyer, still laughing and now gasping for air, and stood for a moment on the flagged floor, leaning against each other for support and trying to regain our equilibrium. Outside, the rolling, growling sounds went on, and even the air inside the house seemed charged with expectation.

“Home and safe,” Mr. Ravenbeck said into my hair, the words part observation and part kiss. “Though I almost expect the sirens to sound at any moment.”

I closed my eyes and experienced fresh marvel at the feel of his arms casually about me. “I will go downstairs and check the systems.”

“You will do no such thing. You will immediately haul yourself upstairs to dream of your future life—which will involve no such drudgery as monitoring generators and securing the house from radioactive trash.”

I smiled against his coat. “Well, I hope to make myself useful no matter what other role I may take on in your household,” I said. “I may as well employ the skills I already have.”

He pulled back and I reluctantly straightened to a normal posture. “I can see this argument will take more time than I have at present,” he said. “But I warn you now—your life is about to change in all its small details, for you have been visited with an unexpected glamour. I know much more about this life than you do, so you should resign yourself now to being entirely guided by me.”

I smiled up at him. “I am willing to be guided by you in some things, but I do not trust your judgment completely, no matter how much I love you,” I said. “We may join our lives together, but I will still choose my own course.”

He sighed theatrically. “Stubborn, obstinate, intractable Jenna Starborn!” he exclaimed. “I will yet see you melting in my arms.”

“Ah, but your arms were made for melting,” I said, and leaned forward again for one quick kiss. This was bold of me, yet the moment seemed to call for such action, and he obliged quite heartily.

“No more, Jenna, not tonight, anyway,” he said, pulling away with no real enthusiasm. “Now you must go to your room and fill your head with dreams of incredible sweetness—while I go to mine and try to learn the ways of patience.”

“I think I am like to have more success than you are,” I said saucily, and earned myself another quick kiss.

“Good night, then,” he said, and ushered me toward the stairwell. “In the morning we will talk again.”

And so we parted, though from the corner of my eye I watched him head to the library where I thought he might indulge in a celebratory glass of liqueur. I hurried up the stairs, practically humming to myself—till I reached the first landing, where a figure stood half cloaked in darkness. I stopped short, not for an instant recognizing Mrs. Farraday—who, by the horrified expression on her face, appeared not to have recognized me. Or—no—I suddenly understood. She had witnessed my last interlude in the hall with the master of Thorrastone Park, and she feared my fate would be as dreadful as Janet Ayerson's.

It was not up to me, a half-cit, to claim to have been offered marriage by a full citizen. There was nothing I could say to reassure her. I merely paused a moment before her and tried to sustain a look of purity and conscience on my face. “Good night, Mrs. Farraday,” I said gently. “All will seem much better in the morning.”

And with those words I ran away to hide myself in my room till dawn might arrive.

Soon enough, however, I was beginning to think that hour might never come. The intermittent thunder had grown nearly continuous, accented at jarring moments by loud spats of crackling light. These jagged flares always struck somewhere along the forcefield, making me worry about its ability to withstand the stress. It was possible we would all, like the Ingersolls, be cast into a vacuum before night's end, and I made sure my oxygen canister was nearby and ready for use. Then I began fretting about Ameletta, small and solitary in her room, and wondered if I would make it to her side soon enough to save her if something happened to compromise the walls. So, after changing into my nightclothes, I hefted my oxygen tank over my shoulder and took the short trip down the hall to the little girl's room.

Not to my surprise, I found her still awake. “Miss Starborn!” she greeted me in a penetrating whisper. “Have you found my ribbons? Have you rescued them from the squirrels?”

“Yes, I have found them, but I did not come merely to return them to you,” I said. “I thought you might be afraid of the storm.”

Give her credit for her good points, she was quick to capitalize on any situation. “Yes, so afraid—the very loud noise is keeping me awake,” she said instantly. “I am frightened and do not want to stay in my room all alone.”

I smiled in the dark. “No, I thought you might not. Shall I stay with you, then? Would you promise to go to sleep right away and not chatter all night?”

“Oh, yes, I will be the quietest thing in the house,” she vowed.

“Very well, I shall stay with you. But first I must find your oxygen container and make sure it is primed. You lie down—I will climb in beside you shortly.”

During the five minutes it took me to locate and review the safety device in her room, Ameletta talked without ceasing. I thought it unlikely she would ever sleep this night—then again, sometimes it was hard to imagine the little bundle of energy ever closing her eyes, relaxing, and drifting off to dreamland, and surely she must sleep sometime. I answered her absently, situated the two canisters close to my hand at the side of the bed, and then climbed in under the covers beside her.

She gave a long sigh of pure satisfaction and curled up beside me.
“Now
I am no longer afraid,” she said. “I wish it would thunder every night!”

I smiled at this disingenuous remark. “Go to sleep, Ameletta. No more talking.”

“But I have stopped talking!”

“Yes, well, you shall prove that by not saying another word.”

Naturally, this request elicited a few more protestations of innocence, but gradually, as the night grew later, she grew quieter, and eventually did drop off to sleep.

I lay awake longer, listening to the grumble and mutter of the storm—which at one point was punctuated by the loudest thunderclap yet. This was followed by a slow, ominous groaning as if some structure was suffering an agonizing dissolution. I stifled a gasp and slipped from the bed to run to the window. But I could see nothing on the lawn outside, for the power surge had shorted out the circuits that controlled the artificial lights. From this distance, I could not tell if the fence itself was still intact, and I balanced on my feet a good fifteen minutes, awaiting the alarm.

But all was quiet; the sirens did not rise and whine. Even the storm seemed to have completely expended itself with that last ferocious attack, for the thunder abated and, within that quarter hour, ceased altogether. Some damage seemed to have been done, but it did not look as though we would suffer for it, and so I climbed back into bed beside Ameletta, and let myself fall asleep.

In the morning I learned what the storm had destroyed, and I could not help feeling a deep though perhaps overstated grief: Some fireball of energy had ripped past the forcefield and across the lawn, exploding in the very center of the oxenheart tree. And that mighty entity, resistant to all malice and misadventure for so many years, had cracked in two and lay dying on the lawn.