The Jewel (35 page)

“I think I love you, too,” I whisper.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Twenty-Six

M
Y MIND IS A BLUR AS
I
MAKE MY WAY BACK DOWN THE
tunnel.

I didn't want to leave, but Carnelian should be finished with her lessons by now and Annabelle might come looking for me. I let my hand trail along the rough stone wall, hearing his whispered words in my head.

I'm in love. Ash loves me.

I open the hidden door to the library, still lost in the bliss of the moment.

“What are
you
doing back here?” a reedy voice asks.

I whip around. Carnelian stands in the shadows, a small smile on her lips. She runs her finger down the spine of one of the books. “Looking for some bedtime reading, were you?”

My heart slams against my ribs. “I was just walking around,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.

“That's funny.” She takes a step closer to me. “I've been here for half an hour and I haven't seen you.”

“I thought you had etiquette lessons.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Carnelian's eyes narrow. “How do
you
know that?”

“Um, Annabelle mentioned it, I think.” I try to will the blush to fade from my cheeks, but that only seems to make it worse. “Anyway, it's a big library. Maybe you just didn't see me.”

Carnelian takes another step, so there's only a foot of space between us. A pimple is forming on the side of her chin. “I don't know what you're up to,” she says. “But I'm going to find out.”

I swallow. “I'm not ‘up to' anything. I just . . . like books.”

Carnelian snorts. “Right. We'll see.”

“Is there a problem here, ladies?” We both jump, as Garnet emerges from the stacks.

“What are you doing here?” Carnelian asks. “I thought you were supposed to be getting measured for your tuxedo.”

Garnet feigns surprise. “Am I? Why, it completely slipped my mind.” He looks me up and down. “Are you tormenting the surrogate, cousin? Better not let Mother catch you.”

“I'm not afraid of her,” Carnelian says, jutting out her chin.

“Yes, you are,” Garnet replies dismissively. “Hey, where's that companion she bought you? I heard you never leave his side.”

Red blotches appear on Carnelian's cheeks. For a second, I think she might cry. She gives me a scathing look, then turns on her heel and disappears.

“She always was a little sensitive,” he says with a shrug. “Oh, I'm Garnet, by the way.”

“I know,” I say.

He laughs. “Of course you do.” Then he gives me a flourishing bow. “Shall I escort you back to your rooms?”

“Oh, um, that's all right,” I say. Garnet is amusing, but to be honest, he sort of frightens me. I remember what the Lady of the Flame called him—unpredictable.

“I insist.” He takes my elbow. “Tell me,” he says as we make our way out of the library. “Who do you hate more? My mother or my father?”

“Excuse me?” I can't believe he'd ask me that. As if I'd give him a truthful answer.

“I'd have to go with my mother,” Garnet says, as if I hadn't spoken. A Regimental stops in the hall and stands at attention as we pass—I can feel his eyes on me, curious and scrutinizing. “My father is dull as a post, so at least he's easy to overlook. But there's just no ignoring my mother.”

I decide to act mute. I won't participate in this conversation.

“She's gotten even worse since Carnelian came to live here. Poor kid. First her father dies, then her mother commits suicide. Very shocking. Scandalous for the House of the Lake.”

“Carnelian's mother killed herself?” I gasp.

Garnet nods. “She was a strange woman, my aunt. Strange and sad. I never really got to know her well—my mother despised her. I think Carnelian hates her and misses her in equal measure. It makes her a very unpleasant person to be around.”

“Why does she hate her?” I ask.

“Because her mother left her alone,” Garnet says simply.

I see it now. Carnelian is all alone. The Duchess hates her, the royalty laughs at her, and Ash . . . no wonder she adores him. He's the only person in this place who's nice to her.

I feel a twinge of guilt. I don't want to feel sorry for Carnelian.

“Why did the Duchess despise your aunt?” I ask.

Garnet gives me a quizzical look, like he's not sure if I'm being serious. “Because she left. You do get the papers in the Marsh, don't you?” Before I can answer, though, he continues. “Aunt Opal was not House of the Lake material. Especially not after she turned her back on her royal lineage and ran off with some newspaper man from the Bank.” He grins. “Really, my mother has had it quite hard. A crazy sister, a broken engagement—to the Exetor, of all people—and . . . me. Ah, here we are.”

We've reached my chambers. Garnet knocks on the door and Annabelle opens it.

“Annabelle!” Garnet cries, wrapping an arm around her. Annabelle turns bright red. She tries to curtsy, but it's difficult with Garnet in the way.

“I've returned the surrogate, safe and sound,” he says. Annabelle ducks her head in thanks. “It was lovely meeting you—officially. I'm sure I'll see you again soon. And stay out of Carnelian's way if you can help it,” he adds with a wink, before heading back down the hall. “I think she's got it in for you.”

T
HAT NIGHT,
I
CAN
'
T SLEEP.

The things Ash has revealed to me about the royalty, about his profession, about how he's treated within the walls of the Jewel . . . to anyone else I think it would be impossible to understand why he would do it, or how he could. But not to me. They took something inside him and they broke it, just like they took something inside me.

I know the pain of obeying an order that every part of you screams to resist. But Ash and I found each other. And we broke all their rules.

I can still hear his voice, whispering in my ear.

I love you.

It takes me only a few seconds to decide—I can't wait another minute. I'm running out of time. If I really want this, I have to do it now.

I throw back the covers and quietly slip out of my chambers.

The halls of the palace look different at night, all shadows and unfamiliar shapes, but I could walk this path blindfolded. The silence is eerie. I make it to the library, and flit past shelves that loom like sentinels in the darkness. The secret door creaks a little as I open it and hurry down the tunnel, into his parlor. There is no curtain on the window, and moonlight gives everything a silvery glow. I tiptoe across the rug and open the door to Ash's room.

I've never been in his bedchamber before.

The curtains are drawn, but I can see his outline under a pale blue comforter, the faint movement of his body as he breathes in and out. I creep to his side—only his head is exposed. The rest of his body is hidden under a swath of blankets. I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Ash,” I whisper, shaking him gently.

He makes a small, sighing sound.

“Ash,” I say again, shaking him a little harder.

He opens his eyes and yelps, sitting up so fast that I jump back. His chest is bare, his hair rumpled with sleep, and I feel a surge of desire and a stab of fear.

“Violet?” he hisses. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you
doing
here?”

“I . . . I . . .” I've suddenly lost the power of speech. All I can see is his skin glowing faintly in the light of the open door.

Ash throws off the covers, and I see that he is wearing a pair of loose, cotton pajama pants.

“Violet,” he says, getting up and putting his hands on my arms, as if to steady me. Am I shaking? I guess I am. His fingers are warm against my skin. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I—I love you,” I stammer.

For a second, he just looks stunned. Then he smiles and pulls me against him. “Is that why you're here?” A strange sound escapes my throat, somewhere between a sob and a squeak. His breath is hot against my ear as he murmurs, “I love you, too.”

My heart is in a panic now, throwing itself against my ribs as I wrap my arms around him, feeling the indentations of his shoulder blades, tracing the curve of his spine. His scent is everywhere, and I press my cheek against his chest. One of his hands curls around my waist, the other stroking the length of my hair, out of its pins, falling freely down my back.

I turn my head so that our lips can meet.

At first it's just a regular kiss, comforting and familiar and warm. But then it deepens into something else, something more, and a yearning blossoms inside me. My hands move from his back to his stomach, tracing the lines of his chest and neck until my fingers are brushing his cheekbones. Desire twists in me so fiercely it hurts.

I don't realize I've been pushing him backward until we fall onto the bed. My hair hangs like a curtain around us, and he holds it back with his hands.

“Violet,” he says, and there is a warning in his voice. But I can't stop. I can't stop kissing him. I feel him give in, sinking his hands into my hair, the muscles in his arms tense and tight. I press myself against him.

“Violet, stop,” he gasps, rolling me over so that I'm lying on my back.

“I—I—I'm sorry.” Hot tears fill my eyes. “I'm sorry.”

Suddenly, he is stroking my face, kissing my hair. “Please don't say that,” he murmurs. “You know I want to. You know I do.”

“Then why not?” I can't hide the desperation in my voice.

“I could hurt you,” he confesses quietly. “I've never . . . I mean . . .”

“It's all I want,” I whisper. My voice sounds so fragile. I feel breakable. “You're all I want.”

Ash hesitates. I run my hand across his chest and press my lips against his shoulder.

He leans in and kisses my neck, the soft spot just under my jaw, my collarbone . . . My head starts to spin as his fingers trace my arm until he reaches my waist, seizing a handful of my nightdress; I'm suddenly aware of how little separates us, just thin layers of silk and cotton.

His lips graze my throat. “Are you sure?”

I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life, but words fail me in this moment. My nerves are on fire, buzzing with a strange and fierce vitality, and I wrap my arm around his lower back and pull him closer to me. A low moan escapes his throat and then his mouth is on mine.

I
T DOES HURT.
B
UT PAIN IS NOT NEW TO ME;
I
HAVE FELT
pain before.

This is different. This pain is worth it. And this time, I am not alone.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

Twenty-Seven