Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic except Kartik's point of view. Which makes me very sad. Ah well.

A/N: I think I captured Kartik's jealously well enough. Tell me if you like it!

Note: The following chapter occurs in Rebel Angels, pages 213-229 (hardback).

oOoOoOo

The fierce cold that was once present as I drove the coach was now stagnate in the air, but it still froze the very marrow of my bones.

I crossed my arms, trying to warm myself with the little body heat that my thin jacket held as I stood by the carriage. I looked up through the hazy darkness and saw the imposing silhouette of Denby; Simon Middleton's mansion.

"Simon Middleton." That name brought forth a sour taste in my mouth as I muttered it hatefully. I had learned of this illustrious boy from Emily and the cook. He, apparently, was a very rich boy of nineteen, son of the viscount, and confident in his gentlemanly manner and behavior.

I could tell he was a lady's man, for as Emily spoke of his handsome features, numerous accomplishments, and charming demeanor her eyes glazed over and she looked past me with a faraway expression on her face.

I asked one of the stable boys about him, and he said the same, but only that our mistress Gemma Doyle was acquainted with this young gentleman.

"'E met 'er at the train station, 'e did," nodded the stable boy. "They became real friendly, 'at much Oi know."

It amazed me how much the servants, maids, and grooms could discover while they performed their various occupations. But I had little time to marvel at the amount of gossip the Help could learn. I had other matters to consider, like the fact that she knew him.

I mulled over this information, and the more I thought about it, the more worried I became until I was sure that this Simon Middleton had some sort of interest in her. How could he not?

But I had no evidence that Simon Middleton was indeed smitten with her. I just knew it. Though, I hadn't even met the chap so I couldn't be sure.

My suspicions were confirmed, however, when I received notice that the Doyle family were invited to Denby, home of Simon Middleton. I was to be their coachman, and drive them there.

I recalled the moment she stepped out of the carriage, her pale blue gown, her curls swept into an elegant bun, her diplomatic demeanor, her soft green eyes…

She tripped on her gown and fell into my arms, and for a second, one mere second, I held her round her thin waist, could smell jasmine, and relished the feel of her warm body against mine.

I remembered letting her go, albeit reluctantly, and helping her to her feet.

"Steady there, Miss Doyle."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Kartik." And with those words, her father took her arm and steered her toward the door, to Simon Middleton.

Long after they had gone inside I was still gazing at the door, my breath coming out in shallow puffs of cold vapor. I was outside in the cold while she was inside, no doubt warm and cozy with Simon Middleton.

How it should be, I reminded myself.

oOoOoOo

As the night wore on I found myself staring at the large window of the upper floor, in the very middle. It was, noticeably, the biggest window, and the focal point of the house. That came to be an advantage for me, for as I stared I could see blurry figures of people puttering about the room, probably the library, and I knew she would be in there.

It never occurred to me that what I was doing was spying, but as I drew closer to the window, I convinced myself I was only curious to see what they were doing. Which was, in truth, spying. But it never entered my mind. That is, until she came close to the window, with Simon Middleton at her heels.

I watched their vague profiles through the glass, and I could see them facing each other, talking. Well, this is innocent enough, I convinced myself. But I quickly changed my mind as I saw Simon Middleton extend a hand to her red curls, reaching to secure the rose pinned to her hair just as she was. I drew closer as their fingers touched, and she looked away, a faint blush on her cheeks.

Jealousy coursed through my veins as I watched him fasten the rose to her hair, feeling the red curls in his fingers that I could only imagine felt soft and silky in one's hands. How I ached to feel them, to feel her…

I felt my face flush with fury and, without thinking; I picked up a rock from the ground and hurled it at the window with all my might. I threw another and I heard that it only made a tap, but that was enough.

Simon Middleton opened the window and the two peered out. I dove behind a nearby bush, lest they saw me in the misty darkness.

After a while they departed from the window's edge, and I was left to seethe in my anger at that boy's insolence and her consent.

Well after midnight the Doyle family said their goodbyes, and I glared at her murderously from under my cap as she approached.

"A pleasant evening, miss?" I asked with forced politeness as I helped her into the carriage.

"Yes," she said, flashing me a quick smile. "Very pleasant, thank you."

"So I noted," I muttered bitterly.

I swiftly swung myself onto the carriage seat and grabbed the horse's reins, pulling away from the curb with much more force than was necessary.

And as I drove the carriage I came to realize that though the cold wind blew against my face in such a way that would freeze any normal man, my insides were roiling with scorching fury that kept me sweltering inside my jacket.

oOoOoOo

I sat in the musty stable, a dim lantern hanging above me as I read The Odyssey to Emily. She listened, enthralled with the story as I went on, describing the sea voyages and the obstacles that followed.

The crunch of footsteps interrupted me and I stopped, peering into the eerie darkness though the open doorway.

It was her.

"Good evening," she said, marching in confidently as if it was nothing abnormal to be striding into one's stable in the dead of night.

"Good evening," I replied, standing up.

Emily looked up in alarm, stumbling over her words which so often flowed endlessly out of her mouth without fault. "Oh, miss, I was just…just…"

"Emily, I have some business to discuss with Mr. Kartik just now, if you wouldn't mind."

Emily shot up as if burned, and scurried out of the stable, leaving me alone with her.

Once Emily was a good ways away, she turned to me and got straight to the point. "What did you mean by your comment tonight?"

I smirked. "I simply asked if you had a pleasant evening. With Mr. Muddleton."

"Middleton," she corrected sharply. "He is a gentleman, you know."

I could feel my blood rush to my face and I balled my fists. "He looks like a fop."

"I'll thank you not to insult him," she hissed, her face flushing to a delicate pink. "You know nothing about him."

"I don't like the way he looks at you," I countered before I could stop myself. "As if you were a piece of ripe fruit."

"He doesn't do anything of the sort," she snarled, blushing even more so before her face lit up in realization. "Wait a moment. How do you know how he looks at me? Were you spying on me?"

I shoved my book under my nose, trying to hide my anger at myself. How could I have allowed myself to make such a slip? Such displays of idiocy would not be tolerated in the Rakshana. "He did look at you that way. In the library."

She drew herself up to her full height, which was, fortunately, still shorter than myself. "You threw those rocks against the window!"

Unable to control my rage, I hurled my book aside, facing her. Why couldn't she understand what Simon Middleton was capable of? "You allowed him to touch your hair!" Something I've always wanted to do…

"I do have something to tell you, if you can stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to hear it."

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," I scoffed.

"A good night to you, then," she said, turning to the exit.

I almost let out a growl as I realized I would much rather be on good terms with this fiery girl. "Wait!" I took a step after her, truly not wishing her to leave. "I'm sorry. I promise to be on my very best behavior." I dropped to my knees dramatically, picking up an acorn from the ground and holding to my neck. "I beg of you, Miss Doyle. Tell me or I shall be forced to kill myself with this mighty weapon."

"Oh, do get up," she said, letting out a tinkling laugh. "Tom has a patient at Bethlem. Nell Hawkins. He says she suffers from delusions."

"That would explain her confinement in Bethlem," I said, casting her a self-satisfied grin. She frowned, raising her eyebrows. "Sorry. Please go on."

"She claims she's a member of the Order, and that a woman named Circe is trying to find her. She says she's driven herself mad to keep Circe from getting to her."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "You must see Nell Hawkins straightaway."

"Yes, I've arranged it already. Tomorrow, around noon, I shall read poetry to Nell Hawkins and find out what she knows about the Temple. Was he really looking at me that way?"

I blinked, surprised at the sudden change of subject. "What way?"

"Like a piece of ripe fruit?"

"You'd best be on your guard with him," I growled. Simon Muddleton. What a fool he must be. I didn't trust him one bit.

"I am quite able to look after myself," she admonished, turning smartly on her heel and smacking directly into the wall.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Hahaha, I love that last part. Libba Bray must have a great sense of humor.

This chapter's a bit short, but I like it anyhow.

Until next time!