Again, thanks for all the positive feedback. I'm really grateful for all the reviews. If you haven't yet, please let me know what you think of the story. I love reviews, whether they be god-worship praise or constructive criticism. Okay, this chapter is a bit short, but I'm halfway finished with Chapter 5, so that will be up soon. Hope you enjoy!

After answering Grandmama's questions about my shopping, I spend the rest of the evening pacing nervously about the house. I am too anxious to even eat, picking absently at my plate and leaving the table as soon as I am able. I slip into the kitchen multiple times, peering out the back windows into the stable yard. I never see Kartik, nor do I receive a reply note from him. Even Tom has noticed my restlessness, asking if something is amiss. It is times like this, when I see beneath my brother's haughty exterior that I almost wish I could tell him everything. But I don't. I know better. Instead, I shake my head and push past him into the parlor.

When at last everyone in the house is asleep, I make my way down the stairs, silent as a church mouse. I slip out the back entrance and dash across the stable yard as if the devil himself is on my heels. With a creak, the carriage house door swings open and I am inside. I go immediately to the back, where the light of a single candle illuminates the wall. I pray that I will find Kartik alone. As I approach, I can make out the soft sound of his breath, the gentle rustle of clothing as he shifts, the sound of a page turning. But he is not reading aloud – I take that as a good sign.

I peer around the corner of the dilapidated carriage he uses as a bedroom. Kartik sits alone on a stool, his back propped against the wall. He is flipping through Pride and Prejudice, scowling.

"I didn't take you for the romantic sort, Mr. Kartik," I say lightly, stepping into the light of the candle. Kartik snaps the book shut, looking embarrassed.

"Is this the sort of nonsense you enjoy reading?" He shakes the book at me like some sort of shameful contraband.

"Nonsense?" I try not to look affronted. I most do not expect my life to be the same, but I did quite enjoy reading the novel. "What do you mean?"

Kartik flips the book open and recites, "'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'" He raises an eyebrow. "Is this the only pastime young women care for? Finding wealthy husbands?"

I scoff. "I believe Miss Austen was making a social commentary rather than asserting her own beliefs." Kartik stares, still looking perturbed. "She was being sarcastic," I elaborate.

Kartik sits back, mollified, and looks at the book again.

"Much as I enjoy discussing literature," I say flippantly, "I do actually have something of importance to tell you. Did you not receive my note?"

"Oh, yes. That was terribly informative – I understand everything, now." His sarcasm has my temper rising. I resist the urge to kick his shins.

"Well," I say icily. "I couldn't very well write, 'Dear Kartik, just thought you should know that Circe has risen again and is assembling a massive army in the Realms. Oh, and by the way, somehow Pippa has figured out how to cross over into this world. Hope you are enjoying this lovely day, yours truly, Gemma.'"

Kartik ignores my jibe. "She's figured out how to cross into this realm?"

I nod earnestly. "Felicity and I went to the Realms this afternoon and we met Pippa. She was… terrifying." I shudder at the memory. "She said that Circe had given her a spirit to control and that she visited our world."

Kartik is quiet, digesting this new information. I lean against the carriage, watching his face as he thinks. His dark eyes are downcast, his thumb worries the pages of the book as he bites his bottom lip. I look away sharply as a sense of longing surges through me. Kartik looks up, his attention caught by my rueful sigh.

"Something bothers you?"

I shake my head stiffly. "Only what plagues every other girl: dead friends vowing revenge on my immortal soul, my mother's murderer trying to destroy me, ex-suitors joining the secret society that is hell-bent on my demise. Don't worry yourself over it."

Kartik laughs softly. "You have been dealt an unlucky hand," he commiserates. "But then, so have I." Kartik's sympathy surprises me. I expected him to reply just as sarcastically.

To my absolute horror, I find my eyes stinging with the promise of tears. Resisting them only makes it worse. I look up to the ceiling and blink hard, but the onslaught is inescapable. Hot, salty tears course down my cheeks. I turn away from Kartik trying to steady my voice as I make my excuses.

"Well, it is quite late. I suppose I'd best get to the warmth of my bed." I hope he didn't hear the pathetic wobble in my voice.

"Gemma?" Kartik's voice is uncertain, worried, and it only makes me cry harder. I can't speak without exposing my tears. I make to leave, but there is a hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. Kartik takes in my tear-streaked face silently, then slowly wraps me in his arms, pulling my tightly to him. His kindness destroys any remaining vestige of composure and I sob wretchedly into his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears.

"Shhhh…" he soothes in my ear, smoothing my hair with one hand, holding me tight with the other. "It's hard, isn't it?" he whispers softly, his lips tickling my ear. "Being alone. I know. I know how it feels." Being pressed against him is overwhelming. My chest tingles at the feel of his strong arms, so gentle and secure, his hands so delicate as he runs his knuckles along my cheek… He holds me until my helpless sobs subside. I sniffle weakly as a few last tears trickle down my cheeks. Kartik guides me so that I am sitting on the footboard of the carriage. He sits beside me, our shoulders pressed together. "I've been a bit of an ass, haven't I?"

I shake my head, embarrassed for having acted like such a child. "No, you've been such a help."

"No I haven't. I've been bossing you around and condemning you for being a fool when I should have been praising your courage."

My spirits lift a little, and I manage a flimsy smile.

Kartik continues, "You've had far more demanded of you than any person ought to. You've face monsters that would make a grown man piss himself. You've endured tragedy time and time again. You persevere, when others would run and hide. It's a wonder you're not as mad as Nell Hawkins."

I lean my head against the carriage door, looking up into the rafters. "Perhaps I am mad. It would explain a lot of things." I laugh feebly. "What a paradox, hm? Madness making sense."

Kartik laughs appreciatively. "Life is a paradox."

"Life is madness," I grouse.

"Either way, I promise I'll be here for you." The seriousness of Kartik's tone has my chest tightening. My heart jumps wildly against my sternum as I turn my head to meet his gaze. When our eyes meet, my breath hitches in my throat. Without realizing what I'm doing, I lean forward and press my lips gently against his. Kartik freezes, stunned by my boldness. Mortified, I pull away, staring hard at my knees.

And then I am in his arms again and his lips are pressed against mine, warm and sweet – and urgent. He smells of lye soap and Indian spice, and all things forbidden. His tongue traces my bottom lip and I part my mouth instinctively, welcoming his intrusion. His fingers tangle in my hair and I throw my arms around his neck, clinging for dear life as this heady passion swirls my thoughts and leaves me feeling dizzy and faint. The rest of life melts away and there is only Kartik, strong and warm and safe.

Life returns in a stunning snap as Kartik pulls away, holding me by the shoulders and breathing roughly. I blink, trying to control my breath. The stays of my corset bite into my sides and my chest jumps as I pant in sharp bursts. I peer at Kartik through downcast eyelashes, feigning modesty as best I can after such a thing.

"Gemma… please forgive me." Kartik is flushed a brilliant red, the heightened color in his cheeks somewhat appealing.

"Never," I say, my voice low. Kartik looks up abruptly, his eyes wide. I keep my expression stern. His eyes fall, fixing on the ground. Gingerly, I touch his cheek and press the lightest of kisses on his pursed lips. "Don't apologize," I whisper. Before Kartik can look up or say more, I am on my feet and running, quick as a deer, from the carriage house. My own brazenness has me flushed from my hairline to my toes. "Harlot!" I hiss to myself as I slip back in the house.

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