Sorry for taking so long - computer bug has officially been fixed. Thank you so, so much for all your reviews - they make me want to put up a new chapter every half hour, just for the praise, lol. There's a little gem in here that I've beent thinking on for a while, but haven't been able to find a good way to introduce it. Hope you enjoy!
Edit: In my hurry to get this one up, I didn't proofread. I fixed all the mistakes (I think). :)
I can barely think for the numbing cold that has consumed me. Emily's wide, astonished eyes beg an answer. I falter, uncertain how to respond. Deny it outright? Beg her not to tell anyone? Deck her and run like the wind?
"All of what?" I ask evasively, trying to buy time. Maybe I can convince her that she's completely mad. Guilt washes over me at the idea – how much had I suffered over the idea of being insane when I'd first begun having visions? It wouldn't be fair. But it is the only way.
"I came into your room," she explains slowly, distantly, like one remembering a dream. "But I couldn't control my body… and then you took me somewhere… somewhere frightening – and beautiful…"
I give her a worried look. Hating myself for it, I ask uncertainly, "Are you quite alright, Emily? You collapsed on the floor – I thought you were having a fit!"
Emily is confused. She shakes her head slowly, blinking. Relief washes over me; I can see her conviction fading fast. "No," she says feebly, "I was there – I was beautiful…"
The reminder of Pippa's beauty stings. As lovely as Emily is, she is no match for Pippa. Even so, she is more lovely than me, and now I know that she wants Kartik as much as I do. Surely if we were to stand side-by-side, and Kartik and I weren't tied together by this tangled web of lies, he would pick her. All compassion flees me, and I feel no remorse in making Emily feel as mad as a hatter.
"Yes, you are rather handsome," I say sardonically, "though I rather prefer you when you're not sprawled on my bedroom floor."
Emily looks embarrassed and ashamed. Nobody likes feeling a fool. "Forgive me, Miss Doyle. I'll be getting back to the kitchen now." Her flushed cheeks return my sympathy. Even though she is lovely, she is only a maid. She was born into a station that she will never escape, just as I was born into a tangled web of lies that I will never escape.
"Are you certain you're well enough to work?" I ask again. The least I can do is give her a reprieve from her duties.
"Yes, quite," she replies meekly as she smoothes her skirts. She bobs a quick curtsy and darts from my room. I let a pent-up shiver roll down my spine, rattling my bones like china on a crowded tray.
"Well done, Gemma," I snarl to myself. "It seems you are a beast."
- - - - -
As per usual, I sneak down to the stable after everyone else has fallen asleep. Or so I think. As I tip-toe through the kitchen, I detect a shadow in the corner. I freeze instantly, presuming the worst. Simon has returned – or perhaps someone larger and more prone to violence. Though after the way our last meeting ran, I wouldn't put much past him anymore.
"Who's there!" I hiss. No use in hiding – I've doubtlessly been detected, what with the rustling of my skirts and my graceless collision with the half-closed kitchen door.
"It's me, Miss," comes Emily's meek response. I bite back an oath, clenching my fists tightly.
"What are you doing up?" I snap, harsher than I meant to.
"I couldn't sleep," she answers after a pause. I hear her inhale sharply, gathering courage for what comes next, "What are you doing up?"
I'm slightly taken aback by her audacity. "I couldn't sleep, either," I answer tersely. I don't have time to play games. "You should return to your room," I say as politely as I can.
It seems she only had enough courage to question me once. Deflated, she says, "Yes, Miss." She brushes past me, saying, "Pardon," as our shoulders brush. A moment later she freezes. In the darkness, I can see her hand go to her shoulder. "You're freezing!" she whispers, chafing warmth back into her skin.
I step away sharply. "I left the window open in my room," I lie quickly.
She seems not to hear me. "Pippa…" She mutters the name curiously, like something recently learned, but still foreign to her mouth. I sense her wonderment – why did this name come to her? I cut her off before she can put two and two together.
"No, I'm Gemma," I 'correct' her archly. "You must be very tired. I think you really should hurry to bed."
Emily nods and pushes through the kitchen door. Only when I hear her footsteps ascending the stairs do I breathe, and continue on my way to the stable.
When I make it back to Kartik's corner, there is no candlelight, as I've come to expect. I put my hands out and fumble blindly in the darkness, trying to find the door to the carriage that he sleeps in.
"Kartik," I whisper into the darkness, sighing with relief as my hand brushes the wheel well of the familiar structure. I trace the contours of the vehicle to the iron door-pull. "Kartik!" I hiss sharply. I can hear his deep, even breaths. I cannot see his face, but I can imagine it. In sleep he is washed of all his stoicism and bossiness. He is innocent… vulnerable. I want to crawl into the coach, but I fear what will happen if I do.
Kartik shifts, murmuring groggily, "Gemma?"
"Right here," I answer in a whisper, though there is no need. The other lads sleep in the loft on the other end of the stable. But there is something about the dark, and Kartik's proximity that compels me to keep my voice low. "I need to speak to you. I visited the Realms again."
Kartik is fully awake in an instant. I hear him sit up sharply, his hands fumbling along the floor of the carriage. A match hisses into life, going immediately to the wick of a thick white taper, distorted with the runny wax trails of previous uses.
After the candle has caught, and I look to Kartik, I realize with shock that he is shirtless. His tawny chest is taut with muscle, gleaming faintly in the low light. I look away with a gasp, ducking my head to hide the flush that has flooded my cheeks. Why can we never have a normal conversation? Why must I always be red-faced and completely uncertain of my standing around him? I wish I were bold and fearless like Felicity. But then, she and Kartik don't get on so well, so maybe not.
Kartik laughs softly. "May I help you, Miss Doyle?" he asks mockingly.
"Yes," I snap. "You wouldn't be amiss with putting on a shirt!"
Kartik laughs again. When he speaks, though, his tone is serious. "Why so shy, Gemma? I thought we had come to somewhat of… an understanding."
"I..." I don't know anymore. The past few hours have been maddening, waiting to see him so that I could tell him about Pippa and the Circe. During those hours I had plenty of time to dwell on what Pippa told me about Emily. She wants Kartik. She could easily take him from me. Our meetings are all clandestine, stolen moments, mostly spent debating about the two forces that would like to see me dead. Hardly romantic. Emily on the other hand, is a servant – a dalliance with an Indian boy would hardly be damaging to her reputation. She could see him all the time, on any pretense, and not have to keep her voice down.
"Gemma?" Kartik asks, uncertain.
"Yes, of course," I answer too quickly. "I mean, that is… if you still want to…" I trail off, morbidly embarrassed. What an awful discussion.
"Do you still want to?" Kartik demands.
I exhale slowly. I don't want to beg affection from him.
"Gemma, turn around," Kartik orders. I swivel slowly, obeying without thinking. Kartik has pulled a shirt on, and he is leaning out the carriage window, scowling. "Tell me the truth," he demands.
I look down at my feet. "Yes," I mumble. "I do – if you do."
His hand is under my chin, tilting my head up to receive a soft, sweet kiss. "Good. I do too." The touch of his lips lingers on mine, like a feverish flush.
I smile softly, all insecurities banished. For now, at least.
"Christ, Gemma. You're ice cold!" Kartik's fingers are at his lips.
"I know, I'll explain that."
"It has to do with the realms?" Kartik asks, pushing the door open and extending his hand to help me in. I take a seat across from him, assembling my thoughts. After I've explained the situation to my satisfaction I sit back to observe his reaction.
"I would think that's a good thing," Kartik muses. "She's back on your side, right?"
I shake my head, my arms folded tightly over my chest in a desperate effort to get warm. My lips are still warm from Kartik's kiss. A half-formed idea occurs to me, and before I've thought it out entirely, I am reaching out to Kartik, taking his hands. His warmths floods my fingers like an invisible glow, slowly tracing up my arms. I can feel my blood singing in my veins as I am rewarmed. Or perhaps, that's just because I'm touching Kartik.
"Gemma," Kartik whispers, astonished. "You really are freezing." He loosens himself from my grip and runs his hands up my arms, gliding over my shoulders. When his fingers graze my neck, I feel his warmth again, spreading through my skin, my flesh, my bones. He cups my cheeks with his hands and kisses me again, hard and unrelenting. Warmth floods me in a dizzying rush. I feel feverish, though whether it's from this sudden warmth or Kartik's kiss, I cannot say.
Kartik pulls away gently. I slowly open my eyes, taking in his amused expression.
"Better?"
I nod dumbly. "Much," I agree in a whisper.
"Good." He leans forward and kisses me again. This time he's softer, slower. His lips are like velvet against mine, and his tongue traces the contour of my bottom lip. Instinctively, my lips part for him. My arms are around his neck, and I'm pulling him to me. His weight presses me against the velvet seat while his hands trace my skin through the thin barrier of my dressing gown.
His fingers drift cautiously over my collar bone, slipping down, brushing me softly. A soft moan escapes me. Encouraged, his large hands slide back up my torso, clutching the soft swells of my breasts. My fingers are knotted in his hair, as his thumbs trace maddening circles.
A soft thump on the other end of the stable startles us both. We freeze, staring wild-eyed into the darkness. With one quick movement, Kartik reaches down and snuffs out the candle.
"Go," he whispers in my ear.
I leap from the carriage and run for the house, blood pounding rampantly in my ears. Filled with an energy I can't contain, I leap up the stairs and tear into the kitchen. Once inside the house, I am more careful. I take careful, even steps as I make my way to the stairwell.
On my way, I see that there is a single light burning in the study. I tiptoe carefully past, wondering who is up at this hour. The floorboards creak treacherously under my feet; I take minute steps. As I pass the door of the study, I peer in. Tom is slumped over his desk, sound asleep.
Curiosity and compassion move me in equal measures. I tip-toe carefully over to Tom. His head rests on an unfinished letter, made out for a Surrey. I wonder if he is perhaps writing a relative of one of his patients. It is terribly kind of Tom to write to the families and keep them posted on their loved ones' health. The page is blotted with ink, leaving smudges on Tom's cheek. His pen is curled in his hand, leaking ink onto the sleeve of his shirt. I pull the pen carefully from his fingers, but as soon as it is out of his grasp, he startles awake.
"Gemma!" Tom rubs blearily at his eyes. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"Me? What about you?"
"That's none of your concern." Tom seizes the unfinished letter and crumples it roughly. "Mind your own affairs, Gemma." A heavy flush floods his cheeks and he stands suddenly. "Your own business. Mind your own business."
I snort, most unladylike, and turn to leave. That's my payment for thinking kind things about Tom. I stomp back into the hall and make my way towards the stairs.
"Gemma?" Grandmama comes around the corner in her dressing gown. She blinks foggily in the light from the study. I forgot that Grandmama's bedroom is down the hall from the study. My tantrum must have woken her.
"Hello Grandmama. I was just getting back to bed."
"What are you doing down here? A young lady should not be wandering about in the dead of night."
"Sorry, Grandmama. I couldn't sleep."
Grandmama tsks, but returns to bed.
Tom regards me curiously. "What is the truth, Gemma?"
"Just that," I say casually. "I couldn't sleep."
Tom sighs. "Whatever you're doing… be careful."
I look meaningfully at his ink smudged face. "I could say the same for you."
Tom scowls and pushes roughly past me, leaping up the stairs two at a time.
I really hate this skulking about business. It would be so much easier if I didn't have to dodge Tom and Grandmama every time I need to see Kartik. Though I can just imagine how that conversation would go. Excuse me Grandmama, I need to go speak to our Indian coachman in a dark corner with no chaperone – you don't mind, do you No, no, I'm not mad. It's Circe who's a bit touched, if you ask me. Who's Circe? Oh, only the woman who had Mother killed over a matter concerning another world that I alone can access. I'll only be a minute. Yes, I'll give Mr. Kartik your regards
I hold back a derisive snort as I make my way back upstairs and into my own bedroom. I am still wound with an unshakable frenzy. I am jittery and clumsy and too fast. I toss my dressing gown onto the floor and leap into bed, ripping the covers over myself.
The house is silent. When my breathing slows and my heartbeat no longer drowns out thought, I find I am still restless. I feel unfinished, incomplete. I want to pace, I want to shout, I want to dance. Most of all, I want to return to Kartik.
- - - - -
The next morning at breakfast, Grandmama looks particularly pleased.
"I have good news," she informs us beatifically. Tom and I glance at each other. Father looks mildly interested. Grandmama's flights of fancy rather amuse him, though he would never let her know. Grandmama takes herself very seriously, and though he often patronizes her, Father would never insult her.
"Yes, Grandmama?" Tom asks dutifully.
"The Middletons have invited us to their Christmas Ball!" she declares happily.
I gape unattractively, a spoonful of porridge halfway to my mouth.
"Gemma, mind your manners and don't look so appalled. The Middletons are a lovely family," she enthuses.
"Perhaps the young Mr. Middleton is still enchanted with our Gemma," Father suggests with a playful smile. I smile back, but inside I am screaming. Not again!
"Perhaps!" Grandmama agrees eagerly. "Oh how wonderful!"
"Yes," I agree hollowly. "Marvelous."