Libba Bray is so totally cool. I am not her. Therefore, I am not so totally cool.
Gemma's POV
"Raise your chin a little to the – ah yes, that's it Miss Doyle."
"Such a lovely job you've done with the eyes! It's a spitting image of our Gemma. Pity she chose that necklace, though. Such an odd piece of jewelry surely takes away from her delicate features."
Delicate? I let out a snort, but quickly turn it into a cough as Grandmama and her hired portraitist fix me with their intolerant stares. I resign to my trained, expressionless face, aching for my portrait to be finished. Perhaps things would move along faster if my grandmother didn't insist on fawning all over the painting every few minutes. And then there is the painter. More tea, more biscuits, a towel to wipe the sweat from his brow… What ever happened to artists suffering for their work?
Instead it is most certainly the subject that suffers. I haven't dare moved for the past three hours, lest I submit to the wrath of my grandmother. For certainly, any slight changes in my posture will result in a catastrophe comparable to the end of the world itself. Ah, there it is! I can feel the flames of Hell claiming me now. Oh wait, dreadfully sorry, that is just the heat of the afternoon sun pouring into the room, where the fireplace is roaring, for the painter felt a draft. Apparently a draft in summer is a bad thing, or perhaps I am just grumpy from sitting here for so long in such boiling heat.
"Nearly finished," the painter says with a lilting voice.
I immediately start planning my freedom. I shall first change into one of my lighter weight dresses, loosening my corset as I do so. Then I shall take my hair out of the pinned prison it is in now. Afterwards I will steal away from the stuffy house and perhaps visit a certain coachman. Yes, that sounds like a good plan indeed.
"Now where was that smile when I was painting your face?" The painter's voice pushes thoughts of Kartik from my mind.
"Gemma, come and have a look at your portrait," Grandmama says, smiling proudly. Her expression reassures me that it is not awful, though I am nervous to see my first official portrait as a lady, the painting that will be on display for all to see at my coming out ball.
I stand slowly, wincing in pain at the movement as my muscles come out of their slumber. My legs feel grateful to support my weight again, though my bottom seems to have lost all feeling.
I take in the painting as I approach it; the expectant stares from the painter and grandmother boring into my head. It's lovely, but ordinary. I have been painted to look like a proper lady, stoic and emotionless, but the painter's talent is noticeable right away. The brushstrokes are delicate and soft, suitable for a debutante's portrait.
A debutante, is that what I am? I am a split personality, adventurous yet dutiful, obedient yet a complete rule-breaker. I have always just wished for life to be easy, to be a proper lady and nothing else, yet here I am, the portrait reflecting all but my secret side. The side of me I have never wanted but cater to with all my heart, the side of me that is me. What the careful strokes failed to capture was the magical, forbidden life I lead. On the canvas sits the girl everyone wants to see. What is missing is the girl who would rather run her own life.
Silent anticipation hangs in the air as my reaction is judged. As always, more is expected of me, and as always, I do not disappoint. I am a good girl on the outside, and a jumbled mess on the inside.
"It's beautiful!" I exclaim, satisfying my audience. More formalities are exchanged and endured, and soon I am free to leave.
Once in the sanctity of my room, I start undressing with haste. Off comes the elaborate gown of a flattering emerald silk. The corset is loosened, the stockings removed, the hairpins ripped out. I slip into a gauzy dress of the palest purple, my favorite color. I study my reflection carefully until I am confident that Kartik won't run screaming from me.
I emerge from the house a more comfortable, relaxed girl. The sun is still bright and the sky is a clear blue dotted with puffy clouds. My heart pangs as I remember watching clouds change shape with my mother. I see a cloud that resembles a duck; I keep my eyes glued to it as it slowly becomes a giraffe.
The breeze is a glorious relief from the heated drawing room. It causes my hair and dress to flutter about me. Instead of stopping at the carriage house, I keep walking to the grassy paddocks behind the mews, certain that Kartik would not want to spend such a day inside. I see father's two horses grazing peacefully, and Kartik sitting against a tree not too far away. He looks up from a book as I let myself through the gate.
"Hello," I say cheerfully, my mood as bright as the sun.
A beautiful smile lights up his face. "How did it go?" he asks.
"It was lovely, considering the cramped muscles and temperatures comparable to a furnace. I take it your afternoon was more desirable?" I silently curse myself for using the word 'desirable'. Now I've gone and summoned it in both our heads.
His mouth twists into a very subtle seductive smile. "As I wasn't with you, I can't say it was very desirable." He closes the book in his hands. It is larger than a normal book, and unmarked I notice.
"What are you reading?" I ask, reaching for the book.
"Nothing," he says quickly, snatching it away. "It's nothing."
Proper manners dictate that I do not press the matter further; however, I am far too curious in Kartik's private life to care. I advance again, blocking him from standing up. He is trapped between me and the tree.
Sighing in resignation, Kartik hands me the book. The book is heavy in my hands. Opening it reveals that it is not a book to read. Instead, charcoal sketches fill the thick pages. I look up in surprise.
Kartik's face is a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I know, I'm not very good."
Turning the pages, I immediately disregard his comment. On the contrary, he shows some serious talent. One page shows numerous poses of a deer, sketched quickly but accurately, as if to capture it before it moved again. Another page features an immense structure, which I quickly recognize as Spence, drawn in perfect detail down to the last gargoyle. I go to turn the page, but Kartik steals it from me again.
"That's not very nice," I say hotly.
His cheeks are flushed. "You don't need to see anymore."
"You're quite good, you know."
The sudden change of my tone catches him off guard. His face softens. "Do you think so?"
"Yes. You have a lot of talent."
"Thank you," he mumbles, looking slightly proud of himself.
I sit next to him. "Is that what you do in your spare time?"
His hands grip the book as if he is afraid I'll try to take it again. "Maybe," he says indifferently.
I don't know why he is acting so childish. What is so embarrassing about drawing? "What's the matter?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says, looking at his hands. "Why would you ask?"
"You're so flustered."
He looks at me sheepishly. "I've never shown this to anyone before."
I look around to make sure no one is around. The horses are our only company. I place my hand atop his and kiss him softly. "It's good to have a hobby," I whisper, my face only a few inches from his.
"What's yours?"
"This," I say, kissing him again, more deeply than before. I know it's not proper to kiss a man. Ladies should wait to be kissed. But I am more content to give and take what I want, and I don't hear Kartik complaining. I hold his face in my hands and experiment with my tongue, letting it slip in between his lips, but withdrawing it before he can take control.
"Can I see the rest?" I murmur against his lips. My hand travels from his face, down his arm, and comes to a rest on the edge of the book. Before he can answer, I pull it from his hands and let go of him. I glance at him before opening the book. He nods slightly, clearing his throat.
I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and open the book to the first page. A small scene of the gypsy camp is laid out in black in white.
"I drew this the first night I stayed with the caravan," Kartik explains.
"So this is what you did when you weren't stalking me," I joked lightly. The next few pages showed things that were ordinary enough – animals, scenery and the like, all accurately sketched out with charcoal. I came to the page that showed Spence, the page Kartik wouldn't let me turn past.
I look at him and study his expression. His eyes meet mine shyly. "Kartik," I say. "Is there something you don't want me to see on the next page?"
"No," he says, shaking his head. "It's okay."
I turn the page and my heart gives a jolt. On the page it's…me. "When did you draw this?" I ask breathlessly.
"Around the time you and your friends visited Mother Elena. Do you hate it?"
I study the drawing carefully. It's different from the other sketches; instead of having the look of careless haste, the lines are soft and careful, implying he took his time with it. And it was detailed; there were the freckles, the disdainful look I used to carry on my features. The details were surprising, for I never posed for him, which meant he drew from memory, a fact that flattered me greatly.
"I love it," I say simply. Beside me, I feel his body relax. He kisses me on the cheek hastily.
"I've gotten better since then. At least, I think I have," he furrows his brows in an adorable manner. "I could draw you again, if you'd like."
"Would you? That'd be lovely!"
"I'll be right back then," he says, up and running before I can respond. I admire his retreating figure, the very image of male grace and strength. Kartik doesn't know how much I long to run my hands over him, feeling his muscles flexing under his smooth skin. His naked body must be such a sight to see.
I sigh and lean against the tree, stretching my legs out in front of me. My skirt pools around my knees, exposing my pale calves. I should be concerned, but I'm not. Not with Kartik. He can look at my legs if he wants to.
I tap my shoes together at the toes. I wonder what it would be like to be naked with Kartik. Not just in our undergarments, but properly naked. No doubt we wouldn't be able to keep our hands off of each other. I don't think I'd be nervous, I'm quite sure I'd enjoy myself.
Tap, tap.
Would it happen like my dream? Recalling the scene makes me ache in a most delightful fashion. I can practically imagine us rolling together, making love. I don't suppose I'd think of England once. Being with him would truly be an enjoyable experience, and I regret not doing it when I had the chance.
Tap, tap.
If only there wouldn't be so many repercussions if we did it. Why is it such a bad thing when it's so natural, and feels so good? Next time, I might not hold back. And what of Kartik? Will he try to resist for my wellbeing? How hard would I try to make him change his mind? I want him so badly.
Tap.
"Sorry I took so long," Kartik says, catching his breath.
"I didn't even notice you were back." It's the truth. I was so absorbed in my fantasies that I didn't see him.
He kneels next to me and presses his lips to mine in a quick kiss. "Colors!" he exclaims, holding a small package of pastels in his hand.
The feel of his lips lingers on mine. I brush them with my fingers, a new awareness of him forming since my revelation. I can feel his presence greater than before, and the urge to dispel all politeness and tear off his clothes right there.
"Are you okay?" Kartik's voice is laced with a touch of concern.
"Yes, I'm fine," I say quickly, blushing. What is the matter with me? I am a lady, not a prostitute. But what's wrong with just sleeping with Kartik? NOTHING. Okay, pregnancy is a bad thing, and I am not married to him. And he is Indian. Other than that, there is nothing wrong. I can, I can't, I can, I can't…
His choice can be mine.
"Kartik," I start. "Should we…?"
Beneath his black hair, his large eyes look at me curiously. "Yes," he says.
My heart skips a beat. Does he know what I was about to ask? But then he shakes his hair out of his eyes and grins. "Or no. It depends on what you want to know. But in order for me to answer, you have to ask."
I can't help but stare stupidly at him. Sometimes he just doesn't make any sense. Seeing my expression, Kartik's grin vanishes. He clears his throat again and gestures towards his sketchbook. I am thankful for the distraction.
I stand and reposition myself across from him, ready to pose for the second time today. "How shall I pose?" I ask.
"You don't have to. I can still draw if you move," he says, smiling again. I cannot help but note how handsome he looks. "I daresay you've had enough of posing."
"You spoil me, Kartik."
"Anything for you, Gemma."
I sigh. He really has given me everything. He gave up everything for me.
"I don't deserve you, Kartik."
His full mouth curves into a small smile, but he doesn't say anything. I watch him as he sketches, the pastels making quiet scratching sounds as they stroke the paper. The sunlight gleams on his black hair, highlighting each of his silky curls. He pauses, then selects another pastel, his long fingers wrapping around it. I dreamt of those fingers once, and they were equally skillful in another way.
He looks up at me, and I quickly turn my head. I can feel his gaze as I pretend to be enthralled with the horses. As I watch them, I realize that they remind me of Kartik and me. Ginger and her chestnut coat comparable to my own red hair, and Rajah who is black and shiny like Kartik's hair. I wonder vaguely if Ginger ever gets the urge to ravish Rajah, or vice versa. But then I remember that they are horses.
"Gemma," Kartik sings out in a lilting voice. "Gemma, Gemma, Gemma."
"Yes?" He doesn't even look up from his drawing.
"Nothing, I just like saying your name."
"I see." That's an odd thing to say, even for him. I toss my hair over my shoulder and pick a blade of grass. I am sorry to say that I am bored.
"You know what I liked most about the realms?" Kartik asks.
"What?"
He finally looks up at me. "It was like I was connected to you. Like the two of us shared a secret and everyone else was missing out."
"We do share a secret."
He smiles in his flirtatious way. "Yes, but it felt different there. It felt like everything just wanted us to be … together."
Now that I think back on it, my trip to the realms with him was different than any time I had went with Felicity and Ann. I could feel the pull of the magic, like magnetism, every time he came close. And once we were together, it felt right, like we should never have to be apart. Like the magic was coursing through both of us in a continuous circuit.
"Yet another question we need answered," I say.
"You felt it too, right?"
"I did."
He smiles broader. "Of course you did." He runs a hand through his hair. I'd like to do the same. In fact, I'd like to do a lot to him. He's so … irresistible and mysterious. I find I don't know that much about him.
"Kartik, what were you like as a boy?" If my question has startled him, he doesn't show it.
"I cannot remember much before the Rakshana, and once I was with them my childhood ended fast. I was obedient and quiet. Not much to say about it."
"Oh," I say, feeling sorry for him as a child. "You can't remember anything before the Rakshana? Not one little thing?"
He laughs softly. "I remember little things, like my mother's perfume and the silk of her saris." He notes my surprised expression. "Yes, my family had money. My father was quite a successful business man. Or something like that. I remember he'd sometimes have guests at the house, and I'd spy on them when I was supposed to be asleep."
Kartik smiles serenely. "My favorite color was green," he says, gazing at me. "Like your eyes."
My heart beats faster. "Mine's purple," I say quickly, indicating my gown. His eyes flit over the length of me, pausing briefly at my chest. I bite my lip, remembering just what he did to that part of me just a few nights ago. Here, in the bright sun, it seems ages away. "But your eyes aren't purple, sorry."
His eyebrows rise in surprise for a moment, and then he breaks out into laughter. "Clever Gemma," is all he says, and he goes back to work at his drawing.
I sigh and kick my shoes off. I want him to look at me. I want him to want me. But first, he has to look at me. To my left, Ginger falls to the ground to roll. At the sound, Rajah looks at her, ears perked. There is no way I am going to roll around like that to get Kartik's attention. But it has given me an idea.
Placing my hands on the ground behind me, I arch my back into a luxurious stretch. Out of the corner of my eye I see Kartik's hand stop moving. I turn my head to look at him; he quickly looks away, resuming his drawing with an increased speed.
I laugh softly and watch as his cheeks burn. He looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the sugar bowl. "My, my, Mister Kartik, I must say you were looking at me as if I was a piece of ripe fruit," I chide playfully.
"Aren't you the little tease today, Miss Gemma."
"A tease? Moi? Never!" I cross my bared legs in front of him and watch as his eyes travel their length. His desire emboldens me. I hold out my hand to him. "Would you like a bite?"
The book and pastels are tossed aside, forgotten. He is kneeling, a knee on either side of my legs, kissing me with fervor. I gasp as he bites the side of my neck. It doesn't hurt terribly, but it leaves a mark, which he kisses softly to soothe. I know we shouldn't do this in such plain sight, hidden only by a tree and the hope that no one is in the mews. I cannot help but twist my fingers into his dark curls, watching as my white skin gets lost in the inky black of his hair.
He traces his finger over the edge of the crescent moon of my amulet and then lets his fingers trail softly over the swell of my breast. I want so much to submit to this sweet torture, as I promised myself I was ready to, but this is not the right place. Too many people would see. Too many people could be watching right this very moment. Right now, watching us.
I push him off with a strangled cry. "Kartik! People might see!"
He looks slightly angered. "You started it, you know. Don't act as if it's my fault."
"I'm not. I was just worried someone would see us," I pause, wishing the anger would leave his face. "I'm sorry."
Silence stretches between us uncomfortably. "Don't be," Kartik finally says. "I am sorry that your hobby is so dangerous. Perhaps you should take up something safer."
My heart stops. Could he be suggesting…that we end our relationship?
He smiles. "Might I suggest lion taming?
I sigh, relieved. He picks up his sketchbook again and settles back against the tree.
"Kartik," I begin softly. He looks up at me. "I should clarify something I said before. You…are not just a hobby to me. I was only trying to be clever."
"I know, Gemma."
We look at each other for a few moments. He twirls a blue pastel between his fingers. A few yards away, Ginger and Rajah scratch each other's withers with their teeth. I can't help but laugh. At least Rajah can bite Ginger's neck without getting in trouble.
"Are you almost finished, Kartik?"
"Nearly."
"Can I see?"
"No."
I lay back in the grass with a huff. Above me, a castle turns into a frog, which slowly merges with a teacup. When I was a child, life was not this complicated. The frog-teacup turns into a girl. When I was a child, I got what I want. Another cloud becomes a boy. When I was a child, I didn't know Kartik. The breeze blows the girl and the boy together; they become one giant cloud.
Forget being a child, I want to become a cloud with Kartik. Well, figuratively speaking, of course. If I consummate my love with him, no one can force us apart. Even if we had a child of our own, there would be scandal, but at least we'd be damned together. Oh, why am I thinking this? There has to be a way our love would be okay. What if Kartik was reunited with his parents? At least he'd have money then. Money makes people accept you as one of them.
"Are your parents still alive?" I wince at how insensitive I sound.
It doesn't seem to bother Kartik. "I don't know," he says.
"What if they were?"
He eyes me curiously. "I don't know?" He shakes his hair from his eyes, a motion I notice he does a lot.
"What if you found your parents and they were ecstatic to see their son again? What if they accepted you back into their family again? You said they had money. Put two and two together, Kartik." Once again, I regret my word usage.
"I don't understand…" Kartik says slowly.
"If people thought you had money, it would be that much less of a scandal. We could paint you a past. People would accept you like they did Ann, only with you, it wouldn't be a lie."
"I don't know, Gemma. It's too much of a long shot."
I feel my face fall. He notes this with a sad smile. "I will make inquiries. But it might be very long until I know anything, if I get answers at all, that is."
It is good enough. "I will make inquiries as well," I say.
He cocks his head to the side in question, but returns to drawing when all I do is smile in response. A breeze ruffles his hair softly. He stops drawing and studies his work.
"I'm finished," he says, looking up.
"May I see now?"
He hands me the open book with a smile. My heart beats quickly as I take in the vivid colors. This is far different from anything else in the book, and not just because of the color. There is me, from just below my shoulders up. The crescent eye hangs around my neck, but other than that, nothing covers me. My face is serene and mysterious, albeit freckled, but still beautiful. My hair swirls up to become the everlasting sunset of the realms. My eyes, drawn out in perfect detail down to the last eyelash, match the emerald green of the garden. Behind my naked shoulders is the river we swam in, its crystalline blue inviting even on paper. What surprises me most about the drawing is not the undeniable beauty of it, but the truth behind it. Kartik has captured the girl that no one sees, or wants to see.
That is, expect for him. Kartik never fails to see me, the real me.
"So…" he starts. "Do you like it?"
"It is perfection. If only we could frame this for all to see."
Kartik snorts. "They'd take one look at the bare shoulders and run away screaming."
"What made you draw me like this?"
He shrugs. "I drew what I saw in my head. You and the realms, the two most beautiful things I've ever laid eyes on." He grins at my blushing face.
"Can I keep this?"
He takes the book back and carefully pulls the page from its binding. "It's yours," he says, handing it back to me.
"Thank you, I shall treasure it," I reply, trying not to jump on him and further put my reputation in jeopardy. A sudden thought crosses my head. "I'd like for you to attend my coming out ball, Kartik."
His eyes widen. "Are you joking?"
"Not at all."
"But I wasn't invited. I'm your servant."
"Not anymore," I say cheerfully. "You're my wealthy friend from Bombay."
He knits his brows in frustration. "I am your coachman. It is no doubt that I will be recognized as such."
"Kartik," I sing out. "Kartik, Kartik, Kartik."
"What?" he asks.
"Nothing, I just like to say your name." He stares at me in disbelief. I sit next to him and brush the curls from his smooth forehead and plant a kiss there. His warm brown eyes are unsure and searching as he looks into mine. "You're dabbling in charitable acts before you follow in your father's footsteps. You wanted to see life from the other side to better understand your clients."
"You're mad, Gemma. So mad, in fact, it just might work." His eyebrows rise excitedly. "And if it doesn't…" he kisses me full on the lips.
"It will," I say, kissing him back. I settle against the tree, hidden from sight, and wrap my arms around him. Beyond us, Rajah nickers throatily to Ginger, who answers back with a shrill neigh. Over Kartik's shoulder, I see them nuzzle each other, then trot off together.
Things are looking up for all of us, it seems.
Um, totally won first place at my horse show! And I classed up. So...go me? But that's just me bragging, pay no mind.
So Gemma and Kartik are scheming. Disaster? Eh, let's give them a break. Three more chapters to go!
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LunaEquus