First, a very important note: In the last chapter, I forgot to mention that I stole the name "Rajah" from LunaEquus. I'm not sure if she mentioned it in any of her other stories, but in "That Other Redhead", the Doyle family's second horse (you know, the one who's not Ginger) is named Rajah. When I went to write the last chapter I didn't even think about the other horse's name, that's just what I typed. I was going to make a note about it but I completely forgot!

This one is just a different point of view from a part of "Rebel Angels". Some of you guys are going to hate this, but oh well! It was fun and easy to write. (Not really. I debated between multiple scenes in the book or making up my own. But in the end, this won out.) Anyway, I took the dialogue directly from the books, but I sort of had to, being as it's not a rewriting of the passage but just a different view.

Story Twelve

Title: Adventurous

Rating: K

Summary: Pages 224 to 226 of "Rebel Angels", from Simon's point of view.

"You're not like the other young ladies my mother trots before me."

I say it before I know what I'm saying and feel like a fool. "Oh?" Gemma asks, wincing.

"There's something adventurous about you," I say. It's true. I hadn't meant to insult her. Gemma Doyle may seem proper and well-bred, but there's something else to her. It's hard to explain, but I explain it as best as I can. "I feel as if you have a great many secrets I should like to know."

My mother is looking at us. I'm not sure if her gaze is disapproving, but Gemma and I immediately move to occupy ourselves. She pulls a book from a table and lifts the cover as I reposition some figurine that my father and I really don't like but my mother insists on keeping. Gemma's voice is mysterious when she says, "Perhaps you wouldn't really want to know them."

Her words make me want to know her secrets even more. I want to reach out and touch her—her wrist, her hair, a fingernail, anything. "How do you know?" I ask. "Offer me a test."

There is a pause between us before she says in a nonchalant tone, "I have a third eye. I'm a descendent of Atalanta. And my table manners are inexcusable."

I smile, but she doesn't see it. She's too busy feigning interest in the title page of whatever book she's looking at. "I suspected as much," I say, playing along. "That is why we're going to ask you to eat in the stable from now on as a precaution. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all," Gemma says, closing the book and turning her back to me. "What terrible secrets do you have, Mr. Middleton?"

Do I have any secrets? I'm not sure. I suppose that I do. There are things that I've done that my parents can never find out about, unless I am to be disowned. "Besides the gambling, carousing, and pillaging?" I ask, my tone still casual. Gemma is walking now, a slow promenade down the wall. "The truth?" My tone is more down-to-earth.

"Yes," she says, turning to face me. Her eyes are greener than I remember them being just moments before. Did they change or is my mental image of her faulty? "The truth."

"I'm frightfully dull." And it is, honestly, true. Or at least it should be, if I were not so bent on making it the opposite.

"That isn't true," she says, moving away from me again. Her constant movement is beginning to frustrate me.

"I'm afraid it is," I say with a sigh. "I am to find a suitable wife with a suitable fortune and carry on the family name. It's what they expect of me." I don't tell her who they refers to. Any sensible girl of Gemma's status would know, for she would feel similar pressures. "My wishes don't enter into it at all." When she doesn't turn to face me, I realize that I must be embarrassing her. "I'm sorry. That was far too forward of me. You don't need to hear my troubles."

"No, truly. I'm happy to listen." The tone of her voice doesn't suggest anything different.

My mothers voice cuts through our conversation. "Shall we retire to the parlor?" she asks. In a moment, she is gone, the other ladies behind her.

My eyes have not left Gemma this whole time, and I find that she is still looking at me as well. My eyes wander to her dark, rich, red hair. The rose that is pinned to it is falling. "Your flower is slipping, Miss Doyle." Again, I am saying things before I know that I am saying them. The flower falls to her neck, and I reach for it just as she does. Our fingers touch, and she immediately turns her head, her cheeks turning an alluring shade of red.

"Thank you."

"May I?" I don't wait for her permission. Carefully, I pick up the rose, and place it behind her ear. She does nothing, and for a moment I wonder if perhaps she is not so adventurous after all. But when I pull my hand away from her hair and she glances up at me, my doubts vanish.

Just then there is a tap at the window, and then another. Someone is throwing stones at the window. "Who is throwing rocks?" I ask, pulling my gaze from Gemma's and instead squinting into the darkness. I open the window, which we are standing just in front of, and the cold air that hits my face is a relief. I feel amazingly clearheaded, as if I'd been drunken just moments before and the air had caused me to become sober. Gemma peers out of the window behind me, but when neither of see anything below, I shut the window.

"I should join the ladies," she says from behind me. "Grandmama will be worried about me."

And when I turn around, the room is empty, save for myself and the maid.

She hasn't told me any of her secrets.