Page 84 of Infamous

‘Don’t sulk,’ Eddie said, turning away onto her back but keeping half an eye on him as she did. ‘Are you going to leave of your own accord, or am I going to have to call Henry in here to cart you out?’

‘Pleasecall for Henry. There must be room enough in this bed for three.’

‘Nash, you are simply saying the worst things you can think of to try to horrify me.’

He chuckled, low and throaty. ‘I just like to see you blush and squirm. Alas, you are so difficult to shock these days.’

He had no idea how many times she had truly been astonished at his behaviour; she had wanted to seem so calm and collected, so unruffled by it all, and apparently, she had mostly succeeded. She wondered if this was the person he seemed to like so much –Edie, the unshockable. A mirage; a person who didn’t actually exist unless he was looking directly at her.

‘Nash, I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed.’

He shifted up on to his elbow, frowning down at her.

‘You really want me to leave?’

‘I really do.’

‘Fine. Just indulge me for a minute more.’

He leaned over to kiss Eddie again, this time trapping her face beneath his hands. She kissed him back hesitantly and he responded at once, shifting so that he was holding himself above her. He was wearing a silver necklace Eddie had never noticed before; a heart-shaped locket, which was cold against her neck. She found herself unable to relax, discomforted by the fact that they were in her bed with the door closed; there was no chance they would be interrupted this time, and something about that made her feel panicked. She was so tired, and so comparatively sober – and although she tried very hard not to, all she could think about was Rose. How right and easy it had felt with her. The fact that Rose had been so careful not to demand too much too soon, and for no reason at all – Eddie had known she would always find more of herself to give, for as long as Rose wanted to take it.

Nash had already taken too much, and they had only been kissing for approximately ten seconds. One of his hands had started to roam, making its way down to the curve of her waist, and she reached out with one of her own to stop it in its tracks.

‘Enough, I think,’ she said, indistinct against his lips; he sighed another quiet, frustrated little sigh and then released her, getting to his feet. Eddie eased up on to her elbows, frowning after him. ‘You’re not .?.?. You aren’tangrywith me, are you? For being such a spoilsport.’

Nash swiped his bottle of wine and shrugged, giving her a strange little half-smile on his way out of the door.

‘Angry? No, no. But your skills as a hostess, Miss Miller, leavemuchto be desired.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

‘You look exhausted. Can I paint you?’

Eddie looked up from her luncheon and squinted at Kitty. Shewasexhausted; she had awoken at five o’clock in the pitch-black and immediately rolled out of bed, struck by an arresting turn of phrase. She had attempted to stoke the fire herself and in the end had given up, shivering over her new desk with just the stub of a candle to work by, writing as fast as she could manage while keeping everything legible.

‘Why do you want to paint me exhausted?’ Eddie croaked eventually, having taken a long time to form the sentence.

‘Because you are at your most interesting,’ Kitty said, shrugging. ‘Valentine is far too mellow at the moment, it’d be like painting a .?.?. a fork, or a shrub.’

‘Thank yousomuch,’ Valentine said, violently spearing an egg. ‘You really know how to make a person feel special.’

‘You aresometimesinteresting, Val. Just not at this particular moment. If you have another romantic disappointment or fall into the lake, come and see me and I shall paint you in despondent azure and doleful navy.’

‘Crestfallen cobalt,’ Eddie said through a mouthful of bread, both sounding and feeling slightly delirious.

‘Well, quite.’

‘Where’s Nash?’ said Eddie, finally managing to swallow her bread.

‘No idea,’ said Valentine. ‘He said we’d go shooting.’

‘What do you want toshootthings for?’ Kitty scoffed. ‘Actually, if you do manage to kill anything, would you bring it to me before you pluck it or skin it or whatever you plan to do? So I can—’

‘Paint it? So I am a fork, and a pheasant full of shot is a work of art?’

‘Now you’re catching on. Anyway, he’s on another walk with Juno. Or .?.?. perhaps his walk from this morning never ended, it is hard to tell. He is in a very odd mood again. I would attempt to painthim, but I think he might snap my paintbrush in half and run me through with it.’

Eddie barely registered getting up from the table and returning to the library. She had expected Nash to join her again, but supposed he must have gone to meet Valentine for their promised jaunt; she could hardly hold it against him, but she did miss his presence on the other side of the table. Before she knew it, the sky was darkening out of the window and she was shivering even in her coat and gloves. She could not understand why she was so cold, until she realised that she hadn’t seen a servant for hours – usually they crept noiselessly in to take care of the fire and bring her more candles, not that Eddie noticed when her head was full of Delilah Fortescue, top hat in hand, being held at gunpoint in a churchyard.