Page 95 of Infamous

‘Nothing,’ said Valentine.

Eddie ducked behind her screen to dress quickly, and Valentine used the opportunity to attempt to sidle from the room.

‘Stop it,’ said Eddie. ‘You are being very strange. Why are you trying to flee?’

‘Ah,’ said Valentine, with a shifty glance back over at the bed. ‘I would quite like to be very far from here when this incendiary explodes.’

Eddie finished dressing and went to see what was causing so much agitation, letting the contents of the package slide gently from the brown paper into her hands.

It was a book.The Gentleman,Volume One, by Nash Nicholson.

It didn’t make an ounce of sense; Nash had notwrittena book. Eddie would have noticed. He had perhaps had time to write a few pages here and there – she had seen him sometimes, scribbling in corners or going to fetch ink – but she certainly would have noticed if he had been working hard enough to produce something as complete as this. She opened it to the title page, which indicated that this was a test printing, and then flipped through to the first page.

Delilah Fortescue had not intended to kill her husband – but once the unfortunate act had taken place, it felt unforgivably rude not to keep his appointments .?.?.

Eddie felt shock course through the entire length of her body, followed by a ringing numbness that turned the world around her to static and soap bubbles. There had been some sort of mistake. Nash’s editor had somehow encountered Eddie’s manuscript – perhapsRosehad sent it, meaning well? – and had unintentionally published it under Nash’s name.

But, of course, that made no sense whatsoever. Because Liza had brought the package to him. Nash had received it, and not said a word to Eddie about it.

And now Valentine had come to deliver it.

‘What is this?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘I – we – thought you ought to know,’ said Valentine, with a grimace.

It was no accident. Nash hadstolenher manuscript.

She held it in her hands, months and months of her life, printed under Nash’s name and ready to be distributed to the masses – and suddenly she wasn’t the least bit tired.

She felt as if she could have burned the house to ashes with just the force of her fury, and Nash with it.

He had told her that her novel was rudimentary; he had mocked it, said that it was not ready. He had made her feel as if it was worth nothing.

He had lied.

Eddie looked down atThe Gentlemanand turned the pages once more, not realising she was crying until a fat teardrop splattered across the wordtumescent, rendering it a blotchy blur. Here was the part where her heroine put on gentleman’s attire for the first time and marvelled at the rightness of it; here the scene where she accidentally courted a woman, whose smile and deft sense of humour had been painted in shades of Rose.

‘I am going to kill him,’ Eddie said quietly. ‘I am going tokill him.’ The second time she said it, it came out more like a scream.

‘Look,’ Valentine said urgently. ‘He is an imbecile, that much is plain. But .?.?. I’m sorry to say this, Eddie, I really am – you have little chance at recourse. It’s already out. So it might be worth—’

Eddie was on the move, fuelled by pure, molten rage.

‘Where is he?’

‘He and Liza went for a walk,’ Valentine said, struggling to keep up on one good ankle. Eddie abruptly changed course, heading for the Gold Chamber. ‘Eddie,slow down, just think for a second—’

The sound that issued from Eddie’s mouth could have been accurately described as a snarl. She marched into Nash’s room, threw the book down on his bed, picked up everything she could carry in one armful from his desk and then hurled it into the fire.

It caught easily, the paper starting to blacken and curl at once.

It felt wonderful. Eddie wanted more.

She cleared his desk completely and made a start on his clothes, throwing an expensive-looking top hat into the hearth with another scream of frustration. Valentine just stood there, looking very pale, not attempting to stop her.

The fireplace reached full capacity quickly; a vase from the mantel met an abrupt end on the rug instead, and then a small porcelain dog, crunching gratifyingly under her shoe.

‘That was Liza’s,’ Valentine said. ‘Just for the record.’