Page 166 of Ashen Torment

My skin itches without reason, as if something were trapped inside and wanted to get out.

Whatever it may be, it must not surface.

I close my eyes for an instant.

The weight returns.

Not the face.

Not the voice.

The full weight in my hand.

The taut skin.

The raised veins, hard beneath my fingers, the blood that responds, that surges without waiting.

The body that grows, that beats, that offers itself and resists all at once, prisoner and consenting.

My stomach contracts.

I reopen my eyes.

The room sways, I grip the edge of the chair until the floor stops moving. I stand up, then sit down again. My legs do not obey immediately. The heat returns, stronger, flowing behind my ears, along my neck. I undo one button, then another.

Étienne enters without a sound. “Monsieur le Vicomte.”

He stops a few paces away.

“Lord Richard has arrived. He awaits you.”

“Let him know I am coming at once.”

He inclines his head slightly but does not move.

“Are you well?”

I push my hands against the armrests of the chair and stand. The floor comes up to meet me, then settles back into place. I keep my shoulders straight. He takes half a step forward, then halts. He turns toward the door that has just opened. Marie is on the threshold, motionless, her hands gathered in her apron.

“Marie,” he says quietly, “tell Lord Brownell that the Viscount is coming down. And tell Benjamin to ready Étoile.”

She nods and disappears into the corridor.

My valet returns to me, his fingers graze the cloth of the jacket draped over the back of the chair. He holds it out to me. I slide in one arm, then the other, with a gesture that lacks precision.

He tightens his grip slightly on the fabric, adjusting the collar. His knuckles brush my neck, they are cold.

I swallow. The button slips from my fingers. My valet takes it and fastens it for me, calmly.

The air still weighs heavy on my chest.

“The cloak?”

I nod.

He settles it upon my shoulders.

“Let us go.”