He was enjoying these kisses.
Why wasn’t I? What was wrong with me?
Let me get this right,I thought, finally daring to let my fingertips rest on his shoulders.Pontus, please, let me do this right.
After a moment’s lingering, Alex broke away, smiling and giddy. “Would you want to meet me down by the lake tomorrow? There’s something I’d love to show you.”
I wanted to. I wanted to be the kind of girl who was ready to be fallen in love with. We’d been all over the estate together, without even a hint of a chaperone. So why did the thought of being alone with him suddenly fill me with dread?
There was sure to be more of this there. More kissing. More moments where I was bound to get it wrong and ruin everything.
“Tomorrow is the big soiree,” I reminded him. Couldn’t he hear my heart clunking out of rhythm? My face felt impossibly hot—he had to see my reddened cheeks. Did they look flushed with pleasure or like the embarrassed stain of a girl who felt in over her head?
“I know.”
“Won’t your mother need help with…things?” On the few occasions Camille had hosted any sort of event at Highmoor, the entire manor was thrown into chaos. At our breakfasts together, Dauphine had talked of nothing but the party. So many details to plan, so many specifics to work through.
“Not with all the extra footmen she’s bringing in.”
“But—”
“You’re going to love it, I know you will. You should bring your sketchbook.”
Curiosity stirred within me, strong enough to cut through the anxieties pattering through my veins.
“You really think we won’t be missed?”
“Wear the gown too,” he instructed. “The one Mother has been going on and on about.”
“You want me to draw…in a ball gown?” I asked dubiously.
“You’re the one who likes to draw…. I just want to see you in the gown.” He flashed me a grin and I knew I couldn’t say no.
“Tomorrow,” I promised.
Alex’s fingers twined through mine and he brought his lips to my palm, mirroring the gesture he made on our first meeting and sparking a little flutter of affection in my chest. I didn’tmind kisses like that, soft and one-sided and with no pressure to return them.
“I should let you get some rest. I can’t imagine how tired you must be.” He pressed a final kiss to my forehead. His mouth was warm and tender and I ached to experience that same easy affection he so effortlessly gave away.
“Have a good night’s sleep,” I murmured, tentatively running my hand down his arm. It seemed overly formal and stilted but Alex smiled at me all the same.
“How could I not?” he replied, easing his chair through the room. At the threshold, he turned around to wink at me. “I’ll be dreaming of you.”
The room was too hot.
Bedsheets knotted around my legs, as twisted and tangled as the vines of ivy growing up over Chauntilalie. I flipped my pillow over again, desperate for the cooling relief of its underside but found no comfort.
When the first peacock called out, shrieking in the humid night, I sat up with a groan.
It would be impossible to fall back asleep with those birds at it again.
On the bedside table were two candlesticks—one with Annaleigh’s offering, the other with the Chauntilalie blend of pink wax. I fiddled with the little glass cloche beside them, fumbling to free a wooden match, as I pondered which of the candles to light.
Gerard’s revelation that my sister’s gift was meant to act as a ward against ghosts should have felt as a surprise, but the more I thought on it, I found it was not. It was a typical Annaleigh thing to do—protecting, always protecting, even when she couldn’t be present herself.
As much as I wanted to dismiss the idea as an island superstition, the candles must work. I’d seen no evidence of spirits since arriving at Chauntilalie.
But you saw Hanna,that awful little voice in my head reminded me.You saw Hanna Whitten who has been dead and gone these last twelve years light them herself. Hundreds of times. How effective could they truly be?
