“But why didn’t youtellme?” I demanded, jerking back. My voice was rising; I couldn’t help it. “Didn’t you think I would even care?”
Dideveryonethink me so self-absorbed? Even him?
“Of course I knew you would care,” Wrexham snapped, dropping his hand. “For God’s sake, Harwood, why do youthinkI didn’t tell you? You already gave me up against my will once before, because you were so determined to protect me. Do you think I’d hand youanyexcuse to do that to me again?Ever?”
I stared down at him, stunned. “You’re that certain I would have chosen my school over you?”
“Iknowyou—wait. No.” Wrexham closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a ragged breath beneath me. “This isn’t the right way for us to discuss it.Damnit!”
Damn it, indeed.
Silently, I shifted aside until I was propped on one elbow on the mattress beside him. It was more than large enough for two people; it had been built as a marriage-bed, after all. We didn’t even have to touch to share it.
Wrexham expelled a long, deep breath, keeping his eyes firmly closed. Dark shadows spread beneath his eyelashes, unmistakable marks of exhaustion. “Harwood,” he said, “myHarwood. Do we truly have to discuss this right now? I can only stay for one night. I have to be gone again in the morning—”
“So we won’t have another chance before you leave.” I swallowed down a hard, swollen knot in my throat as my gaze traced the black stubble growing on his lean cheeks. No wonder he was exhausted; he’d been fighting off magical disasters for weeks, and he’d used even more energy to transport himself here tonight, only to do it again in just a few more hours.
No wonder Mr. Westgate was so angry on his behalf.
A better wife—a less selfish wife—would set aside hard truths for the sake of letting him rest. But the thought of sending him away for even more weeks of aching separation with this poisonous question simmering, toxic and unresolved between us...
“If I had told you,” Wrexham said wearily, his eyes still closed, “you would have responded in one of only two possible ways. You could have given me up—again—and it would have broken me. I mean it, Harwood. I can’t go through that again.”
I let out a growl of vexation. “Wrexham—”
“Or,” he continued implacably, “you could have given up your school for my sake...and that would have brokenyou.” His eyes finally opened, unshielded and vulnerable, exposing himself to me utterly. “I know you, Harwood. I know what this chance means to you. It’s your future.”
“But what about whatyoumean to me, you fool?” I pushed one hand hard against his lean shoulder, biting back angry tears. “Don’t you think I care aboutyourdreams?Yourfuture?”
The career he’d built for himself was nigh-on miraculous for a boy born into a poor sailor’s family on the grimy seaside docks of Brigg Stow. His mother and his much older sisters had spent most of their lives working for a pittance in other people’s ships, while his soft-spoken, poetical father had kept house with his son and earned eye-wateringly tiny wages through tutoring their neighbors in his native Marathan.
Wrexham had never attended any of the famous preparatory schools created for gentlemen’s sons like my brother; instead, he’d fought his way into the Great Library through scholarships, determination, and inarguable skill. The fact that he’d then gone on to join the most elite and highly-paid force of magic-workers in the nation wasn’t testimony to his talent alone; it was the result of decades of hard work and driving ambition.
He deserved every honor Mr. Westgate had ever predicted for him.
...And suddenly, I understood exactly why his mother and sisters hadn’t replied to any of the dutiful letters I’d sent them since our wedding day. By now, they must resent me just as much as Westgate did.
“Don’t,” Wrexham told me now, with soft intensity. His dark eyes had narrowed, fixing on my face. “I know that look, Harwood. You’re about to make some grand gesture, and I won’t have it.”
“I willnevergive you up again. Don’t youdare even imagine it!” I glowered down at him, trying to beam the obvious truth into his maddeningly hard head. “Doing that once nearly shattered me. I don’t have enough willpower to push you away a second time.”
“For which we areallexceedingly thankful.” His voice was dry, but his dark eyes gleamed, and his hands rose to cup my face with aching tenderness. “But, darling Harwood, I’m telling you now and I sincerely mean it: donotgive up your school. Not for me. Not ever. That would poison our marriage irrevocably, and you know it.”
“How is losingyourcareer to my dreams any different?” A sob built up in my throat as I shifted closer, helplessly drawn into his gaze. We had always fit so perfectly together. We’d beenmadefor each other; I knew it with all my heart.
So how could my dreams be fatal to his?
A sudden hammering at the door made me startle like a cat.
“Miss Harwood!” Miss Banks’s voice was filled with panic. “You have to come and see this.Now!”
* * *
Miss Banks didn’t blinkan eyelid at my unbound hair, or at the sight of Wrexham behind me in the doorway. But then, my oldest and most seemingly sensible student had the unmistakable look of a woman torn from a romantic assignation of her own. Her fair blonde hair had been awkwardly re-pinned into a far simpler style than she’d worn earlier, and the three pearl buttons on her bodice—I couldn’t help but notice—had been mis-buttoned since I had seen her last, revealing a shocking hint of white cotton underneath.
Apparently, the political Miss Fennell had beenfarmore enthusiastic about their personal reunion than I could have guessed from her chilly public demeanor that day.
I automatically glanced down at myself to check for any such tell-tale mistakes in my own attire—but Miss Banks was already whirling around and starting toward the public staircase. “This way!”
