Tessa did not need to touch Jessamines mind to know what she was thinking. Even the diamond had not been real. With a low cry Jessamine rolled over and buried her face in the rough blankets of the bed.
When Tessa woke again, it was dark. Faint starlight streamed through the high infirmary windows, and there was a witchlight lamp lit on the table near her bed. Beside it was a cup of tisane, steam rising from it, and a smal plate of biscuits. She rose to a sitting position, about to reach for the cup-and froze.
Will was seated on the bed beside hers, wearing a loose shirt and trousers and a black dressing gown. His skin was pale in the starlight, but even the lights dimness couldnt wash out the blue of his eyes. "Will," she said, startled, "what are you doing awake?" Had he been watching her sleep, she wondered? But what an odd and un-Wil -like thing to do.
"I brought you a tisane," he said, a little stiffly. "But you sounded as if you were having a nightmare. "
"Did I? I dont even remember what I dreamed. " She drew the covers up over herself, though her modest nightgown more than covered her. "I thought I had been escaping into sleep-that real life was the nightmare and that sleep was where I could find peace. "
Will picked up the mug and moved to sit beside her on the bed. "Here.
Drink this. "
She took the cup from him obediently. The tisa
ne had a bitter but appealing taste, like the zest of a lemon. "What Will it do?" she asked.
"Calm you," said Will.
She looked at him, the taste of lemon in her mouth. There seemed a haze across her vision; seen through it, Will looked like something out of a dream.
"How are your injuries? Are you in pain?"
He shook his head. "Once all the metal was out, they were able to use an iratze on me," he said. "The wounds are not completely healed, but they are healing. By tomorrow they Will be scars. "
"I am jealous. " She took another sip of the tisane. It was beginning to make her feel light-headed. She touched the bandage across her forehead. "I believe it Will be a good while before this comes off. "
"In the meantime you can enjoy looking like a pirate. "
She laughed, but it was shaky. Will was close enough to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. He was furnace-hot. "Do you have a fever?" she asked before she could stop herself.
"The iratze raises our body temperatures. Its part of the healing process. "
"Oh," she said. Having him so close to her was sending little shivers through her nerves, but she felt too light-headed to draw away.
"I am sorry about your brother," he said softly, his breath stirring her hair.
"You couldnt be. " She spoke bitterly. "I know you think he deserved what he got. He probably did. "
"My sister died. She died, and there was nothing I could do about it," he said, and there was raw grief in his voice. "I am sorry about your brother. "
She looked up at him. His eyes, wide and blue, that perfect face, the bow- shape of his mouth, turned down at the corners in concern. Concern for her.
Her skin felt hot and tight, her head light and airy, as if she were floating.
"Will," she whispered. "Will, I feel very odd. "
Will leaned across her to put the mug down on the table, and his shoulder brushed hers. "Do you want me to get Charlotte?"
She shook her head. She was dreaming. She was nearly sure of it now; she had the same feeling of being in her body and yet not in it as she had had when she was dreaming of Jessamine. The knowledge that it was a dream made her bolder. Will was still leaning forward, his arm extended; she curled against him, her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. She felt him jerk with surprise.
"Did I hurt you?" she whispered, belatedly remembering his back.
"I dont care," he said fervently. "I dont care. " His arms went around her, and he held her; she rested her cheek against the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder. She heard the echo of his pulse and smelled the scent of him, blood and sweat and soap and magic. It was not like it had been on the balcony, all fire and desire. He held her careful y, laying his cheek against her hair. He was shaking, even as his chest rose and fell, even as he hesitantly slid his fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face . . .
"Will," Tessa said. "Its all right. It doesnt matter what you do. Were dreaming, you know. "
"Tess?" Will sounded alarmed. His arms tightened about her. She felt warm and soft and dizzy. If only Will really were like this, she thought, not just in dreams. The bed rol ed under her like a boat set adrift on the sea. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
The night air was cold, the fog thick and yel owish-green under the intermittent pools of gaslight as Will made his way down Kings Road. The address Magnus had given him was on Cheyne Walk, down near the Chelsea Embankment, and Will could already smel the familiar scent of the river, silt and water and dirt and rot.
He had been trying to keep his heart from beating its way out of his chest ever since he had found Magnuss note, neatly folded on a tray on the table beside his bed. It had said nothing beyond a curtly scrawled address: 16 Cheyne Walk. Will was familiar with the Walk and the area around it.
Chelsea, near the river, was a popular haunt for artists and literary types, and the windows of the public houses he passed glowed with welcoming yel ow light.
He drew his coat around him as he turned a corner, making his way south.
His back and legs still ached from the injuries he had sustained, despite the iratzes; he was sore, as if hed been stung by dozens of bees. And yet he hardly felt it. His mind was full of possibilities. What had Magnus discovered? Surely he would not summon Will if there were no reason? And his body was ful of Tessa, the feel and scent of her. Strangely, what pierced his heart and mind most sharply was not the memory of her lips under his at the ball, but the way she had leaned into him tonight, her head on his shoulder, her breath soft against his neck, as if she trusted him utterly. He would have given everything he had in the world and everything he would ever have, just to lie beside her in the narrow infirmary bed and hold her while she slept. Pul ing away from her had been like pul ing his own skin off, but hed had to do it.
The way he always had to. The way he always had to deny himself what he wanted.
But maybe-after tonight- He cut the thought off before it bloomed in his mind. Better not to think about it; better not to hope and be disappointed. He looked around. He was on Cheyne Walk now, with its fine houses with their Georgian fronts. He stopped in front of number 16. It was tall, with a wrought iron fence about it and a prominent bay window. Set into the fence was an ornately worked gate; it was open, and he slipped inside and made his way up to the front door, where he rang the bell.
To his great surprise it was opened not by a footman but by Woolsey Scott, his blond hair in tangles to his shoulders. He wore a dark green dressing gown of Chinese brocade over a pair of dark trousers and a bare chest. A gold-rimmed monocle perched in one eye. He carried a pipe in his left hand, and as he examined Will at his leisure, he exhaled, sending out a cloud of sweet-smel ing, cough-inducing smoke. "Final y broken down and admitted youre in love with me, have you?" he inquired of Will. "I do enjoy these surprise midnight declarations. " He leaned against the door frame and waved a languid ringed hand. "Go along, have at it. "