Ziyaeddin did not pause. The swordstick in his cane was sufficient to deter a thief, but he had no will to harm a woman. Tonight, he had no will to harm anyone. With the texture of Elizabeth’s body and the flavor of her mouth still crowding his senses, he had only one wish: to touch her again, and damn reason, destiny, and all wisdom.
He could not fulfill that wish—not even momentarily. With one taste his craving had become need. That need would lead only to a path neither of them could travel.
“You be the painter!” The woman sounded surprised. “The one that’s painted Dallis, aye?”
“I am,” he said.
Pulling back her hood she revealed a high brow thick with worry. “Have you seen her o’ late?”
“I haven’t. Not in several months.”
“Then d’you happen to be acquainted with Mr. Joseph Smart? I’m near certain he lives on this street.”
“In fact I am.”
“Could you show me which door be his?”
“I cannot. But I will convey a message to him for you.”
Three houses down the street, his front door opened and a fully cloaked figure stepped onto the dark stoop.
“Coira,” she whispered in Joseph’s voice, and gestured with her hand.
Coira dipped him a swift curtsy and hurried toward his doorstep.
He followed.
Inside, the women’s conversation emanated from the parlor.
“Why, lass, you clean up pretty as a peach!”
“Never mind that. Are you unwell? How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed you to this block once, when Bethany and Dall—Sir! What’re you doin’ here?”
“This is my house,” he said. “Although apparently that is not general knowledge these days.” He went to the hearth and built the fire.
The woman was looking back and forth between them much like his housekeeper had earlier.
“He knows the truth o’ you, lass?”
“I live here, so of course he must. Coira,” she said with gentle impatience. “Now do tell me why you came looking for me. Are you ill?”
“’Tis Dallis. Nobody’s seen her in days.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps she has gone to visit family or friends elsewhere, in the countryside?”
“Dallis has no family,” he said, setting the poker back in its stand.
Elizabeth’s eyes were no longer hazy and full of pleasure, but crisply aware.
“How do you know that?” she said.
“She sat for me a number of times. In her boredom, she often spoke about herself.”
“’Tis true she’s got no kin,” Coira said. “An’ if she’s e’er gone farther than the tollgate, I’ll eat my hat.”
“Where do you believe Dallis has gone?” he said.
“I fear the worst, sir.” She clutched her arms tight about her.
“Do sit,” he said, gesturing toward a chair. “Share what you are able with Mr. Smart.” He went toward the door.
Libby’s stomach was a storm of nerves, yet he was as self-possessed as always. It was as though nothing extraordinary had happened in this very room only two hours earlier, as though he had not pulled her onto him and made love to her with kisses, as though he’d no idea every cell in her body still wanted him.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“To prepare tea for our guest.”
He left.
Coira was gaping.
“He’s makin’ tea? That fine gentleman, biddin’ me, soaked hems an’ all, sit in his parlor while he’s off to make tea? For me?”
“We haven’t a servant at nighttime. And he is generous.”
“Generous? Lass, he’s a miracle! No wonder you’re head o’er ears for him.”
“Oh, do cease this. And tell me what you believe has happened to Dallis.”
Ziyaeddin returned as Coira was describing the last few times she had seen her friend. Giving a teacup and saucer to her, he did not, however, sit.
“She’s been feelin’ poorly,” Coira continued, “but I didna heed it. Truth be told, I thought she were playactin’.”
“Why would she playact illness?” Libby asked.
“To no’ be obliged to—” Coira glanced up at him. “Help a lass here, sir?”
His gaze turned to Libby and her heartbeat performed the most astonishing somersault.
“She is a surgeon,” he said, returning his attention to Coira. “You can speak candidly now. Indeed, you must if you wish her to aid you.”
“Lass,” Coira said. “I’d thought Dallis were pretendin’ to be ill so she’d no’ be obliged to take Reeve when he said so.”
“Oh. Of course.”
“James Reeve?” Ziyaeddin said.
“Aye.” Coira’s lips twisted. “Mongrel’s got the leases. Bought ’em right out from under our noses an’ now he thinks he can threaten we all with bein’ cast onto the street any time he cares to. Dallis laughs at him so he’s worst on her,” she said with a scowl.
“Perhaps Dallis is with Mr. Reeve now,” Libby said. “Do you know where he lives?”
Coira shook her head.
“I do.” Ziyaeddin moved to the door.
Libby stood. “You know him too?”
“I will find him.”
Motioning for Coira to remain, she followed him to the foyer. He was pulling on his greatcoat.
“You will go now? After midnight?”
“Men like Reeve are easiest to find at night. How does this woman know you are not a boy?”
“She guessed. I share my lunch with her and I am teaching her to read, and she is not afraid to sit close to a youth. Women are much cleverer than men, and far more observant.”
“That has become entirely clear to me.” He took his hat and walking stick in one hand. “Earlier, I should not have left you.”
“Oh? Was the party that dull?”
A smile played upon his lips, but it was tempered with something else. Disquiet.
“What should you have done instead?” she said.
“I should have bid you return to the parlor,” he said, donning his hat, “and drawn pictures for as many hours as you demanded it, simply for a thin excuse to remain in your presence.”
“If you had done that I would have thrown myself at you again.”
“You did not throw yourself at me. I kissed you.”
“I remember it differently. I am now about to throw myself at you again.”
“I will resist.”
“Not successfully,” she said.
Releasing the door handle, he came to her and bent his head to her. It was the merest touch of his lips to hers, but precious and perfect and sweetly lingering.
“That isn’t enough,” she whispered when he lifted his mouth from hers.
“It will never be enough,” he said roughly, close above her lips.
She grasped his lapels with both hands and parted her lips beneath his.
He pulled her close. Then they were kissing again in earnest, her body filling up with heat and relief so profound it made her dizzy.
With a harsh sound in his chest, he broke away and returned to the door.
“Which part of ‘I will resist’ was that?” she said, tasting him on her lips and pressing her palms to the wall to steady herself.
“That,” he said quite deeply, “was the last time.”
“The last time you will pretend to resist?”
“The last time I will kiss you.”
“You jest.”
“Never again,” he said.
Guilt poked at her. “Mrs. Coutts told me about her condition for remaining in your employ while I live here. Do you fear she will give notice?”
“This has nothing to do with her. It is about you. And me. Never again,” he repeated as though forcing the words from his throat, as though by saying them he would make it so.
“That is ridiculous when we both want—”
“For your sake. For mine. For your future. For
my sanity.”
“For my future? Once before you claimed that you did not wish me to be distracted from my project.”
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything. But I don’t know if what you said is true, and I would rather have the truth than a lie or excuse.”
He came to her, grasped her hand tightly, and lifted it to his lips.
“Believe that I wish only the best for you,” he said. “And believe that if this mistake we have made today does not cease here, now, either you or I will have to leave this house at once. You must give me your promise.”
His eyes looked into hers as though he sought to read upon her irises the promise he wanted from her.
“I do not understand why you would deny us this,” she said, drawing her hand from his. “Unless . . . Are you truly royalty? The stories you have told me, are they not stories only, but actual history? Do you reject me because I am unworthy of you?”
“It is I who am unworthy of you, güzel kız—I who have hidden from my destiny while you have run toward yours.”
“Establishing yourself in a foreign land is not running from destiny. It is surviving despite the evils destiny has thrown at you.”
“Elizabeth, give me your promise now.”
She nodded.
He left and she stood for a minute by the closed door, trying to make sense of how her happiness had abruptly turned upon end. Then she returned to Coira.
He did not come home until dawn. Slumped in the window seat of her bedchamber where she had dropped into fitful sleep, she awoke with a start to the sound of the front door closing.
She ran down the stairs.
“Did you find him? I am glad you have returned.”
“Did you expect me not to return?” he said, pulling off his coat.
“You left in the middle of the night to search low places for a vile man, and you had only just said that one of us might have to move out of this house. So there were at least two reasons for you to never return.”
His eyes were tired, but a smile shone in them. “Yet here I am.”
“Did you find him?”
“No. But I now know where to find him.”
“How did you even know where to search for him?”
“For a short time he was in my employ. After it became clear that he was inclined to violence, I broke off the connection. I haven’t seen him in years.” He moved away. “I will speak with him tonight.”
“I will go with you.”
“You will not. You will sleep tonight, and tomorrow return to the infirmary and lecture well rested and prepared to work.”
“Don’t patronize me.” She followed him, watching the unnatural strain in his gait. “I will go with you. Two investigators are always to be preferred to one.”
He halted. “No. You will not do this.”
“I care about Coira and her friends. I wish to discover the truth of Dallis’s disappearance as much as you do.”
“Yet I wish you to remain safe.” He continued toward his quarters. “Leave this to me.”
“I cannot. Even were I not interested in it as Coira’s friend I still would not be able to cease thinking about it and trying to solve it. And I certainly won’t be able to sleep well while you are riding about Edinburgh’s dark alleyways.”
“You must make the effort, nevertheless.”
“For months I have proven myself capable of going about this city as a man and suddenly you do not trust that I can do so?”
“I will not allow you to jeopardize your safety,” he said sharply.
Metallic flavor came to her tongue. “You are angry with me?”
“I bid you do as I wish.”
“There is the trouble,” she said, “for I rarely do what others wish. Also, I can see you are in pain from this night you have spent in the saddle. I could relieve those muscles now if you would allow me.”
“Thank you, no.”
“Pride again?”
“Not this time. The spirit is entirely willing. The flesh is unfortunately weak.” He turned to her and there was no weakness in his eyes or stance, only granite certainty. “I meant what I said earlier. This cannot be.”
Sick heat filled her stomach.
He went into his studio and the door closed. For several minutes she stared at the panel, counting her quick heartbeats, but they would not slow.
Chapter 23
The Flood
“Even my mother writes messages warmer than this,” Iris said, swinging her heels against the wall as she passed the paper back to Libby.
“’Tis enough to freeze the tits off a lass,” Coira agreed.
“I believe that was his intention. Metaphorically,” Libby said, rereading the note he had left in the parlor for her in the middle of the night: I have spoken with Reeve. He insists that he has not seen Dallis in some time. If you wish, I will pursue the matter.
“I left him a message too.”
“Poured your heart out, did you, poor thing?”
“No. I told him I was leaving. I paid the stable boy to collect my belongings from Mrs. Coutts and deliver them to my new residence today.”
They were both staring at her.
“Don’t look at me like that. It is the most sensible solution. I will not succumb to foolishness and he has made it clear that I am a nuisance.” Rather, a mistake. He had called their beautiful kisses a mistake. “I will be fine in a new residence until my father returns.”
“Are you coming to live with me and Mama?” Iris said. “My prayers have been answered!”
“Thank you, Iris. But I cannot be changing clothing and donning whiskers in hackneys every morning and night. Someone would discover me.”
“I’d have you stay with me in a trice,” Coira said, “if I could be sure you’d no’ be topped by a lad lookin’ for me.”
“Topped?” Iris’s brows were high.
“Penetrated in sexual congress,” Libby said. “See, Coira? I understood that reference. But thank you, my friend. You are kind.”
Coira clucked her tongue. “’Tis a fool man who doesna want you.”
“You cannot live in Leith with Alice either,” Iris said. “You must ask Tabitha and Thomas to take you in.”
“No, I cannot ask them to lie.” Yet she had asked it of him for months. And he had done so generously, requiring of her only two things in return: to sit for him and to otherwise leave him alone.
For months she had done neither. She owed him this.
“I will find lodging,” she said.
“Aren’t you anxious, Libby?” Iris said.
“No. I have learned that it is easier to do everything as a man.” Except, it seemed, want one.
“You feelin’ aright, Joe?” Archie peered at her across stacks of books. “You look peaked.”
“Mm hm,” Libby mumbled. Her head was heavy and thick. The letters on the page before her were crossing. She had spent the previous evening trudging from boardinghouses to landlords’ homes, without success. Finally Mr. Dewey had shown her the cot in the Bone’s kitchen. Between the rats scratching around, the discomfort of the breast bindings, the anxiety of the whiskers falling off while she slept, and being woken before dawn, she’d barely gotten a wink.
“Looks like you slept in that coat.”
“Sod off,” she grumbled.
A pair of round thighs and a wide waist appeared beside the table.
“Well, that’s that, lads!”
Libby looked up, squinting to bring George into focus.
“What’s that?” Archie said.
“Plath’s latest nastiness,” George said, “making me measure every damn inch of that intestine . . . I’ve had enough, lads.” He tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat. “I’ve just turned in my withdrawal. I’m done! No longer a medical student!”
“Congratulations, George,” Libby said.
Archie extended his hand and shook George’s. “Best wishes to you.”
“I’m a new man, lads
! It’s law for me as soon as the new session begins.”
“How’d the pater take the news?” Archie asked.
“Disowned me, the old bastard.” George’s grin broadened. “He’s even already sent word to the pub to cut my tab and a letter to my landlord that he won’t pay another night’s rent.”
“You’re out on the street?” Archie gaped. With his large, affectionate family he never entirely understood George’s acrimony toward his horrid father.
“Caroline’s family’s taken me in.” His cheeks were rosy. “We’re to wed next month.”
“Congratulations again,” Libby said, smiling finally.
“Aye, lad!” Archie said, slapping him on the back.
“Haven’t felt finer in my life,” George said cheerfully. “Who’s for a pint?”
“George,” Libby said. “Has your landlord leased your flat out yet?”
“No. Rang a peal over my head, in fact. Said it’s impossible to find a tenant at this time of year, not till the new students come to town in the fall.”
“I’ll take that lease off your hands. Today, if that’s all right with you. For the remainder of the session.”
“Knew you slept in your coat!” Archie said, his eyes accusing.
“What are you, Joe, out of the mansion now?” George said.
“The mansion? Do you mean Mr. Kent’s house?”
Archie nodded.
“It isn’t a mansion. And how would you know? You’ve not been there.”
“Pincushion told us all about it,” George said. “He said it’s the finest house he’s ever been in.”
“And he’s been in my family’s house, and George’s too,” Archie said with a nod. “What’d you do to get yourself booted out on the street, lad?”
“I did not get booted out. He would never do such a thing. He is a gentleman.”
Archie held up both palms. “I meant no insult, lad.”
“George, let’s buy you that celebratory pint,” she said, taking up her satchel that felt like a load of bricks. “Then we will go speak with your landlord.”
Ziyaeddin crumpled Alice Campbell’s letter in his fist.
He had driven Elizabeth away. He had not intended it. But after Mrs. Coutts’s tale of his houseguest’s swift departure, and his initial shock, he had made himself believe it was for the best.
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