by Ash Krafton
All she knew was that she was safe with him, safe from gossip and safe from harm. She reveled in that safety the same way a child enjoyed the security of a parent’s care. Many an admiring glance came their way but she barely noticed. He was all that she saw, all that she heard. “No, it was a ball. We met at a ball and I would not dance with you.”
“And even that is not accurate, but I will not argue…with a lady.” He added the last bit with a bow of his head. Patting her hand, he led her to the balcony from which the bridge spanned, tipping his head at the view beyond the trees and the tracks. “But for now, let us talk about the thing you fear most.”
A prickly sense of unease crept up between her shoulder blades. Senza smoothed her expression into one of practiced pleasantness. “I’d rather not. Wouldn’t you rather talk about your fascination with the railway?”
“No. I wouldn’t. This isn’t the only reason I visit Woking. There is a tremendous cemetery nearby, did you know? London is practically spilling over with all the dead it produces and they’ve found a new place to hide the bodies. Mmm.” He smiled, a pleasant look that flashed over his face as if he’d just been served dessert. “Brookwood…ah, now there’s a lovely garden if ever I saw one. The London Necropolis. Even has its own rail direct from the city. They just box you up and stick you on the train like cargo and off you go, chugging along to Brookwood, where the worms await.”
Senza planted her feet and wrenched her hand from his arm, not caring who saw.
“Mr. Knell!” She stamped her foot. “Must we talk about bodies and death and cemeteries?”
“And crematoriums.” Again, that smile. It slid across his mouth as if he could not wait to share a seductive secret.
His leering pleasure was almost too much to bear. “And what?”
“Crematoriums,” he repeated, as if she’d only misheard. “Great ovens that reduce corpses to ash and stone. There will soon be one nearby. They haven’t built it yet, but they will. The earth isn’t deep enough for all the coffins man generates.”
She clamped her hands over her ears, closing her eyes. Her pulse throbbed in her ears and she swayed on legs that were fading out from beneath her. This awful talk—
He steadied her, tugging her hands down and shaking his head. “You cannot avoid it. The only way to conquer your fear is to face it. Accept it. Accept all of it.”
Senza took her breaths in shallow sips, her stomach in a fist. His eyes, dark and fathomless, bore intently into her own. It felt almost as if he could see inside her—her secrets, her fears, her soul all bared to him. There was no way to escape his gaze or the invisible touch of his essence against her deepest places.
She could not lie, either, even though the panic she felt at his nearness was almost enough to say anything he wanted to hear, just so that he might relent. Her voice strained against the growing tightness in her throat, a fear that threatened to claw its way free. “I cannot.”
A deep rumble sounded in the distance. Thunder? Would the sky open and rudely break his promise? The sound carried with it a vibration that traveled through the floors, the balcony railing, ominous and massive. It jarred the waiting passengers into motion, sending them in streams down to the platform.
She inhaled stiffly through her nose. The train. It was only the next train.
“Oh, mon bien-aimée.” He stroked her cheek, eyes shadowed with sympathy. “How you make yourself suffer. If only you could see that death is not the horror you think it to be.”
The train slowed to a stop alongside the platform in a plume of smoke and a whistle shriek. The porters shouted to be heard over the enormous engine. Carriage doors popped open and lines of people disembarked, tugging children or hefting travel bags.
“See those people?” He swept his hand around, drawing her gaze down toward the emptying train. “Death, all around you. Just waiting to happen. Here, they go on with their lives, oblivious to the shadow waiting for them at the end of their days.”
Without waiting for her response, he tugged her away from the balcony, crossing under the archway to the smaller balcony in back. This one looked over the town, which had boomed since the railway came through. An infant city was swelling where once stood farmhouses.
He leaned over the railing, gesturing to the street with a wave of his finger. “What awaits them all in London? There, the gutters are filled with the lecherous mortals, each breath taking them closer and closer to inevitability.”
Senza turned her back on him, regretting the impulse that brought her here with him. What had she expected, based on her limited experience with him? “Stop saying these things. You make it sound so horrible.”
“Isn’t it?” He did not disguise the smile that had crept into his voice.
She shook her head, ruby curls tumbling over her shoulders. “I have to maintain hope that there will be a peaceful end waiting for me.”
“Do you really believe that?”
She hugged her waist and didn’t reply.
Insistence would be a thin visage for the doubt she harbored, the fear that trailed in every step. Although she had no intentions of becoming poorhouse fodder, she knew that when the end came, her last breath would taste the same, whether she be lying in state or lying in the street.
She reached up to cup her cheeks, rosy now, glowing and desirable now. But time would be her enemy, even as she counted each moment that passed. How could she be free to enjoy the present, to live in the moment, knowing with certainty that it will end?
“Your pain—I can taste it.” He hummed, seeming to savor her inner turmoil. “Heavy with despair, like over-ripe fruit. Sticky, like wine.”
His lips grazed the back of her neck and he palmed her arms in sweep from shoulder to wrist. Grasping her hands, he drew them down to cross her chest, wrapping her in a joined embrace. Burying his face inside her collar, he let his breath out, down against the side of her throat.
She should have protested. This closeness was not appropriate—
But she closed her eyes and melted against him. God help her. She couldn’t resist him. She’d never been this close to anyone, not even at a ball, but she couldn’t fight against him.
She didn’t want to.
His mouth, close to her ear. His throaty chuckle sent the blood crashing through her body.
“Delicious as you may be, I have no desire to see you suffer.” He drew away from her and leaned back against the railing. “I will tell you a secret. I know a way to avoid death.”
“Oh, is this where you tell me sage advice?” She nervously rearranged her curls, straightened her collar, glancing around at the now-empty balcony. No one had seen them embrace, had they? “Do not live recklessly, avoid too much wine, be careful when walking in the road.”
“That, too.” He tapped his mouth with a finger. “But I was thinking more along the lines of magic.”
Senza gaped at him before walking away. The stairs were nearly empty, now that the train was boarding. The remaining travelers milled about the platform. She paused at the rail, wrinkling her nose at the smells of smoke and engine oil permeating the air. This conversation was becoming more and more delusional. All this talk about life and death and now—magic?
“Yes, magic.”
His words echoed around her, a mist of sound. With an angry toss of her head, she spun around, her hand ready with a slap.
Nowhere. He was gone. Vanished.
But how?
She lifted her skirts and hurried down the staircase, charging through the archway onto the loading platform. People came and went en masse, with their luggage and their children in tow. People from every possible walk of life. Everyone in the world, but him.
From one end of the platform to the other, searching around the corners, spinning to look behind her. Gone. Breathless, she leaned against a pillar, her restless gaze still seeking him.
Only his voice manifested. “Magic. I am entirely entwined within the hold of magic. Think, bien-aimée. You know it to be tru
e.”
The last several weeks flashed by. She relived each moment of their courtship—that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Every minute they’d stolen in the crowded ballrooms, every hush as they parted, every shared glance. He had courted her, turned her heart entirely to his, and stolen her devotion.
That in itself was magic, worked long before he pulled the illusion and masqueraded as her father. That he could turn her heart was magic. She never even realized it until now.
“How?” She had been groomed to be courted and dowered off to a worthy suitor but now, this man—
“Man?” He stepped around from behind her, materializing before her eyes. “Is that all I am to you?”
Eyes wide, she struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. Her feet tingled as the adrenaline jolted through her and she swayed on rubbery legs.
Knell grasped her arms, a deceivingly firm hold disguised as a tender embrace. His eyes, huge and dark and fathomless, reflected her face within. His skin had the sheen of porcelain, finely sculpted into proud cheekbones, a cleft chin, pale lips. He swiveled his head until he was nose to nose with her. His smile was icy, no warmth or humor in that thin stretch of lips.
Those lips hovered over her own, nothing but her breath stirring between them.
Would he do such a thing, here in full view of the travelers and the passengers on the train? Would he cause such a scandal? She reached up to put her hands against his chest and pushed—
And her hands went right through him.
He melted into fog and dissolved from sight, leaving her alone on the platform.
She stilted on rigid legs, to and fro, searching for him. Where? He couldn’t leave her, not now!
Abandoned. He’d abandoned her, far away from the safety of her home. She’d never walked this far, not even as an adventurous child tagging along after her brothers.
She spun and cut through the thinning crowds, searching the platform. Nowhere. Her last resort was to run down the steps to the back of the station and hope the phaeton was still there.
She rounded the corner, breathless.
Gone.
Fear turned into a solid mass within her, filling her, snuffing her thoughts and squashing her breath. He’d left her in Woking and she had no money, no contacts, no idea how to get home—
But that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d left her.
She didn’t fear for her safety as much as she craved his presence. She wanted him more than she needed him. Not having him near caused an entirely different kind of fear to take root.
She’d get home, she was confident, even if it meant walking for hours. But if he’d left forever—what kind of life could she look forward to? An empty shell that she’d have to fill with socials and suitors and the mind-dulling prospect of settling for a match with a man who could never compare to him.
He’d called her his beloved. She couldn’t go back to an average life after hearing that, after feeling the things he’d made her feel. He’d tripped across nerves deep inside her that would never stir under another’s touch. She knew it with dread certainty, with sharp clarity, and with absolute desperation.
Utter and complete desperation nearly suffocated her. She pressed her hand to her chest. Breathe. Just breathe. Don’t think—
“Are you feeling well, miss?” A porter stood near her, and reached for her elbow. “Is there someone I should find for you?”
Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin.
“I’m—I’m fine. I’m just looking for—” She daren’t say her father. She had no idea when he had taken up that particular illusion, or who had seen him wearing that particular visage. “My carriage.”
“I can help you, miss. Sometimes personal carriages have to make way for the larger. What’s it look like?”
“A—a black phaeton, with red cushions, drawn by a black mare.” She forced a smile. “I do appreciate your help.”
Her smile, as thin as it had been, had the same effect on him as it did nearly everyone else.
“You wait here, miss. I’ll be back once I find it.” The porter bobbed his head and nearly tripped over his feet when he ran off, her champion.
She paced along the side of the station, head wagging in every direction, eyes searching without cease. Wait here, the porter had said. Where else could she possibly go?
The minutes dragged by, each an agony in itself. The initial rush of fear having subsided, a sink hole opened inside her, draining her energy and her resolve. He wouldn’t find the phaeton. The porter would not return, unable to bear the unfortunate news of his failure back to the pretty woman.
She was on her own. Nothing to do but begin the journey home. Alone.
The walk would be a long, lonely one. A glance at the sky, showed the sun climbing on toward noon. Best start walking while she had the light.
The rail station stood at the edge of town. It wasn’t long before the road had become completely rural, flanked by pastures and groves of thickly-canopied trees. At least she didn’t have to endure the eyes of passersby. A girl with her countenance always got noticed, always inspired a rash of gentility and an eagerness to assist in even the most contrived of ways.
Right now, she just wanted to disappear.
Just as he had.
The brooding clouds had blown through, revealing the unfettered sun. It seemed intent on shining with a vengeance, striving to make up for the iron-gray morning. She had no umbrella, and she’d left her hat and shawl in his carriage. The glaring sun beat down on her and her dress weighed three times the normal. Although determination and a fair amount of adrenaline had hastened her steps, it wasn’t long before her pace slowed to a listless trudge, weary in the oppressive heat.
A large shady tree stood ahead at the bend in the road. Relief. Rest.
The shade provided immediate relief from the heat. She crumpled to the ground and leaned up against the trunk. At this rate, it would take her a week, if she survived the trek. Stupid girl, for chasing after him to town, for trusting—
“Of course, you can trust me,” came Knell’s reply.
The sound of his voice made her jump, her bare skin scraping against the tree bark. She rolled onto her knees and peered around the wide trunk. He sat against the opposite side, cutting a wedge out of an apple.
He held out his knife, offering the apple slice that balanced on the end. “I would never abandon you.”
Her ability to speak returned, as did a great deal of the frustration that drove her most of the way. “You did! You left me at the train station and you were gone and I had to walk—”
“It was a difficult lesson, but a necessary one.” He leaned away from her and reached for something near his legs.
Senza peered over him and saw a blanket spread out with picnic fare. Fruit, a bottle and glasses, bread. He picked up the bottle and poured a full glass before handing it to her. Lemonade, by the look of it. Moisture began to collect on the glass. Cold, too.
The sight of the refreshment made her swallow hard. She was terribly thirsty, but she hesitated, eying him with considerable suspicion.
“Take it,” he said. “I won’t bite.”
His smirk made her wonder, but only a moment before she reached for the glass.
“Not so fast,” he warned. “You’re overheated. Too much too soon will make you ill.”
She sat back on her heels and sipped. Sour and sweet, just the way Grandmother used to make it. Her nape and arms prickled with uncomfortable heat. She gingerly patted the back of her neck, snatching her fingers away with a swift inhale. “I fear I was overexposed.”
“You’re burned, is what you are.” He set down the apple and brushed his hand off on his trousers. “Come here.”
She crept closer on her knees and twisted, sitting with her back toward him so that he could examine her.
He clucked his tongue. “You don’t get outside much, do you?”
“Tramping about like an animal, without a parasol? Certainly not. Ouch, watch that.” Sh
e squirmed away but he tugged her back.
“Sit still, already. I cannot return you in this condition.” He placed his hands directly over the sting on her neck, wrapping his hands across her nape, over her collarbones.
His hands were icy cold. The chill permeated her skin, sank into her, and spread with a numbing creep that dulled the twinging nerves. The pain, faded into discomfort and the discomfort melted into a memory beneath his fingers.
Her neck thusly ministered to, he slid his hands to each of her arms with the same careful touch, the same chilly treatment.
She examined her left arm when he had finished and gone on to the right. The redness had faded along with the pain. She lowered her brows as she scrutinized her arm. She’d gotten sunburns as a child, and all the cold compresses in the world hadn’t done more than provide temporary comfort.
Who was he?
He kept his gaze on her arm, stroking it gently, a long slow sweep. He looked very reluctant to let her go. “There. That should do, I think. How does it feel?”
“Better,” she whispered. “But, how…”
His only reply was a tightening of lips, an ironic smile, a quick shake of his head, and a huff through his nose. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, they held a strange mixture of challenge and sadness, the emotion so plainly etched into his eyes that she had no words.
“I told you already.” He began packing the basket, stowing the fruit and recapping the bottle. “Come. I’ll see you home. You can eat on the way.”
He whistled to the horse, which had been cropping the grass nearby and answered dutifully to his call. Once he’d hitched the beast, he stowed her carefully once more into his phaeton, the hot sun blazing overhead in its tower of blue. They did not speak on the journey back. She only nibbled the plump apple he’d handed her, as well as a large portion of food for thought.