Текст книги "Heartless hunter"

Автор книги: Kristen Ciccarelli

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

SEVENTEEN GIDEON

ON HIS WAY TO the boxing arena that evening, Gideon stopped by the telegraph office and retrieved Rune’s reply.

LOOKING FORWARD TO GOING SLOW.

RUNE

He smiled as he read it. He felt better tonight. Rested and ready. If Rune was the Moth, he would find out tomorrow morning.

He was still smiling as he entered the boxing ring, stripped off his shirt, and slid on his gloves, preparing to warm up. He was so lost in his plans that he didn’t notice when the doors of the arena burst open and his brother stormed in.

“What the hell are you up to?”

The tone of Alex’s voice wiped the smile off Gideon’s face. He turned to see his brother drop his boxing bag and tug off his shirt. Grabbing his gloves, Alex ducked under the ropes and stepped into the ring with him.

“Nice to see you, too, Alex.”

“Coming to Rune’s party last night? Going off alone with her?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gideon noticed the other men in the arena glancing their way.

“I—”

“You can’t stand Rune Winters.” Alex dropped into a crouched stance directly across from Gideon without warming up.

He couldn’t tell Alex the truth, because Alex would tell Rune everything. He wouldn’t care that Gideon suspected she might be the Moth, or that he could be in danger. Alex assumed the best of people.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” said Gideon, falling into his fighting stance.

Alex shook his head. “You’re my brother. I know you. What are you up to?”

Gideon took a lazy swing. Alex easily ducked and swung back. Much harder. Gideon blocked it and stepped aside.

“She’s a pretty girl with a nice inheritance. Everyone knows she’s on the market for a husband. I thought I’d try my luck.”

“You’d hate it.”

Alex swung again, fast and furious. Gideon jumped back in the nick of time and the breeze of his brother’s fist whooshed through his hair.

“Hate what?”

“Being married to her.” Alex dropped his hands. “You’d have to attend her parties. Entertain and impress her guests. You despise these people.”

Gideon mirrored his brother, lowering his fists. “Maybe I could learn to like it.”

Some desperate emotion flashed across Alex’s face, and guilt settled like a stone in Gideon’s gut.

Alex’s hands dropped to his sides. “People like Rune don’t end up with people like you.”

The guilt evaporated.

Gideon knew precisely what Alex meant. People like him were damaged. Dirty. People like him didn’t belong in the ballrooms of people like Alex and Rune.

His fists coiled. “That so?”

“Yes.” Alex’s golden eyes flashed like electricity.

“Enlighten me. What type of people do girls like Rune end up with? Men like you?” Gideon raised his fists. “Men who stand on the sidelines, pining in the shadows, too afraid to go after what they want? Have you gotten so used to being handed everything in life that you think she’ll hand herself over to you, too?”

Alex slugged him.

Pain exploded in Gideon’s jaw.

He staggered back, hitting the ropes as the taste of blood burst through his mouth. His ears rang as he gripped the ropes tighter to keep from falling on his ass.

I deserved that, he thought, spitting blood. Shaking off the buzzing pain, he pulled himself upright to find Alex already ducking out of the ring, grabbing his shirt, and walking away.

“Alex,” he called. “Alex, come on! I didn’t—”

But the door of the ring was already swinging shut, with Alex on the other side of it.

“Damn it.”

Gideon hadn’t meant a word of that.

Mostly.

Alex had struck right where Gideon was softest. Weakest. So Gideon had struck back. Which was not how it was supposed to be.

Gideon was the older one. He was supposed to protect his little brother. To take punches, even when those punches came from Alex himself.

Disgusted with himself, standing alone in the middle of the ring, Gideon let his head fall back. Closing his eyes, he let out a rough sigh.

Alex was right.

“I’m a piece of shit.”

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EIGHTEEN RUNE

THE FOLLOWING DAY, A luncheon was being held in honor of Charlotte Gong’s engagement. Rune had agreed to attend long before Gideon’s telegram arrived, and therefore needed to make an appearance. The luncheon wasn’t until noon, though, leaving her free to meet Gideon beforehand.

So, early that morning, Rune rode for the capital and told no one where she was going.

After stabling Lady in one of the Old Town stables—garnering several startled looks from the stable hands, who weren’t accustomed to fancy show horses in their stalls—she set out for Prudence Street.

It was shortly after ten o’clock when she found it, and the street was bustling. Smoke plumed from chimneys and the smell of the factory coal fires hung in the air, clashing with the sounds of haggling food sellers. Passing workmen threw curious glances at Rune as she tried her best to stay out of the way. She stared up at the tired-looking tenement buildings, noticing the cracks running through the brown bricks and the facades in need of fresh paint.

The Good Commander had given Thornwood Hall, Cressida’s summer home, to Alex as compensation for killing the youngest Roseblood sister. But Gideon had done far more than Alex in service of the New Republic—leading the revolutionaries into the palace, disposing of Cressida’s two older sisters, devoting his life to hunting down witches. Surely the Commander had offered his Blood Guard captain whatever he wanted, in gratitude. So why did Gideon still live here, of all places?

Rune spotted the number 113 on a street-level door next to a boarded-up shop window. As she approached, raising her fist to knock, the faded letters of the marquee overhead caught her eye.

THE SHARPE DUET: TAILORING AND DRESSMAKING.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Suddenly, the door swung in. Gideon stood in the frame, towering over her.

Were you born massive? she wondered, staring up at him. Or were you once as small and fragile as the rest of us?

He wore plain trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Over his shoulders hung a long strip of measuring tape.

“You’re late.”

Fashionably late, she thought as he stepped aside, inviting her in.

Instead of leading her up the steps to the apartment above, Gideon led her through a door to the left and into the darkened tailor shop that once belonged to two of the most famous designers in fashion history. Her entire body hummed with anticipation.

Despite her friendship with Alex, she’d never been to the Sharpe’s home before. Nan forbade Rune from ever setting foot in the outer wards. They’re dangerous, dirty, and full of criminals, Nan would say whenever Rune protested. Not for the likes of us.

Inside the shop, boards covered every window, letting in thin cracks of sunlight. As her eyes adjusted to the diminished light, she tried not to gape at the fabrics, the sewing kits, the patterns … all of it lying about as if it were no big deal.

Gideon must have inherited it all from his parents.

But why did he keep it?

Clearly, no one had touched any of this in years.

Sun and Levi Sharpe once stood right where I’m standing, thought Rune, imagining the seamstress and the tailor hunched over the long worktable, sketching ideas late into the night, stitching fabrics until their tired eyes wouldn’t open anymore and they blew out their candles and went to bed.

“This,” said Gideon, standing at a worktable, “is my solution to your problem.”

She stepped up beside him, glancing down at the notebook lying open on the table. An oil lamp burned beside it, illuminating the pages. Her eyes widened, and she leaned in closer.

Someone had drawn her—Rune Winters—on the paper, clothing her in the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. Tapered lace sleeves. Elegant scooping neckline. Fitted bodice with a subtle, embroidered pattern she couldn’t make out. An A-line skirt trailed several inches behind her.

Rune’s mouth opened. Then closed. Gideon reached down and turned the page, showing her more detailed sketches of each part: sleeves, bodice, lace-up back, even matching silk shoes.

“Is this …”

“What I’m going to make you. For the Luminaries Dinner.”

Still, it wouldn’t register.

This was a trick, right?

Her suitors had given her gifts in the past, but they were always flowers or jewelry or carriage rides. Nothing like … this. Not a dress designed for her.

Something fluttered and swooped inside Rune, like a flock of birds taking flight. She tried to bite down on the enormous smile spreading across her face.

“Gideon. Are you sure?”

“Entirely. I only need one thing.”

She was prepared to give him anything he wanted for the garment splashed across the pages of that notebook.

“Your measurements.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “Right. Of course.”

The only person who’d ever taken her measurements was her seamstress.

“If you’re not comfortable—”

“No! So comfortable!” She tried to smile, but it wobbled as she thought about what such a thing would entail: stripping down to her underwear in front of Gideon Sharpe. Rune swallowed, going hot all over. If she wanted the dress, she would have to allow this ruthless witch hunter to get close enough to see her every flaw; to measure the fleshy curves and dips she normally kept hidden—not because she had scars to hide, but because she was … well, shy.

Wait a minute, thought Rune, her eyes narrowing on the notebook’s pages. That’s what this is.

Not a kind gesture. Not a solution to her problem.

He wants to look for my casting scars.

She felt that dark gaze watching her. As her eyes lifted to his, she remembered who she was dealing with. This was no suitor—not really. And the dress design sitting in his sketchbook solved his problem. Not hers.

Or so he thinks.

A genuine smile replaced her wavering one.

Rune had no casting scars. And if he found no scars, he had no reason to continue suspecting her.

Oozing confidence now—this was a game she knew how to play, after all—Rune undid the buttons of her fitted wool jacket and slid it off her shoulders. “Where should we do this?”

For a moment, he hesitated. As if second-guessing his plan. When Rune met his eye, silently daring him to back down, he seemed to find his resolve. With his notebook in hand, Gideon led her to the back of the shop, where a large, folded mirror displayed her reflection in three panels and a measuring block stood in the center of the space.

Thankful that she’d worn nice underwear, Rune undid the buttons of her blouse.

Gideon started to turn around. “If you need—oh.”

Rune was already undressing. His gaze dropped to her lace bralette and remained there for a beat, before quickly shooting back to her face, his cheeks burning with color.

“This okay?” said Rune, trying not to smirk.

He nodded curtly and turned away. Setting the notebook down on a shelf piled with white tulle, he took a long time opening to a blank page.

Rune unlaced her riding boots and took her time wriggling out of her trousers, relishing Gideon’s sudden bashfulness.

“Did you do this a lot, when you assisted your parents?”

As if he sensed that she now stood in nothing but her underwear, he didn’t turn to look at her. Only cleared his throat. “Do what a lot?”

“Take people’s measurements.”

“I only ever took Cressida’s measurements.” This answer seemed to sober him. He dragged the measuring tape from his shoulders and turned to confront her, keeping his eyes on her face. Not letting them lower even an inch. “Ready?”

“Yep.” Rune bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to stave off the chill in the air.

He stepped closer, bringing the lamp with him. “I’ll start at the top and work my way down.”

She knew what he meant, but the way he said it made her imagine him working his way down her in a … less vertical way. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one. Gideon froze, opened his mouth to clarify what he meant, and coughed instead.

He lowered the lamp down to the measuring block, engulfing her in its warm glow—To better see my scars, thought Rune—and started measuring.

His hands made quick work of it, telling Rune how practiced he was. She couldn’t help comparing those hands to his brother’s. Alex had the hands of a musician: wide palms, slender fingers. Elegant and beautiful as a song.

Gideon’s hands were strong and rough and calloused. Hands that could hold a gun as competently as they could haul a witch into a prison cell—or take a girl’s measurements, evidently.

He never fumbled or brushed her skin. As if he were trying very hard not to touch her more than necessary.

To distract them both while he measured her bust, Rune said, “I wish Alex had told me you were an accomplished tailor. If your finished garments look anything like your sketches, I would have employed you years ago.”

“Cress would never have let me work for you.”

The way he said the young queen’s name—Cress, not Cressida—made Rune feel funny.

“She wouldn’t have let me talk to you.” Gideon retreated to write the number in his notebook. “I did serve you and your friends tea once, though you didn’t notice me.” He returned to Rune, looping the tape around the smallest part of her waist this time. “It was at Thornwood Hall, during one of Cress’s parties.”

Unable to recall it, she glanced up to find Gideon’s face mere inches from hers, his attention fixed on the measuring tape. “If you were her tailor, why were you serving tea at her party?”

The tape went slack, but he didn’t move on to the next measurement.

“I was living at Thornwood Hall by then. Cress moved me there from the palace to … better fulfill her needs. The night of that party, I was being punished.” He ran a hand roughly through his hair. “For neglecting my duties.”

Rune frowned harder, about to ask him what he meant, when he cut her off.

“Hips are next.”

He didn’t want to elaborate, clearly. While the tape encircled Rune’s hips, pulling her closer into his warmth, she tried to remember it: a younger version of Gideon Sharpe, refilling her cup while she gossiped with her friends.

But she couldn’t remember him, and the guilt of it twisted in her belly.

But why should I remember him?

Her mind wandered back to that nickname. Cress. Was he the only one who called the queen that?

When Gideon left to write Rune’s hip measurement down, she asked, “I didn’t know Cressida very well. What was she like?”

He stayed bent over that book, not writing or answering for a long time. “She was … beautiful,” he finally said. “And alluring.” He seemed half-lost in a dream. “And powerful.”

Rune suddenly remembered the rumors about Cressida and her lowborn lover. Rumors she’d dismissed as silly gossip. She wondered now if there might be some truth to them.

Gideon had said he’d lived at Cressida’s summer home, and he was certainly easy on the eyes.

If dark, brooding, and brutal are your type, she thought with a scowl.

The way Gideon talked about the youngest Roseblood sister was so informal. Not at all like someone who had served her. More like someone who’d known her well.

Or been intimate with her.

Rune shifted. An uncomfortable feeling snaked through her at the thought of him sharing Cressida’s bed. If he’d been a witch queen’s lover, Rune would need to be much more careful. He would pick up on the smallest of cues.

“Are you familiar with the pitcher plants that grow in the island’s bogs?”

Though he’d turned around to face her, there were several paces between them. Rune stood in the lamp’s glow, still in her lace underwear. Gideon was in the shadows outside it, fully clothed. And yet, in this moment, he seemed to be the vulnerable one.

“Those deep purple flowers that trap and eat bugs?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Cress was like that: pretty from a distance, tempting you closer. Like a fool, you were happy to approach.” He was staring at the space over Rune’s shoulder, his expression haunted. “It was only after she’d reeled you in that she revealed her true nature. But by then, it was too late.”

He met Rune’s gaze.

“She was already eating you alive.”

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NINETEEN GIDEON

IN THE BEGINNING, THE attraction had been mutual. The first time he met Cressida Roseblood, he’d traveled to the palace with his mother to deliver a dress. While his mother spoke privately with the two eldest witch queens, Gideon waited in the hall, knowing how much rested on this moment. If the sisters liked his parents’ work, Analise and Elowyn would employ the Sharpe Duet full-time to be their dressmakers.

It would give Sun and Levi an enviable salary.

It would change their family’s fate.

Gideon had been standing against the wall when Cressida walked by with her handmaidens. Not realizing who she was, he’d done a double take, soaking up her ivory hair, bright blue eyes, and slender frame.

She had stopped and turned back. Smiling, she’d slowly approached and asked his name, then stayed to converse with him. He was completely taken in by her beauty, flattered by her flirting, and, most of all, surprised at being treated like her equal.

She only left his side when his mother returned, looking dazed, saying she’d signed the contract.

“I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

Gideon still remembered the way his pulse had stumbled at those words. At the look she had thrown him before disappearing down the hall.

It started out slow. Once his family moved into the palace, Cressida invited him on walks in the gardens, or horseback rides along the shore. He started joining her at breakfast on her terrace in the mornings.

They traded kisses in empty palace rooms, hands wandering over each other.

It seemed like a dream back then. Too good to be true.

And it was.

“Gideon?”

Rune’s voice broke through the memories. For a moment, half-stuck in the past, Gideon saw not Rune Winters standing on the measuring block before him, but Cressida Roseblood. Watching him like a lioness. Contemplating whether to play with her food before she ate it, or go straight for the jugular.

His heart hammered; his palms sweated.

“Is everything all right?”

Rune’s voice pulled him fully into the present. Cressida is dead. This was a different girl standing on his measuring block.

Rune stepped down, padding softly toward him.

On instinct, Gideon stepped back.

She froze, biting her lip, as if sensing his distress but not knowing how to ease it.

Snap out of it, Sharpe.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Yes. Everything’s fine. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I’m the one who brought it up,” she said, her stormy gaze studying him. “If you want to talk about it—”

“I’d rather not.”

What was he thinking? This was the absolute worst person to tell his most shameful secrets to. The queen of gossip herself, who could ruin his reputation with a single whispered word.

Why had he said so much?

“Okay,” said Rune, who hugged herself.

She was shivering, he realized. Of course she was. It was freezing in here and she was standing in her underwear.

You idiot. He retrieved a woolen blanket from a chest against the wall. It was a blanket his mother had used to keep herself warm while working late on cold winter nights. Returning to Rune, he flung it over her shoulders.

“Just one more measurement and I’ll be done.”

She nodded. As he bent down, pressing the end of the tape to the floor next to her heel, his gaze slid over her smooth legs, checking for any silvery marks on the skin, just as he’d done with the rest of her body. But there was nothing. Her legs were so perfect, Gideon had trouble tearing his eyes away from them.

He’d found no hint of any casting scars. Frankly, that she would strip down and stand before him this whole time, for his perusal, seemed proof she had none.

Perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe Rune Winters wasn’t the Moth.

“Stand on this for a second.”

When she stepped on the tape end, he pulled it straight to the top of her head, holding it taut, and noted her height. She was a whole foot shorter than him.

As he wrote the last measurement down in his notebook, he heard her move toward the shelves.

“Are these …”

He turned to find her cocooned in the woolen blanket, which fell to the top of her thighs. She seemed perfectly unbothered by his attention as she peered at his mother’s old notebooks. As if standing half-naked in the same room as him was the most natural thing in the world.

Gideon swallowed, trying to stop his gaze from raking down her legs.

“My mother’s sketchbooks,” he said, loosening the collar of his shirt. “She kept all of her designs in them.”

“Your mother’s …” Rune jerked her face toward him, wild-eyed. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

The smile that bloomed across her face did something strange to his insides.

Rune scooped every book from the shelf and carried them to the worktable, where she dropped them in a pile and sat down on a stool.

Awe softened her face as she drank in the images, reverently turning the pages. She looked almost … innocent. Gideon brought the lamp over to the table so she could see better.

He’d been careful not to touch her today, remembering his brother’s words in the boxing ring. Remembering who she was. Who he was.

You are beneath her.

Gideon picked up a stool and set it down on the other side of the table, where he planted himself.

He immediately realized his mistake.

From here, he had a perfect view of the low scoop of her bralette, the delicate lace leaving little to the imagination. He had just measured her bust, so why it suddenly mattered, he wasn’t sure. He kept his gaze on the line of her throat instead.

If they were truly courting, though …

If they were together …

He shot his thoughts dead. Didn’t you learn your lesson from the first witch who drew you in?

He and Rune would never be together. If Rune was the Moth, this courtship—if he could even call it that—ended with Gideon arresting her and Rune going to the purge. And if she wasn’t the Moth, he’d step aside and hope his brother finally worked up the courage to go after what he wanted.

And that was the way it should be.

When she caught him staring, Gideon looked away too late. Their gazes snagged.

Slowly, Rune closed the sketchbook she was hunched over and rose from the stool.

“I guess I should return this.” Walking around the table, she let the blanket fall from her shoulders, holding it out to him. When he took it, she hoisted herself onto the table directly beside him, letting her lovely legs dangle over the edge.

Gideon fought to keep his eyes on her face, when all he wanted to do was let them drop.

Picking up the notebook with her measurements, Rune flipped to the dress he’d designed for her. Her fingers traced the lines of his sketch the same way her eyes had traced his mother’s designs.

He’d pleased her. It was written clear across her face.

He didn’t like what this knowledge did to him. Warming him through. Thawing his icy heart.

It shouldn’t feel this good to make her happy.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” she said, touching her fingertip to the uppermost button of his shirt. “I have a luncheon at noon, but after that … There’s a quiet beach near Wintersea House where I ride sometimes. Do you want to join me?”

“Can’t,” he managed, drawing the blanket into his lap. “I have to work today.”

She ducked her chin, disappointed. Not wanting it to seem like he was rejecting her, he quickly added, “Depending on how this evening’s transfer goes, I might get off early. I could meet you afterward.”

Her attention shot back to his face. “This evening’s transfer?”

He nodded. “Laila and I are transferring a witch to the palace prison.”

Rune lowered her gaze. “Is it far? The place you have to bring her from, I mean.” She slowly unfastened the button of his shirt. He had the urge to pull her down into his lap.

Focus, you idiot.

“Not too far. She’s being held at the old mine near Seldom Harbor.”

“I see.” Rune’s lips pressed into a pout as her fingers dropped to the next button. “There’s a masked ball at the Creeds’ tonight. You could meet me there afterward.”

Gideon struggled to keep his hands to himself. The wool of the blanket itched against his palms.

“I’ll try my best.”

Her mouth curved to the side as she released the button without undoing it. Before pushing off the table, though, she leaned in toward him and the bridge of her nose grazed his cheekbone.

“Thank you for the dress, Gideon.”

His name on her lips sent a tremor through him. His hands clenched. He wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

“My pleasure,” he murmured.

When she pulled away and turned to get dressed, he decided against watching her shimmy back into her trousers, choosing to tidy up instead.

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