A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)(85)

No. I don’t want this dream.

It’s gone. I’m dreaming of Kartik again. A hungry dream. Our mouths are everywhere at once. The kissing is feverish and hard. His hands rip at the fabric of my nightgown, exposing the skin of my neck. His lips rake the curve there, taking small nips that almost hurt but mostly inflame. We’re rolling together, a wheel of hands and tongues, fingers and lips. A pressure builds inside me till I think I might come apart from it. And when I feel I can’t take another moment of it, I wake with a start. My nightgown is damp against my body. My breath is shallow. I place my hands rigidly beside me and do not move for a very long time, until at last I sleep and do not dream.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


MR. BUMBLE COMES TO CALL FOR PIPPA AT ELEVEN o’clock sharp. He’s well turned out in his handsome black coat, crisp shirt, and cravat, clean white spats protecting his shoes, and a brushed bowler in his hand. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect that he was a doting father come to call on his young daughter, not his future wife.

Mrs. Nightwing has readied a small sitting room. She’s got her knitting so that she can sit in a corner as the silent chaperone. But we’ve thought of this, too. Felicity is having a sudden, all-consuming attack of stomach pains. She’s upstairs writhing in agony on her bed. Appendicitis is feared, and Mrs. Nightwing has no choice but to rush to her bedside at once. Which leaves me to act as chaperone in the interim. And so I find myself sitting quietly with a book as a rose-colored teacup trembles in Pippa’s hands.

Mr. Bumble watches her as if he’s appraising a piece of land he might buy. “I take it your ring is most satisfactory?” It’s not a question but a chance to be complimented on his taste.

“Oh yes,” Pippa says, distracted.

“And your family? They’re well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I cough, flash Pippa an urging look. Go ahead—get on with it. Upon hearing my cough, Mr. Bumble gives me a weak smile. I cough again and dive into my book.

“And I trust you are well?” he presses.

“Oh, yes,” Pippa says. “Well, no.”

Here we go.

His teacup stops mid-sip. “Oh? Nothing serious, I trust, my dear.”

Pippa brings her handkerchief to her mouth as if overcome. I could swear she’s worked up real tears. She’s very good and I must say that I am quite impressed.

“What is it, my dear? You must unburden yourself to me, your fiancé.”

“How can I when I’ve worked to deceive you!”

He draws back a bit, his voice suddenly cool. “Go on. How is it that you have deceived me?”

“It’s my affliction, you see. I have terrible seizures that could come on at any time.”

Mr. Bumble stiffens. “How—how long have you had this . . . affliction?” His well-bred lips can scarcely say it.

“All my life, I’m afraid. My poor mother and father have suffered so. But as you are such an honorable man, I find that my heart will not permit me to continue this deceit.”

Bravo. The British stage is missing a fine actress in Pippa. She gives me a sideways glance. I smile in approval.

Mr. Bumble looks exactly like a man who has bought a fine piece of china, only to bring it home and discover the crack. “I am an honorable man. One who honors his commitments. I shall speak to your parents at once.”

Pippa grabs hold of his hand. “Oh, no. Please! They would never forgive me for telling you the truth. Please understand that I’m only looking out for your welfare.”

She’s giving him her large, pleading eyes. Her charms have the desired effect.

“You do understand that if I were to break this engagement, your reputation—your very virtue—would be called into question.”

Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want us if the old virtue were questionable. Heaven forbid.

“Yes,” Pippa says, eyes downcast. “That is why I think it would be best for me to refuse you.” She slides the ring from her finger and drops it into his palm. I wait to see if he will beg her to reconsider, if he will pledge his love in spite of her ailment. But he seems relieved, his tone imperious.

“What shall I say to your parents, then?”

“Say that I am too young and foolish to take as a wife and that you have been noble enough to allow me to end things and save my reputation. They will not press you.”

Pippa has never been lovelier than she is at this moment, with her head held high, her eyes shining in triumph. For once, she’s not flowing with the current but swimming against it.

“Very well, then.”

Mrs. Nightwing enters. “Oh, Mr. Bumble, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. One of our girls had a bit of the hysterics, but she seems to be fine now.”

“It’s no matter, Mrs. Nightwing. I was just leaving.”

“Already?” Mrs. Nightwing is quite flummoxed.

“Yes. I’m afraid I have a pressing matter that needs my attention. Ladies, good day to you.”

Confused but duty-bound, Mrs. Nightwing sees him out.

“How was I?” Pippa asks, sinking into the chair like lead.

“Brilliant. Miss Lily Trimble herself couldn’t have done better.”

Pippa surveys her bare finger. “Pity about the ring, though.”