Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(59)

Caught too by my own actions at the General Registry Office. I was a fool to have gone there. A damned fool.

"Your gown is lovely," he said with stiff formality.

"You haven't even seen it yet." She shrugged a shoulder and her fur coat slipped off. She caught it and twirled for him. Her smile increased when she spotted me watching.

She did indeed look lovely. The slender fit of the dress accentuated her tiny waist and the low cut revealed the swell of her bosom. Her neck seemed even longer, with her hair piled on her head and the off-the-shoulder sleeves. Many men would want to plant a kiss on the smooth skin of her shoulders tonight. It made me feel ill to think that Lincoln might be one of them.

It made me feel worse when I thought of his reaction when he learned I'd betrayed him. Oh God. What had I done?

Lincoln helped Lady Harcourt with her coat then escorted her out of the house. "Goodnight, Charlie," he called back to me.

That's all the attention I received—a hastily tossed out goodnight. It was pitiful, but not as pathetic as my own heartache.

***

My guilty conscience kept me awake. When the longcase clock in the entrance hall chimed three times, I gave up trying to sleep and padded downstairs in my nightdress with a coat over the top. I curled up in a library armchair but couldn't concentrate on my book, so I took my candlestick and headed to the kitchen instead. Hot chocolate would soothe my nerves and perhaps help me sleep. By the time I reached it, I'd come to a conclusion—I would tell Lincoln what I'd done at the General Registry Office. It would be better coming from me than Lady Harcourt.

The alternative, to raise Gurry's spirit and keep both betrayals from Lincoln, was tempting, but I suspected I would be found out, sooner or later. He was much too clever to remain in the dark for long.

I had just located a small saucepan when the back door unlocked. My heart lurched into my throat. It would be either Lincoln or Seth; neither had yet returned. I found myself hoping it was Seth.

Lincoln strode into the kitchen. His hair was still neatly tied back, but he'd removed his tie and undone the collar so that it flapped open. Thick brows crashed above eyes as black as midnight. Eyes that bored into me with a ferocity that chilled me.

She'd told him already.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. It came out pathetic, small, and I was afraid it didn't carry to him.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. "What have you done?"

I frowned then shrugged. I had a feeling it was better to act stupid.

He shook his head. "Whatever it is, tell me in the morning. I'm in no mood tonight." Instead of leaving, however, he strode into the pantry. He opened the cupboard where the cooking sherry was kept and poured himself a glass. He downed it in one gulp then poured another.

"How was your evening?" I ventured.

He raised his full glass. "You can't tell?" He drained the glass then slammed it down on the kitchen table. Thankfully it didn't shatter. "What're you doing up?"

"Waiting for you."

He set the sherry bottle down too and came over to me, slowly, like a sleek cat stalking its prey. Heavy lids shielded his eyes, but I didn't need to see them to know he was in a black mood. It was written in the bitter twist of his mouth, the severe set of his jaw, the rigidity of his shoulders.

I gulped and backed up into the range. If he didn't know about my visit to the General Registry Office; why was he mad? "Lincoln, are you all right?"

"It's Mr. Fitzroy. Do you hear me? I am your employer, and you should treat me as such." His hands bunched into fists at his sides, and it took all my courage to remain there and not slink away. He needed to know I wasn't afraid of him when he was like this. He wouldn't hurt me. Telling myself that was one thing, but getting my nerves to believe it was another.

"Tell me what happened at the ball," I said in a calm voice. "Something must have—"

"Stop acting as if you can fix things, fix me." With a growl that emerged from the depths of his chest, he wrenched around, presenting me with his back. It rose and fell with his heavy, ragged breathing. "I don't need…you. I don't need anyone!"

I stepped closer and lifted my hand to press it against his back, but I curled it into a fist before touching him. "I don't care whether you need me or not. I will be here regardless."

He wheeled around and loomed over me. Hot anger had given away to cool control and he no longer looked as if he would throw things around the kitchen. But in some ways, the change was worse, because now he looked like he wanted to wound intentionally. "Your affection for me is misguided, naive and childish." The chilly tone sent shivers down my spine. "Me telling you this now is a kindness. When you're older, you'll understand why."

Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to give in to them. I couldn't stop shaking, however. It felt like ice slid through my veins to every part of my body.

"Me, childish?" I snapped. "You're the one throwing a tantrum." I stepped past him and marched out of the kitchen. When I reached my bedroom, I threw myself on the bed and cried into the pillow.

***

Gus teased me about sleeping in the next morning, when I came down late for breakfast. Cook, however, slapped him in the chest and told him to "Shut it" when he saw my face. All three of them spent the rest of the morning treating me as if I would break. If they knew I was feeling fragile because of Lincoln, they didn't let on.