The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(81)

He waited, a strange wariness in his dark eyes.

“I think food is a great idea. I’m starving.”

She didn’t think he was aware of the way his body heaved a gentle sigh as the tension flowed out of his bones. She wasn’t sure how he’d expected her to react, but she was glad she hadn’t given voice to her annoyance over his less-than-desirable reaction to her attire. There would be plenty of time to be alluring later.

Besides, when he smiled like that, her heart did a crazy tilt that left her feeling almost breathless. He really was gorgeous. She let him take her hand.

He led her back down the hall, and then they were there. Wherever there was. They were still in the cottage, she supposed, as they’d never actually walked out... and yet she was now in a garden.

She glanced behind her, staring back into the hallway, and shook her head with a tiny shrug.

A sturdy white tea table sat in the middle of a large swath of sunlight, bathing the garden in a heated, buttery glow. Roses, dripping with scent and a multitude of colors, covered the garden from the ground up. Tiny yellow butterflies flapped lazy wings from petal to petal. It felt like stepping through a Monet.

She smiled and clasped her clammy hands together. “High tea?”

He shoved blunt fingers through his thick wavy hair, his posture unsure as he nodded. “If that’s okay?”

Alice was proud of herself for not hopping and skipping around like Tweedledee and Tweedledum. She sat, trying to look elegant, but she was afraid that with the way she was dressed, she looked more like the best friend in Pretty Woman. Lowbrow hoochie, though the heat returning to his eyes made her think... maybe he didn’t mind?

Dainty trays of food manifested, filling the tabletop to capacity. Tea cakes, finger sandwiches, salad, fruit, and cheese cubes as far as her eye could see.

She groaned, mouth salivating at the sight.

Two teapots appeared. Hatter grabbed the one with steam rising from its spout and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into her cup. The heady aroma of anise and five-spice curled under her nose like a fog bank. She inhaled, taking the scent deep. Like a fine wine, it flooded her senses.

“Thank you.” She grinned, adding, “I feel like I should be wearing gloves and a bonnet or something.”

Cream lace gloves, with a string of small pearls laced at the side, appeared next to her hand. She snorted. “I have got to watch what I say here.”

He glanced at the gloves, staring at them so hard she was sure he’d say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he dropped a sugar cube into his tea and nodded toward the bowl.

“Yes, one, please.” Her voice quivered a little. The cube dropped into her cup with a soft plop, disappearing in moments. Alice slipped the fingerless gloves on, just to have something to do, and nodded. “Am I decent?”

His brows lowered. “For what?”

“For tea, of course.” She rolled her eyes, laughing.

The cup in his hand paused at chest level. “I wouldn’t know. Tea is just tea.” He shrugged and then sipped.

Embarrassed, she pressed her lips together. “Of course.” Suddenly she felt ridiculous in the gloves, in the dress, in the top hat that’d appeared from thin air atop her head. It was silly of her to get so excited. Just because this was straight out of her favorite scene from Alice in Wonderland. Just because it was the scene where she’d always felt the Hatter’s presence the strongest. She swallowed the tea but hardly tasted it. This was so stupid, so impossible.

“But...”

Alice hated that her heart fluttered. She didn’t want to care. Damn him, how many times would he make her feel like a fool?

“You look very good to me.”

Her gaze shot up, locking onto his. His compliment echoed in her ears, and she suddenly realized she was smiling. Pathetic—she was so pathetic. She hadn’t been a virgin for some time, and yet right now her stomach tickled and her knees knocked. He made her feel like she was back in high school, gazing adoringly at Clinton Issac, waiting for the day he’d finally notice her. All over one little compliment.

Her smile wilted at the edges. Clinton had been an awful disappointment. She swept her eyes over Hatter’s face. Would he be too?

“What’s your real name?” She hadn’t meant to ask him that, but it just sort of plopped out of her mouth. He looked at her, head cocked. Her eyes widened and heat rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that—”

He held a long-fingered hand up. Her stomach dove, remembering the feel of those hands on her body last night. How those hands had dipped lower on her waist until, for a moment, she’d thought he’d grab her. Pinch, knead, do something. Fire licked her veins, and she guzzled more of the tea, eyes burning as the hot liquid scalded her throat.

He gave her a weak grin. “The longer I stay, the less I know. Hatter? Mad Hatter? T. T.” He shook his head and stared at his hands as if he could divine the truth of the universe from them. He growled and rubbed his eyes. “I... can’t remember. Too long ago.”

She was sorry she’d asked him. A frown tugged at the corners of his full lips. She wanted to smooth the anxious lines between his eyes. Instead, she plucked at the hem of her dress.

“The longer you stay? What do you mean?”

He looked up, butter knife held loosely in his hand. The smile she’d glimpsed only last night, the real one, the one that peeked out when he wasn’t afraid to relax, came out for a fleeting moment.