Caraval (Caraval, #1)(63)

He might not be Legend, but Scarlett sensed he was someone. She held out the buttons she’d collected during the game. She wasn’t quite sure what to say about them, but she hoped by showing him, he might open up some secret door, like the one she’d found in Castillo Maldito or Tella’s bedroom. “We were wondering if you could help us with this,” Scarlett asked.

The gentleman took her palm. He wore black gloves, yet Scarlett could feel that beneath the velvety fabric, his hands were soft. He was the sort of aristocrat who let others do his hard work.

He lifted Scarlett’s hand to take a closer look at the buttons, though his sharp green eye stayed on hers. Vibrant and elegant and poisonous.

Julian cleared his throat. “You might want to actually look at the buttons, mate.”

“I did. But I’m not really interested in trinkets.” The gentleman folded Scarlett’s fingers over her palm, and before she could pull away he kissed her hand, letting his lips linger much longer than necessary.

“I think we should go,” Julian said. His knuckles were white, his own hands clenched at his sides, as if he were holding back from doing something violent.

Scarlett debated leaving with him before anything regrettable happened. But a leap of faith wasn’t supposed to be easy. She reminded herself that this young man’s cravat had been in color after she’d drunk the cider, which meant he had to be important.

The gentleman watched her as if there was a question he hoped she might ask. His lips curved into another smile that showed off those dangerous white teeth.

Julian wrapped a protective arm around Scarlett. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped looking at my fiancée like that.”

“That’s funny,” the gentleman said. “All this time, I thought she was my fiancée.”





28

Scarlett’s instincts told her to run, but her body refused to move. Bold colors swirled inside her.

She heard the man say his name—Count Nicolas d’Arcy—as she felt Julian’s arm tighten around her shoulder.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Julian said confidently. “You must have my fiancée confused with another. She’s been getting that all week. Haven’t you, love?” Julian squeezed her shoulder in a way that felt very much like a warning.

But Scarlett remained in too much shock to move. The buttons had never been clues. The black box, containing the dress covered in buttons, had not been from Legend or her sister. D stood for d’Arcy.

Like Legend, it seemed her fiancé was also fond of playing games. Though the longer Julian kept his arm wrapped around Scarlett, the less amused Count Nicolas d’Arcy looked.

Scarlett could scarcely believe this was the same man who’d written her so many lovely letters. He didn’t appear to be mean or anywhere close to unattractive, yet he also didn’t feel anything like his letters. The count she’d corresponded with had seemed as if he couldn’t wait until they met so there’d be no more need for secrecy. Now she wondered if he hadn’t just written down all the things he imagined she wanted to hear, for this young man seemed far from transparent. He looked like the type who enjoyed keeping secrets.

“I hope you’re not disappointed.” The count adjusted his cravat as a back door opened behind him and the tailor returned, along with another man. Lavender. Anise. Rotted plums.

“Love, I think we need to leave now.” Julian wrenched open the front door at the same moment Scarlett’s father came into view.

Every shade of purple flashed in front of her eyes.

But Julian didn’t hesitate. The instant the count reached for Scarlett, Julian shoved over a pedestal of glass eyes and used the distraction to pull her under the arch of the door into a curtain of silver rain. Scarlett gripped his hand as her father’s angry words chased from behind.

“Do whatever it takes to stop her!” he called.

“Scarlett, you don’t need to run!” The count’s voice was not as harsh, but he ran fast, especially for a finely dressed gentleman.

Scarlett tugged Julian toward a covered bridge that she hoped was the same tricky bridge from two nights before. But it wasn’t. Her father and the count continued to pursue them, through winding streets and brightly lit shops, past people who clapped as if it were part of the show.

“This way—hold on.” Julian tore Scarlett from the slippery main road, toward the canals, ripping through a crowd of people all trying to reach shelter. “Hop in.”

“But there’s lightning!” Scarlett said. “We can’t get in a boat.”

“You have any better ideas?” Julian grabbed two oars as he leaped inside a crescent vessel.

“Scarlett!” her father shouted through the rain. “Don’t do this—” His words were cut off by a strike of lightning and a clap of thunder. In the silver-streaked night, Scarlett witnessed something she’d not seen before.

Her father looked afraid. Raindrops ran down his cheeks like tears. She was sure it was just a trick of the light, but for a moment she imagined her father actually loved her, that maybe deep down he really cared. Beside him, the count’s expression was concealed by the dark, but while they’d run, Scarlett would have sworn he’d appeared excited by the challenge she’d presented.

Scarlett looked away and clasped her wet knees to her chest as Julian’s oars cut through the water. Even if her father was still capable of kindness, and even if the count had actually seemed like the type of man she’d thought he would be, Scarlett still couldn’t have brought herself to go back to either of them.