Finale (Caraval #3)(13)

“Don’t tell me you really like it here.” Julian’s eyes lifted toward a slice of the glass ceiling covered in ladybugs. “There’s something off. Even the insects want to escape.”

“Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat. “His Lordship, Count Nicolas d’Arcy.”

Scarlett’s breath caught.

Clipped boot steps, heavier than she would have expected, followed the servant’s voice.

She thought she’d imagined her former fiancé as every possible sort of man. She’d pictured him short, tall, slender, wide, old, young, bald, hairy, handsome, plain, pale, dark, brooding, cheerful. She’d pictured him dressed in frilly frockcoats and dour suits as she tried to imagine the first thing he’d say upon meeting her.

She’d imagined what she’d say to him as well. But her words tangled together as he stepped forward and took her hand in his.

Nicolas was a mountain. The large hand holding Scarlett’s could have just as easily crushed it as cradled it. He was almost a full foot taller than her—all muscled legs, burly arms, and brown hair so thick that even though it appeared he’d tried to tame it, a wide lock fell over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance, which was added to by his slightly crooked spectacles.

He looked the way she would have imagined a vigilante who had a secret identity as a gentleman botanist.

Beside him trailed a great black dog the size of a small pony. Timber. Scarlett had heard a lot about him in Nicolas’s letters. His tail wagged and his ears went back at the sight of Scarlett, obviously excited. But the dog didn’t leave his master’s side; he sat obediently as Nicolas brought her hand to his full mouth.

Her dress clearly liked him. Her low neckline was now rimmed with roughly cut gems that sent sparks of light all over the glassed-in garden.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” Scarlett managed.

He smiled, wide and sincere. “I’m tempted to say you’re even prettier than I imagined, but I would hate you to think me unoriginal.”

“Too late,” Julian coughed.

A wrinkle formed between Nicolas’s thick brows as he noticed Scarlett’s companion. “And you are?”

“Julian.” He offered his hand.

But Nicolas refused to let go of Scarlett’s. “I wasn’t aware Scarlett had a brother.”

“I’m not her brother.” Julian kept his tone friendly, but Scarlett felt a surge of bruising purple panic as devilry sparked in Julian’s eyes. “I’m not related to her at all. I’m an actor she played with during Caraval.”

He emphasized the words played with, and Scarlett could have choked him. Julian would choose now to finally be honest.

Not that Nicolas appeared disturbed. The young count’s broad smile remained even as he pet Timber with his free hand.

But Julian wasn’t finished.

“I’m not surprised she’s never mentioned me. At the start of Caraval I don’t think she liked me much. But then we were given the same bedroom—”

“Julian, enough,” Scarlett cut in.

Nicolas’s smile finally fell. He released her fingers, as if taking them had been a mistake.

“It’s not the way it sounds. Julian and I are only friends,” she said, deciding not to even touch the word bedroom. “He met my father during Caraval and he was nervous you might be like him. He wanted to come today because he’s protective of me. But allowing that was evidently a mistake.” She shot a narrow look in Julian’s direction.

He appeared unapologetic, shrugging as he sank his hands into his pockets.

“Nicolas, please—”

“It’s all right, Scarlett.” The count’s voice rumbled deeper than before, but the angry lines around his mouth were gone. “I won’t say I’m pleased about this. But after learning the truth about your father and hearing about the fiancé you met during Caraval, I can understand.”

Nicolas turned back to Julian, and Scarlett stared as the young men finally shook hands. “Thank you for watching out for her during the game.”

“I’ll always watch out for her,” Julian said.

“What about when you’re not needed?” Nicolas asked.

Julian threw his shoulders back and stood taller. “I’ll let Scarlett make that choice.”

“Julian, stop,” Scarlett said.

“It’s all right.” Nicolas scratched his dog behind the ears. “I don’t mind a bit of competition. In fact, I’d prefer to know who else is trying to win your hand.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Julian said. “Winning implies this is a game.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Nicolas.

“I know.” Julian smirked. “Games are what I do. But I don’t think you were using it figuratively. You want to win her by proving you’re the best.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Nicolas asked. And Scarlett would have sworn he puffed his chest.

They were like battling peacocks. Scarlett pictured their emotions swirling in proud shades of teal and cobalt blue. Or maybe she was actually seeing their feelings?

Scarlett always saw her own emotions in colors, but she’d only seen the feelings of someone else once. It had happened during Caraval, after she’d shared blood with Julian. It was the most intimate thing she’d ever done, and afterward, she’d been able to glimpse Julian’s feelings. But it hadn’t lasted long, and neither did this glimpse of pride, making her wonder if it was only in her mind, since she hadn’t drunk anyone’s blood.