Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(59)
Elsa shook her head. “You mustn’t leap to conclusions with so little evidence. Perhaps they believed you had died, or hoped you’d lived but didn’t know how to find you.”
Darkly, Leo said, “They sent that assassin to kill you. They probably arranged the train hijacking, too. I’d guess they knew exactly where I was ever since Venezia.”
Elsa swallowed, her throat tight. How many people would have died if they hadn’t been able to stop the train? And the assassin was dead, not to mention Montaigne. Apparently, Garibaldi did not hesitate to gamble with the lives of his own compatriots, let alone with the lives of innocent bystanders.
No one was safe. Least of all herself and Leo. But that wasn’t what he needed to hear just now, so Elsa simply shrugged and said, “Family is complicated.”
Leo snorted, the corners of his lips curling up into an unwilling smile. “You have a way with words, signorina.”
“I know this seems like an impossible mess, but we’ll figure it out together. I promise.”
“I don’t see how. My father is the sort of man who has no qualms about abducting or killing people. I wonder if I ever knew him at all. Even his name was a lie.” Pain was etched along his brow and under his eyes.
Elsa couldn’t remember ever hating anything as much as she hated Garibaldi in that moment—not just for stealing her mother, but for how he’d hurt this beautiful, brilliant boy. Her hatred felt cold and pure as ice, but at the same time she knew Leo could never feel that clarity of hate for someone he’d once loved. She would have to carry the hatred for both of them, to hate Garibaldi on his behalf.
So she tucked the hatred away in a hidden corner of herself for safekeeping, and she gave Leo’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Try to sleep, if you can. There’s nothing to be done now. We’ll start afresh tomorrow.”
He sighed. “You’re right, of course.”
“I should probably…,” she said, shifting her weight to stand, but his hand flashed forward and caught her by the wrist.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
Elsa knew she should resist that magnetic pull she felt behind her sternum, but there was something strange and desperate in his expression, and she found she could not deny him. “I’m no talisman against nightmares, but I suppose I could stay if you—”
Leo suddenly leaned forward, and his lips brushed tentatively against hers, sending unexpected sparks of desire through her. She gasped, and when her lips parted he reached for her and deepened the kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. Her hands explored the shape of his collarbones, the arch of his neck, the rope-cord muscles up and down his back.
She had kissed a boy before—Revan, of course—in the experimental way of children playing at being adults, but never had she been kissed like this. Like a spark held to a gaslight mantle, once lit it would keep burning and burning, ever brighter.
Leo leaned back, pulling her along until she lay over him, and she could feel his heart measuring a rapid rhythm in his chest. She swept her curtain of hair out of the way and kissed his throat beneath the line of his jaw, eliciting a soft moan. One of his hands traversed the curves of her waist and hip, down to her thigh, and then—
Leo froze. Elsa, sensing something was wrong, pulled away and propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “What?”
He fumbled in the pocket of her dressing gown, drew out the revolver, and squinted at it in the dim light. “That is what I think it is.”
Elsa rolled off him, snatched the gun from his hand, and tucked it away again. “I heard a noise in the middle of the night,” she said. “And the house isn’t exactly the impenetrable fortress I was led to believe it would be.”
He quirked one perfect brass eyebrow at her. “Were you planning to shoot me if I grew too bold?”
Elsa snorted. “You’re the one who’s excessively concerned with our respective virtues.”
“Someone has to be,” Leo said defensively. “This isn’t proper, this isn’t how it’s done.…”
“Your idea of ‘how it’s done’ is completely absurd.” She knew Porzia saw marriage as a matter of power and position rather than love, but now Elsa began to wonder if that was truly how Porzia felt, or if she was simply bending to the rules of her society.
Leo’s hands fisted in the bedsheets. “You’re not in the wilds of Veldana anymore, we can’t just—”
“The wilds?!” Elsa snapped. “Where we Veldanese savages rut in the bushes, I suppose?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
She stood. “I am sick of your world’s rules, and doubly sick of your superior attitudes!” Face hot with humiliation, she yanked her dressing gown tighter around her and stormed out of the room.
“Elsa…,” he called. “Elsa!” But she was already slamming the door closed behind her.
Having forgotten the candlestick in Leo’s room, Elsa stumbled down the hallway blind, one hand held out to the wall to guide her. How could she have been so stupid?
It is always the woman’s fault, Jumi recited in her mind. That’s the way men are. If you wanted it, you seduced him; if you didn’t want it, you denied him.
She should have known better than to let anyone worm their way into her heart.