The Belles (The Belles #1)(71)

“No, sir, I’m not—”

“Well, then, perhaps you should leave us anyway. I’m feeling a bit shy with all these people in the room,” he says.

I feel Ivy’s stares through her veil, no doubt waiting for me to ask her to stay. I press my lips together until she rises from her seat.

“If that’s what you wish,” Ivy says.

“It is,” he replies.

She curtsies and saunters out. The air in the room thickens like pudding now that she’s gone.

“You lied. You aren’t shy,” I say.

“Not in the least,” he says. “I just wanted to be alone with you. Or as alone as is possible, within the rules.”

My cheeks warm. I glance away. “So, what services do you want?”

“I hate that I even have to do this.”

I frown.

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, I dislike”—he waves his hand around—“the fact that I need to be altered. The ship had to dock every month for us to have this maintenance done. It always felt so ridiculous. Unnecessary.”

I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to process his distaste. I thought everyone loved changing the way they looked. I thought they all coveted it. “Then let yourself be gray.”

“Then no one would want to look at me.”

“You’d be rid of all of this.” I wave my arms around.

“But now I think I’ll like these treatments more, because I can have them done with you.” He stares at me.

I fiddle with metal instruments on a nearby cart. “I might not be available next time.”

“I’ll do what it takes. I’ll find a way.”

“Why would you go to this trouble?”

“I don’t know, really,” he says. “I went to the Chrysanthemum Teahouse two days ago and didn’t like—”

“You saw my sister?” My heart skips.

“I did.”

“How is she?”

“A little grumpy. She wasn’t amused by my charm.”

“I don’t think many people are.”

His mouth drops open. “Ouch.”

“How did she seem?”

“After I tried to flirt with her, lighten the mood, she refused to speak to me.”

I imagine Auguste on Amber’s treatment table and almost laugh. His antics definitely would have gotten under her skin.

“We should begin,” I say.

“Yes.” He starts to disrobe, and servants rush forward to help.

I whip around.

“Are you shy?” he asks.

“No, but it is not customary for me to see you nude. You should’ve waited until I left the room.”

“I don’t care much for customs.” The bed groans as he climbs onto it. “Plus, I’m not naked. Not to worry. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not afraid?”

“A thousand.”

“You’re harmless.”

“I’m quite dangerous, actually.” He playfully grazes my arm. The touch of his fingers sends a warm ripple through me. I slip out of his grasp.

“Do you behave like this with all women?”

“No, just you.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You don’t trust me?” he asks.

“I don’t know you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Nothing.” Everything. Bree lifts one of the hourglasses on the table, showing me I only have a few more minutes left in his session.

“It’s almost time for my next client.”

“Well, you’ve done an awful lot of talking,” he says. “So I should get more time. You haven’t given me my spintria’s worth.”

“You’re the one who’s been asking questions. And you haven’t told me what you want.”

“You choose. I, at least, trust you.” He closes his eyes.

I dust his face with bei powder and put some up his nose to make him sneeze. I only have time for a quick treatment. I paint tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, like caramel raindrops. The arcana wake up inside me.

I brush my fingers over his face: his skin is soft and warm, his breath hot on my hands. His pale white face appears in my mind. I add the freckles one by one, like I’m painting delicate flowers on a canvas.

I close my eyes.

He moves. Bree gasps.

My eyes snap open. A grinning Auguste covered in bei powder sits inches from my face. The heat of his skin warms mine. I smell the strawberries he ate before the appointment. The softness of his breath lands on my cheek. I can almost taste him.

He kisses my cheek and says, “For luck. I trust you won’t tell anyone.” Then he disappears out the door.





31


After my morning appointments, Rémy walks Ivy and me to the queen’s sitting room for a private meeting. Ivy fusses about Auguste the entire walk. But her words can’t erase the dangerous feeling of his mouth against my cheek. Even though they should. The thought of him almost distracts me from the fact that I’m about to have my first semi-private audience with the queen.