The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(58)

She’d discovered this truth in the days following Celine’s attack. Not once had Pippa pressed for answers, but she’d seen enough to know they were not what they appeared to be. Human beings did not move as they did, as if they were shrouded in smoke. Nor had she ever encountered so many faultlessly beautiful men and women in her entire life. Lastly, they never seemed to eat or need rest or appear the slightest bit tired. Often they blinked as if it were an afterthought.

Pippa fretted to herself, wringing her hands as if they’d been soaked by a rain shower.

If Sébastien Saint Germain refused to speak to her tonight, she would have to seek out his uncle, and she dreaded the thought. His uncle frightened Pippa greatly. Whatever dark magic he wielded—whatever powers he used to shield Celine from the worst of her memories—none of it was working. Not anymore.

Even more pressing was the fact that Pippa could no longer maintain this charade. It had been taxing enough concealing the truth from her best friend, but the entire time, Pippa had believed it was for the best. No one should be forced to relive the details of such an ordeal. Pippa should know. It had taken her years to find a measure of peace after all she’d suffered as a child in Yorkshire.

These last few weeks, many worries kept Pippa up at night. She’d listened to Celine cry out in her sleep, and she’d tossed and turned in her own bed, thinking she might have made a mistake. Was it right to take someone’s memories from them, even if it spared that person pain?

Pippa had experienced a great deal of pain in her past. One could argue that pain had taught her valuable lessons. Her expression hardened. She didn’t want Celine to suffer pain in order to learn about life. No one who loved someone as she loved Celine would ever wish such memories upon another.

The door at Pippa’s back creaked open. She spun in place, the words already forming on her tongue, only to die the next instant.

“Why are you here?” she said at once, aware of how peevish she sounded.

Arjun Desai—the Court of the Lions’ smarmy solicitor—smiled at her without showing his teeth. “You’re not even the slightest bit pleased to see me?”

Pippa crossed her arms. “I asked to speak with Bastien.”

“Bastien is . . . indisposed at the moment. I was sent here in his stead.” Arjun crossed his arms as well, mocking her with every movement. “How may I help you tonight, Miss Montrose?” His head tilted to one side. “Was this not the evening of your engagement party?” He made a show of searching his pockets, then brushed his fingers through his unruly black hair. “Dash it all, I forgot my hat. Otherwise I would tip it in salute to your lifetime of happiness.”

“You’re coarse and conceited, sir,” Pippa said in a cool tone. “And this conversation has gone on long enough. If Bastien is unavailable, then I’d like to speak with”—she grimaced—“his uncle.”

Arjun laughed. “You really are serious, aren’t you, pet?”

“I am not now nor have I ever been your pet, Mr. Desai. If you refuse to help me, then—”

He held up his arm to keep her from leaving. “Nicodemus is not going to speak with you. Your best bet is to tell me what you want.”

Pippa harrumphed. Then began toying with the golden cross around her neck. “I came to tell you that Celine is starting to remember. And that I can no longer keep your secrets.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.” Arjun removed his monocle and began cleaning the lens with a silk handkerchief.

“Then why am I speaking with you, sir?” Pippa placed her fists on her hips. “I never should have agreed to keep the truth from Celine that night in the hospital, even if we all thought it was the best way to protect her. I have lied repeatedly to someone I love, and it was wrong of me—wrong of us all—to be complicit in what happened to her memories.”

“She asked to have those memories taken from her, Philippa,” Arjun interjected gently.

“Nonetheless, it was wrong of Count Saint Germain to take them from her.” She sniffed. “And don’t ever call me Philippa.”

“Why?”

“It’s what my mother called me.”

“You’ll have to tell me that story sometime.”

“Not on your life, Mr. Desai.” Pippa gathered her skirts in hand. “I’ve said what I came to say. Please deliver my message to whoever needs to hear it.”

Arjun offered her a curt bow. “As you wish.”

Pippa hesitated. “I wish I believed you would do as I asked.”

“If wishes were fairies.”

“Then at the very least they’d keep their promises.” Pippa bit her lower lip. “We’re . . . toying with people’s lives, you know. It was a mistake to think a lie—however well intentioned—was better than the truth.”

“Sometimes a lie is all we have,” Arjun said. “And I promise to deliver your message to Bastien.”

“Can I take you at your word?”

“Mademoiselle, I am the only man on these premises who can be taken precisely at his word.” He grinned. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“You sound as if you’re offering condolences for my dead cat.”

“You have a cat?” Amusement tugged at his features. “And marriage is a death, is it not? Death of freedom, death of dreams, death of—”