Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(30)

They halted at the carriage.

“Miss Frankenstein, may I call you Angelika?”

“Certainly, Christopher—as you said, we are friends now.” The carriage stairs were against the backs of her calves. She prayed Will had followed her orders; he must be holding his breath inside. “I must thank you for all your help. And I will ensure the poor lady receives this bottle.”

“I insist on visiting her home with you.” Christopher took her hand in his, smoothing across the knuckles of her glove. “Pray, allow me a moment to be quite impertinent. I would be grateful to call upon you. I wish to introduce myself to your brother, given you were both unable to attend the ball.”

“He is out of town at present, for another day or so.” Giving in to the urge, Angelika laid her hand on his cuff. No magic, no witchcraft: it was regular fabric.

“I trust you have plenty of servants to keep you safe. There are many thieves and rogues in the village. And there are tales of something more unexplained. You haven’t seen any monsters, have you?” He was clearly amused. “Something huge and barely human?”

“I haven’t, but I wish I would.” It sounded like Victor’s travel was wasted.

“Please, do not ever go out after dark. We are commencing night patrols. I shall send a card to your brother, and I hope to see you again soon. Do you ride?”

She couldn’t help herself. “Frightfully well.”

“I’d like to know all the things you are frightfully good at.” He wanted to hand her up into her carriage, but she couldn’t risk his seeing Will. She backed up the tiny stairs, attempting to squeeze through a four-inch gap. “Allow me, please,” he said, reaching past her waist and opening the door wide.

The carriage was empty.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” Angelika settled herself into her seat and blew out a breath. She heard Christopher exhale in a similar way, long and slow. He’d held his breath? He needed air? Oh, but wasn’t this a dark delight, knowing she would be in his thoughts as he lay alone tonight in his sandstone fortress—

A whip crack jolted her out of this forbidden thought. Flattery was a worse intoxicant than brandy. Where in the blue blazes was Will?

She drew the curtain on the opposite window and clutched her heart in fright. Will was hanging on the outside of the carriage, posing as a footman—a very irritated one. Quick thinking, but she still felt embarrassed that he had eavesdropped on that excruciating scene.

In contrast to Christopher, Will was thoroughly ruffled. He had hair falling on his brow, a clothing crease at every joint, and a sparkle of sweat on his brow. He was reassuringly alive.

Out the window, she hissed, “Get down from there.”

“Not until we are past the gates. No one can see me on this side. What is that for? A parting gift?” Will looked at the bottle of liquor on the seat beside her. He scowled through the carriage windows back at the building. “He’s standing there, watching your carriage depart like a lovesick youth.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a contribution to the hamper I am making for the bereaved wife of an officer who was killed here ten days ago.” She hated how Will’s attention sparked up. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask for his name or any further particulars. It would have been suspicious.”

She pretended not to hear his questions until they were stopped safely down the road and he could climb back in.

“You didn’t ask anything that could help further?” Will said with a bit of accusation. He sat opposite her, his knees caging her legs in. “You’ve been drinking liquor in his office, in the middle of the day. Probably being lively and charming.”

Angelika put her palm in front of her mouth, exhaled, and sniffed. “Just a couple of brandies, and only moderately charming. I’m glad you did as you were told and stayed here.”

“I didn’t. I saw some gravestones down the side of the eastern wing.”

He explained how he had run across and examined all of the graves that looked fresh, before evading an approaching groundskeeper and hiding in the small chapel until the footsteps faded. “They were all privates, low-level soldiers. None of their names made me feel anything. But being on those grounds gave me a strong echo of memory. It washed over me until I was dizzy.”

Clara Hoggett’s husband must be buried in the village, or indeed there may be an empty casket under his gravestone. “You are an officer, my love, I am sure.”

She nearly said: And I think I know your wife’s name. She’d opened her mouth to say it. But the fear that he would jolt back into himself, regain his memory, and ask for a lift to town was too much. She decided to keep him to herself a few minutes longer. By the end of this carriage ride, she would release him. In a voice designed to intoxicate, she cooed, “You’re too refined and elegant to be a lowly private.”

This did not flatter him. “Not as refined as your perfect Commander Keatings. He is planning to call on you.”

Angelika’s insides thrilled at the flat jealousy in his eyes. “You heard that, then.”

“I heard it all. I heard how enchanted he was.” He reached out and drew the curtains on one window, then the other. It gave Angelika a dip in her stomach, like the carriage was gliding downhill. “He thinks you are very beautiful.”

“We can’t know that.”