Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match(81)
“He did,” Clara said, so admiring that Angelika was now juggling a two-way jealousy. “He kicked in a door at the boardinghouse, punched a man, and left, in as long as it took me to tell this story.”
“He’s nothing if not efficient,” Angelika agreed. “I bet that woman is telling a story about the handsome stranger who saved her in her time of need.”
Her jealousy expanded and threatened to eclipse her civility.
Will was cupping his right hand. Was that why he hadn’t eaten anything? He couldn’t hold a fork? Angelika sat up from the floor. He read her expression and shook his head at her. A fuss was the last thing he ever wanted, and also the one thing she liked to do best.
It was her house; she’d fuss if she liked. Will sighed, knowing it was no use resisting.
Christopher observed the entire wordless communication.
“Show me.” She put his plate aside and sat on the arm of Will’s armchair. He gave her his hand and she winced over the splits. There was a hint of warmth in the swollen joints. She curled his hand around hers and began a slow rubbing. “Poor, poor thing. Far too gallant. Far too brave. Now look what you’ve done. Are we telling Victor what we know later?” That last part was a whisper, and he shook his head.
“I think I will return home now,” Christopher said abruptly. “Thank you for dinner.”
Angelika was guilty over her inconsideration and tried to pull her hand back, but Will held on to it with newfound strength.
Victor glanced down at Edwin tugging at his trouser leg before addressing Christopher. “It’s dark now; stay the night. Your horse is put away. We could set out early and go up to that clearing where you saw the footprints. I will rescue Mary if it’s the last thing I do.”
Edwin chirped for attention; Victor drained his wineglass. Lizzie stared at her diamond ring like she was debating hurling it into the fire. She was dramatic enough for such a gesture.
Angelika decided her brother was quite dim for such a smart man. “The roads are teeming with criminals, so perhaps you ought to stay, Christopher. The room across the hall from mine is still empty.”
When Victor looked at her, she mouthed, Pick up the baby.
Victor blinked, rechecked his calculations, and realized he’d made a grave error.
“What is it, my good man? You wish to speak to me? Very well.” Victor picked up the lad, seating him on his knee like a sack of flour. Experimentally, he bounced him. Edwin screamed with joy, and Lizzie laughed. The diamond ring remained firmly in situ.
It was Angelika’s last good deed for the day before she went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It felt strange, knowing Christopher was in the room opposite her own. Angelika had locked her door before she got into bed. She could not say she liked his presence, because she still thought of it as Will’s room. Now Christopher was using that tub, sleeping in that bed, and erasing the last traces of his rival’s presence. Male cats rubbed against things to mark them as property. She could picture it now.
She’d slept soundly for around two hours, but was now awake, tossing and turning. It felt like a waste of time to be asleep when the house and grounds were so full of interesting guests and Mary was out there somewhere. Thunder cracked in the distance. Would she be kept dry? Did the big man have enough sense to keep her warm, and somewhat comfortable?
Angelika could not see Will’s cottage from her window, but she was absolutely sure that he would be awake. She could feel a pull from him. He must be so hungry after not touching his meal. She pulled on a robe in the dark and put on her boots. In the kitchen, she found some leftover cheese and bread, and lit a lantern. She needed to see Will’s face one more time, to ask for a hug, and to decide if the name Arlo suited him.
It was only a quick shortcut through the orchard.
During the day, she could agree to the men’s terms, and they seemed reasonable. Stay close to someone, and be guarded by them. But what were the chances that in the next three minutes she would intersect with the huge man’s path? She hardly flattered herself that he was so taken with her that he was waiting right now. She preferred the more likely outcome: she would soon be lying in Will’s arms on his narrow bed, in his monastery-white room, listening to the storm rolling in.
Taking a calculated risk was typical Angelika.
The air outside was perfumed by approaching rain clouds, and something else strange that turned her stomach and made her hungry. She swung her lantern and walked through the first rows of apples, past the Conqueror variety, picking one out of habit. Biting it, she found it to be the same flavor as always: sour and sweet, the taste of childhood. It made her think of her brother and that day with the spade, and how Will had asked if she had planted her own tree. “I should have,” she said out loud to herself to cover her nerves. All this talk of monsters and kidnapping couldn’t help but affect her. “I am going to start creating things on my own, without Victor, no matter what he says.”
She could hear a crackle. Was it rain?
“I’m going to get married in the Notre-Dame in Paris,” she said, breaking into a jog.
In the far distance, up on the hill, there was a light glowing in Will’s cottage. Perhaps it was a candle on the sill, burning for her like the star of Bethlehem. “I’m going to wear a dress that will employ ten seamstresses for a year, and I am going to have to increase my fitness to walk down that long aisle—”