These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(53)

“She’s never witnessed it.”

“Then that is more of a reason to be cautious. Dr. Beck could be capable of anything.”

I gritted my teeth slightly, refusing to be swayed. “And I’m capable of recovering from anything.”

“Your healing is not instantaneous. We have no idea if it is fully effective for every situation, and I do not want to test its limits. I want you to stay out of this. There are worse fates than death, especially in the hands of that man. You must trust me to get her back.”

This time he did take my hand—imploringly. Behind the drapery no one could see us, though my mind was far from propriety anyway. I idly wondered how many more times Mr. Braddock and I would find ourselves in odd corners and too close. The spinning current was dulled through our gloves, but I knew he felt it, as well. My legs trembled as I looked up at him, and I could see he was equally affected—skin flushed, lips slightly parted. The heady feeling was almost enough to make me agree to stay away. But not quite.

“This is precisely the problem,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I keep foolishly wanting to trust you, and then you always provide another convincing piece of evidence for why I shouldn’t.”

He peered down at me, and the air practically hummed with our competing powers and annoyance. “Very well. I’d much rather lose your trust than lose”—he frowned at the turn of phrase—“anything else.”

The bell chimed. The sea of people began drifting back into the theatre. Refusing to give in, I drew back, crossed my arms, and prayed as I grasped for the most likely name from Miss Grey’s diary. “Perhaps I’ll just visit Lord Ridgewood at his home and ask him myself.”

His eyes widened. I’d guessed correctly. He shook his head, jaw tight. “You are impossible.”

I was, and I refused to break eye contact.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I will send for you tomorrow at nine o’clock. Do not go anywhere without me. You must promise to do nothing reckless.”

“Says the limping, head-bandaged man pursuing infinitely dangerous people late into the night.”

Smiling against his will at that, he held my gaze for a second, hesitating with some unspoken thought behind his eyes. But he sighed and changed tactics.

“Oh, please convey my apologies to Mr. Kent. I was to have nothing further to do with you, and it appears I’ve completely disregarded that,” he said, before leaving the nook.

I followed him out, trying to set aside my roiling frustration. He gave my hand a final squeeze before limping off down the hallway.

When I took my seat again, Laura would not look at me. I whispered to her, “How did the rest of the conversation go?”

“I don’t want to talk, ever again,” she spat, looking down and contemplating the wonders of her lap.

“Laura,” I persisted. “Laura.”

Sullen, she turned her whole body away into a very uncomfortable-looking position to make her point.

On my other side, Mr. Kent leaned over and spoke right into my ear in a low voice. “I must say, that was a curious change you made to my sister’s plan.”

“She was doing perfectly fine without me. She didn’t even need my help,” I returned, perplexed.

“Then let’s remove safety nets under tightrope walkers to boost their confidence,” he said with a bitter edge.

Was he really so angry about this? “Sometimes it’s more helpful to let someone do it on their own,” I replied calmly. “I clearly ruined her evening, and I’m sorry. But I had to talk to Mr. Braddock about finding Dr. Beck.”

“Ah, yes, another secret rendezvous at an inconvenient time. Mustn’t miss those. Do you think, has he just been keeping Miss Rosamund in his house this whole time?”

So he was jealous, as well. Ridiculous. I tried to keep my voice even, diplomatic. “No, he’s trying to help.”

“So am I, but I have to do double the work when you keep information from me. Tell me honestly, do you even think you need me to find her?”

“No,” I said. “But that’s because Mr. Braddock knows them—”

He stood up. “Of course, I quite understand.” He turned to the rest of the group and gave a bow. “Good night, all, I’m sorry but I must be off.”

“But Mr. Kent, you’ll miss the ending,” Miss Verinder simpered.

“All the ending does is ruin perfectly good suspense,” he said with a wink and headed for the door.

I shot up, squeezed past Miss Verinder, and stopped Mr. Kent by the box door. “Wait!” I whispered. “That does not mean I don’t want your help. Please. Stay.”

His face softened a bit, but not enough. “Miss Wyndham, a wise girl told me something a long time ago, and it’s stuck with me ever since. She said, ‘Sometimes it’s more helpful to let someone do it on their own.’ ” And he left me to the box, where no one else seemed to be on speaking terms with me. Delightful.

When the play, the clapping, the curtain call, and the agony finally ended, our party was rightfully exhausted as we passed through the lobby toward the exit. Lady Kent exchanged parting words with Mr. and Mrs. Verinder, Laura sulked over to the side and stared at framed playbills of old productions of Romeo and Juliet, and without Mr. Kent to cling to, Miss Verinder fell into step with me.