These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(63)

“So if it’s true, what do we do now?”

For an eternity, he stared out the window at the streaming rain, the muddy streets, the dark shops shuttered and gated, the buildings half hidden in fog. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. I need more time to think.”

“I have one idea,” I lied.

“What is it?”

“You don’t need to know that yet. I’m sure you plan to go to Camille’s tonight after you take me home. But I won’t have you doing everything without me. Tomorrow morning, you will pick me up, along with Miss Grey and Mr. Kent, and we will go together. If not, I shall go out on my own again, and you will have to kidnap me to fully stop me, which in some ways would be considered a strange and criminal turn of events.”

He had no response, or—judging by his expression—no polite, gentlemanly one. His eyes flickered as he struggled to determine what clues he had overlooked, what I had solved that he couldn’t. After another long, uncomfortable silence, Mr. Braddock filled it with a half-grunted, half-muttered something that sounded like “As you wish.”

The victory felt hollow this time. “Well, I wish I knew what the right choice was.”

He looked at me steadily, perhaps trying to determine if I was being sarcastic. “What do you mean?”

“If Dr. Beck can see the future, then he knows what actions he must take to realize it, no matter how vicious they may be. But all we can do is make a decision and pray it’s the right one. None of them have been so far, though.”

He turned away in contemplation. With every movement of the cab, the glare of the reading lamp washed over his cheek, the moonlight glimmered in his green eyes, and the gas lanterns flickered around his straight nose. The hues mingled together, floating over his face, exchanging caresses with the shadows.

“I don’t believe there’s ever a right choice,” he said finally. “No matter how much you plan, there’s always something unexpected, something unaccounted for that goes wrong.”

“That . . . is a terrible answer,” I said, shaking my head.

“I suspected you would say that.”

“Because it was terrible.”

“Because of who you are. When we first met, I thought you angry, stubborn, and infuriatingly willful.”

“And now?” Even as I spoke the words, I wondered why I cared so much.

He blinked. “I still think you’re angry, stubborn, and infuriatingly willful. But I’ve come to rather like it, especially when it’s directed at someone who isn’t me. You simply refuse to settle. You keep pushing forward to get what you want, no matter what gets in your way, no matter what hurts you. It’s most admirable.”

I found his admiration made my head spin slightly and had to have a quick, firm talk with myself before I could meet his eyes again. The carriage stopped outside the Kents’, and Mr. Braddock climbed out, circled around, and helped me down. My fingers prickled from his touch, which seemed to last an age.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said, letting go of my hand.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated, swells of my breath mingling with the frigid air. The fog had risen out of the streets, kissing the rooftops of buildings, and the rain had stopped, leaving the city slick, shiny, and vivid. “If I can trust you’ll come this time.”

“You can.” Mr. Braddock hesitated at the cab and half turned, looking unconvinced himself. He came back to me, taking off his hat and speaking hurriedly. “But I know my word isn’t quite enough for you now. All I have left to offer you is my name, so that you may curse it if necessary.”

“I’ve already done that a great deal, Mr. Braddock.”

His fingers tapped on the hat. “Well, I—I was hoping my given name had a clean slate.”

Oh, that’s what he was asking. My face warmed as I tested the name in my head.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, shaking his head. “That was improper of me to ask. I apologize—”

“No, it’s . . . certainly no more improper than seeing me in a hospital gown. I was just seeing how I liked it.”

The corner of his lip pulled up slightly. And was that a blush? “Does it meet your approval?”

“Well, Sebastian,” I said, feeling the strange sound wash over my tongue like a breaking wave. “It isn’t at all good for cursing. But I suppose we can find another use for it. As you might with mine.”

He smiled widely at that and opened the cab door.

“I look forward to it, Evelyn,” he replied, and the way my name left his lips and drifted into the air sent a peculiar glow through me, not unlike his touch did.

Except this lingered long after he rolled away.





TUFFINS OPENED THE door with a bleak expression. The lights were bright, and the muffled sounds of a chattering crowd floated downstairs. The dinner party.

“Lady Kent wishes to see you in the drawing room,” he said, almost timidly.

My stomach roiled as he marched through the portrait-plastered hallway, up the stairs, and past the music room, where all the guests seemed to be gathered. I desperately clung to the hope that all this fuss was to offer me a fresh raspberry tart to try before the others, but Tuffins’s manner made me feel more like a prisoner being led to the gallows.