"Surely, even then, killers died before they were caught," Pearl protested. "And there is the ultimate justice. We saw that at the morgue, with the spirits that . . . didn't ascend."
Grey nodded. "Perhaps God's justice wipes away the blood magic. We'll have to ask Amanusa when she and Jax return from Scotland."
"Do you know when that will be, sir?" Duncan asked. Pearl thought his eagerness might become exhausting if she was exposed to it overlong.
"Soon, I hope." Grey shrugged. "They are newly wed. Yvaine's tower hasn't been opened in two hundred years. I imagine they have a great deal to do before they can return. But they've been gone six weeks already."
"Then surely it will be soon."
The speculation continued until the carriage halted outside Grey's house. Pearl had no idea how late it was, but she got out there, and the carriage rattled off to take Duncan to his lodgings. Pearl went inside with Grey. He'd promised her food, and she was hungry. Two years on short rations couldn't be made up overnight. And the book said that magic should be fed. She had plenty of hungry magic to feed.
GREY MOUNTED THE stairs to his workroom at the top of the house, shouting orders to McGregor as he climbed. His house hold was used to the bizarre hours he kept, and McGregor had the servants working in shifts so someone was always available to provide food at any hour it might be requested. Though after midnight, the food would be a cold collation. Grey didn't know when McGregor himself slept. He always seemed to be about.
Pearl clambered up the stairs behind him, her shoes a quick clatter on the last, uncarpeted flight. Why had he invited her inside with him? At this hour of the night? Though it wasn't yet midnight, so perhaps it wasn't quite a scandal. Yet.
Not that he cared a nail paring about scandal. For himself. He didn't like to think of Pearl being hurt by it. He didn't like to think of Pearl being hurt, period. Exclamation point.
But she was an apprentice sorceress. Given the state of the world, he didn't see how she could escape scandal, simply because of the magic she practiced and the world's faulty beliefs about it. Which meant he ought to send her home now, before the risk of scandal became any greater.
At the top of the stairs, he stopped outside the black-painted door to his workroom and turned toward Pearl. He opened his mouth to send her away, and the words wouldn't come. He couldn't push sound through his throat, couldn't shape lips and tongue to form sound into sense. He could not tell her to leave.
He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay right there beside him, close enough that he could reach out and take her hand anytime he liked. And that realization terrified him so much, he turned and plunged into the workroom, invoking Harry's damned expensive spell to light all the gas lamps at once.
The rush of flame lit the cluttered space and warmed him with its familiarity. Nothing else was familiar to him, particularly not whatever was happening inside his head. Or wherever it was happening. Not his heart. Surely not.
Pearl came slowly into his workroom and he turned to watch her. He wanted to see her reaction to this place that was his. That was him. Even his physical appearance-his face, his expressions and attitudes-was a mask, a suit he put on to present to the world and protect who he truly was.
This room was Grey Carteret, man and conjurer, exposed to whoever might see it. Which was why Pearl was only the second person he had allowed inside it. And why he did not want to see her reaction. He did not want her to matter.
She stared about her, at the sigils painted on the walls in their brilliant colors. Blue fading into deep purple for "Come," bright spring green for "Safe," flaming orangey-red for "Obey," and all the rest. He'd chosen the colors himself, according to how the sigils felt to him. The magic charging the sigils made their colors more intense, and their permanence made the workroom a place of power.
He tried to read her expression. He could not help himself. Was that wonder he saw? Was she impressed, or simply cowed? Or did she hide her disgust at the piles of books and drifts of crumpled paper on the floor behind an impassive mask?
No, Pearl wasn't one for masks. She didn't need them with her magic. Blood spoke the truth.
"The maids aren't allowed in," he said, and cursed himself for making excuses.
Pearl turned to him with twinkling eyes. "Then I am even more impressed. There's room to walk. And look-" She pointed to a table against the east wall.
Grey looked. It was a table, no different from any of the others.
"A usable surface, without anything on it." She grinned.
Grey looked again and saw this time the expanse of bare oak tabletop. It only had two stacks of books atop it, and those only three and four books high, all the rest cleared of clutter. "So it is." He couldn't help grinning back at her, which brought forth a chortle from her and stopped his breath.
When had she become so breathtakingly beautiful? Had it happened when she put on her new, feminine clothes? She still had the same elfin face, those striking eyes, that slender form. Perhaps it has simply taken him so long to recognize the beauty in them. How long had it been? From one morning to the next.
He wanted her. That was the least confusing, least frightening of the things that had happened to him today. He'd desired women before. Frequently. With great enthusiasm. His desire for Pearl Parkin was just like that. Only not.
He'd never wanted to simply be with a woman he desired. Never wanted to spend time with her outside the bedchamber. He'd never wanted to talk with one of the women he had affairs with, to see what was going on inside her clever head. Most of them weren't clever. Which was likely more a reflection on him and his usual choice for female "companionship."
The only women he regularly conversed with were Adela, who was his sister and thus did not count, and Amanusa. He had desired Amanusa, who was almost the physical opposite of Pearl, being tall and very fair and more handsome than beautiful. He had desired her, and had flirted "with intent," until she had made it more than clear that she did not desire him in return.
Not in the tiniest fraction. In fact, she had not even noticed his flirting, much less reacted to it.
Of course, once she married her Jax-Grey's great-great-times-something grandfather on his mother's side-he had ceased his flirting immediately. At least the "with intent" portion of it. Grey was fairly certain he was constitutionally incapable of ceasing to flirt entirely.
The dumbwaiter in the corner rattled and its bell dinged to announce its arrival. Grey went to collect the tray with its, yes, hot soup, since it was before midnight, and the crusty rolls and butter, sliced ham and fruit, and everything wanted for a cozy meal. Even a bottle of wine. And two of everything. Somehow, the paired soup plates and wineglasses and even the two spoons made the meal seem that much more intimate.
He carried the tray to the mostly clear tabletop and filled a plate for Pearl. He dragged up the big wingback chair he used for thinking, and took the wooden chair on wheels for himself. They ate in silence; Grey, because he couldn't think of anything to say that would not make him sound like an idiot, and Pearl, because she was hungry. At least he assumed so from the way she ate. Perhaps she would grow if he fed her.
Then again, she'd worked a great deal of magic today, for one who wasn't accustomed to it. Magic had to be fed.
It also required sleep, which he recalled the next time he looked up. Pearl was asleep in the great red velvet chair, her spoon still clutched tightly in her hand. Her soup plate was empty. He would feed her again when she woke.
Exhaustion pressed its heavy hand upon Grey as well, but he couldn't leave her crumpled up in that chair. She would have a sore neck in the morning. Carefully, he eased the spoon from her hand, piled up the dishes, and stuck them in the dumbwaiter. McGregor would be knocking on the door at some ungodly hour looking for them, if he did not, and Grey did not want anyone disturbing Pearl before she was ready to be disturbed.
He stopped before the chair and stared down a moment. Gathering his strength, he told himself. But he lied. He was quite good at it, lying. Especially to himself. He watched Pearl because he wanted to. It pleased him to see her there, asleep in his chair in his workroom. She trusted him enough to sleep. She trusted him to protect her from harm. Which he would.
As he stood over her and let his eyes travel along the swell of her breast, the dainty curve of her waist, he had to acknowledge the fact that he might himself be the greatest danger, and he was not sure in the least that he was capable of protecting her from himself. But she was here, and for now, she was his, and that was enough.
Grey scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed at the far, shadowed end of the long room. It was a bed meant for one, but not as narrow as a child's cot, or even a servant's bed. Grey tumbled her into it and stood over her, staring again.
She looked uncomfortable. Beautiful, but restricted by her tight clothing. He should loosen her clothing. Just loosen it, nothing more. So she could sleep in a modicum of comfort.
He perched on the edge of the bed and she stirred, blinking at him. "Let's get your capelet off, shall we?" he said.