“He does not understand yet,” said Charlotte. “Give him time.”
“How did you know?” Wil looked at Gideon keenly. “We only just discovered what happened to your mother. And Sophie said you had no idea—”
“I had Cyril deliver two notes,” said Charlotte. “One for Benedict and one for Gideon.”
“He slipped it into my hand while my father was not looking,” Gideon said. “I had only just time to read it before you came in.”
“And you chose to believe it?” Tessa said. “So quickly?”
Gideon looked toward the rain-washed window. His jaw was set in a hard line. “Father’s story about Mother’s death never made sense to me. This made sense.”
Crowded into the damp carriage, with Gideon only a few feet from her, Tessa felt the oddest urge to reach out to him, to tel him that she too had had a brother whom she had loved and had lost to what was worse than death, that she understood. She could see now what Sophie liked in him— the vulnerability under the impassive countenance, the solid honesty beneath the handsome bones of his face.
She said nothing, however, sensing it would not be welcome. Wil , meanwhile, sat beside her, a bundle of coiled energy. Every once in a while she would catch a flash of blue as he looked at her, or the edge of a smile—a surprisingly sweet smile, something like giddiness, which she had never associated with Wil before. It was as if he were sharing a private joke with her, only she was not entirely sure she knew what that joke was.
Stil , she felt his tension so keenly that her own calm, or what there was of it, was entirely cut up by the time they final y reached the Institute and Cyril —soaked to the skin, but friendly as always—came around the carriage to open the doors.
He helped Charlotte out first, and then Tessa, and then Wil was beside her, having jumped down from the carriage and narrowly skirted a puddle. It had stopped raining. Wil glanced up at the sky and took hold of Tessa’s arm. “Come along,” he whispered, steering her toward the front door of the Institute.
Tessa glanced back over her shoulder, to where Charlotte stood at the foot of the steps, having succeeded, it seemed, in final y getting Gideon to speak to her. She was gesturing animatedly, using her hands.
“We ought to wait for them, oughtn’t we—,” Tessa began.
Wil shook his dark head determinedly. “Charlotte wil be blathering at him for ages about what room he wants to stay in, and how grateful she is for his help, and al I want is to talk to you.”
Tessa stared at him as they entered the Institute. Wil wanted to talk to her. He had said so before, true, but to speak so straightforwardly was very unlike him.
A thought seized her. Had Jem told him of their engagement? Was he angry, thinking her not worthy of his friend? But when would Jem have had a chance? Perhaps while she was dressing—but, then, Wil did not look angry.
“I can’t wait to tel Jem about our meeting,” he said as they mounted the stairs. “He’l never believe that scene—for Gideon to turn on his father like that! It’s one thing to tel secrets to Sophie, another to renounce your whole al egiance to your family. Yet he cast away his family ring.”
“It is as you said,” Tessa said as they turned at the top of the stairs and made their way down the corridor. Wil ’s gloved hand was warm on her arm. “Gideon’s in love with Sophie. People wil do anything for love.”
Wil looked at her as if her words had jolted him, then smiled, that same maddeningly sweet smile he had given her in the carriage. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
Tessa made as if to answer, but they had reached the drawing room. It was bright inside; the witchlight torches were high, and there was a fire in the grate. The curtains were drawn back, showing squares of leaden sky. Tessa took off her hat and gloves and was just laying them on a smal Moroccan table when she saw that Wil , who had fol owed her in, was drawing closed the bolt on the door.
Tessa blinked. “Wil , why are you locking—”
She never finished her sentence. Covering the space between them in two long strides, Wil reached her and caught her up in an embrace. She gasped in surprise as he took her by the arms, walking her backward until they half-col ided with the wal , her crinolette protesting.
“Will,” she said in surprise, but he was pinning her to the wal with his body, his hands sliding up her shoulders, into her damp hair, his mouth sudden and hot on hers. She fel and spun and drowned in the kiss; his lips were soft and his body was hard against her, and he tasted like rain.
Heat spread through the pit of her stomach as his mouth moved urgently on hers, wil ing her response.
Jem’s face flashed against the back of her closed eyelids. She put her hands flat against Wil ’s chest and shoved him away from her, as hard as she could. Her breath came out on a violent exhalation: “No.”