“I think you’re being very generous. But I ought to face facts, oughtn’t I? This training was never about me or Tessa. It was about your father and the Institute. And now that I’ve slapped your brother—” She felt her throat tighten. “Mrs. Branwel would be so disappointed in me if she knew.”
“Nonsense. He deserved it. And the little matter of the blood feud between our families does come to mind.” Gideon spun the silver knife carelessly about his finger and thrust it through his belt. “Charlotte would probably give you a rise in salary if she knew.”
Sophie shook her head. They were only a few steps from a bench; she sank down onto it, feeling exhausted. “You don’t know Charlotte. She’d feel honor-bound to discipline me.”
Gideon settled himself on the bench—not beside her, but against the far side of it, as distant from her as he could get. Sophie couldn’t decide whether she was pleased about that or not. “Miss Col ins,” he said. “There is something you ought to know.”
She laced her fingers together. “What is that?”
He leaned forward a little, his broad shoulders hunched. She could see the flecks of gray in his green eyes. “When my father cal ed me back from Madrid,” he said, “I did not want to come. I had never been happy in London. Our house has been a miserable place since my mother died.”
Sophie just stared at him. She could think of no words. He was a Shadowhunter and a gentleman, and yet he seemed to be unburdening his soul to her. Even Jem, for al his gentle kindness, had never done that.
“When I heard about these lessons, I thought they would be a dreadful waste of my time. I pictured two very sil y girls uninterested in any sort of instruction. But that describes neither Miss Gray nor yourself. I should tel you, I used to train younger Shadowhunters in Madrid. And there were quite a few of them who didn’t have the same native ability that you do. You’re a talented student, and it’s a pleasure to teach you.”
Sophie felt herself flush scarlet. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I was pleasantly surprised the first time I came here, and again so the next time and the next. I found that I was looking forward to it. In fact, it would be fair to say that since my return home, I have hated everything in London except these hours here, with you.”
“But you said ‘ay Dios mio’ every time I dropped my dagger—”
He grinned. It lit up his face, changed it. Sophie stared at him. He was not beautiful like Jem was, but he was very handsome, especial y when he smiled. The smile seemed to reach out and touch her heart, speeding its pace. He is a Shadowhunter, she thought. A nd a gentleman. This is not the way to think about him. Stop it. But she could not stop, any more than she had been able to put Jem out of her mind. Though, where with Jem she had felt safe, with Gideon she felt an excitement like lightning that coursed up and down her veins, shocking her. And yet she did not want to let it go.
“I speak Spanish when I’m in a good mood,” he said. “You might as wel know that about me.”
“So it wasn’t that you were so weary of my ineptitude that you were wishing to hurl yourself off the roof?”
“Just the opposite.” He leaned closer to her. His eyes were the green-gray of a stormy sea. “Sophie? Might I ask you something?”
She knew she should correct him, ask him to cal her Miss Col ins, but she didn’t. “I—yes?”
“Whatever happens with the lessons—might I see you again?”
Wil had risen to his feet, but Woolsey Scott was stil examining Tessa, his hand under his chin, studying her as if she were something under glass in a natural history exhibit. He was not at al what she would have thought the leader of a pack of werewolves would look like. He was probably in his early twenties, tal but slender to the point of slightness, with blond hair nearly to his shoulders, dressed in a velvet jacket, knee breeches, and a trailing scarf with a paisley print. A tinted monocle obscured one pale green eye. He looked like drawings she’d seen in Punch of those who cal ed themselves “aesthetes.”
“Adorable,” he pronounced final y. “Charlotte, I insist they stay while we talk. What a charming couple they make. See how his dark hair sets off her pale skin—”
“Thank you,” said Tessa, her voice shooting several octaves higher than usual, “Mr. Scott, that’s very gracious, but there is no attachment between Wil and myself. I don’t know what you’ve heard—”
“Nothing!” he declared, throwing himself into a chair and arranging his scarf around him. “Nothing at al , I assure you, though your blushing belies your words. Come along now, everyone, sit down. There’s no need to be intimidated by me. Charlotte, ring for some tea. I’m parched.”