This time his laugh was tender. “And miss a chance to see you? Don’t be a foolish girl.” He glanced around, smiling. “Lightwood should lay himself out to impress the Magister more often.” He held out a hand to her. “Would you do me the honor of favoring me with a dance, Jessie?”
Jessie. Not “Miss Lovelace.” Any doubt Tessa might have had that their attachment was serious indeed was gone. She forced her lips into a smile. “Of course.”
The orchestra—a col ection of smal purple-skinned men dressed in silvery netting—was playing a waltz. Nate took her hand and drew her out onto the floor.
Thank God, Tessa thought. Thank God she’d had years of her brother swinging her around the living room of their tiny flat in New York. She knew exactly how he danced, how to fit her movements to his, even in this smal er, unfamiliar body. Of course, he had never looked down at her like this— tenderly, with lips slightly parted. Dear God, what if he kissed her? She had not thought of the possibility. She would be sick al over his shoes if he did. Oh, God, she prayed. Let him not try.
She spoke rapidly, “I had dreadful trouble sneaking out of the Institute tonight,” she said. “That little wretch Sophie nearly found the invitation.”
Nate’s grip tightened on her. “But she didn’t, did she?”
There was a warning in his voice. Tessa sensed she was already close to a serious gaffe. She tried a quick glance around the room—Oh, where was Wil ? What had he said? Even if you don’t see me, I’ll be there? But she had never felt so much on her own.
With a deep breath she tossed her head in her best imitation of Jessamine. “Do you take me for a fool? Of course not. I rapped her skinny wrist with my mirror, and she dropped it immediately. Besides, she probably can’t even read.”
“Truly,” said Nate, relaxing visibly, “they could have found you a lady’s maid who more befits a lady. One who speaks French, can sew . . .”
“Sophie can sew,” Tessa said automatical y, and could have slapped herself. “Passably,” she amended, and batted her eyelashes up at Nate.
“And how have you been keeping since the last time we saw each other?” Not that I have the slightest idea when that might have been.
“Very wel . The Magister continues to favor me.”
“He is wise,” Tessa breathed. “He recognizes an invaluable treasure when he sees one.”
Nate touched her face lightly with a gloved hand. Tessa wil ed herself not to stiffen. “Al down to you, my darling. My veritable little mine of information.” He moved closer to her. “I see you wore the dress I asked you to,” he whispered. “Ever since you described how you wore it to your last Christmas bal , I have yearned to see you in it. And may I say that you dazzle the eyes?”
Tessa’s stomach felt as if it were trying to force its way up into her throat. Her eyes darted around the room again. With a lurch of recognition, she saw Gideon Lightwood, cutting a fine figure in his evening dress, though he stood stiffly against one of the wal s as if plastered there. Only his eyes moved around the room. Gabriel was wandering to and fro, a glass of what looked like lemonade in his hand, his eyes glowing with curiosity. She saw him go up to one of the girls with long lavender hair and begin a conversation. So much for any hope that the boys did not know what their father was up to, she thought, glancing away from Gabriel in irritation. And then she saw Wil .
He was leaning against the wal opposite her, between two empty chairs. Despite his mask she felt as if she could see directly into his eyes. As if he were standing close enough to touch. She would have half-expected him to look amused at her predicament, but he did not; he looked tense, and furious, and . . .
“God, I’m jealous of every other man who looks at you,” Nate said. “You should be looked at only by me.”
Good Lord, Tessa thought. Did this line of talk real y work on most women? If her brother had come to her with the aim of asking her advice on these pearls, she would have told him straight off that he sounded like an idiot. Though perhaps she only thought he sounded like an idiot because he was her brother. And despicable. Information, she thought. I must get information and then get away from him, before I real y am sick.
She looked for Wil again, but he was gone, as if he had never been there. Stil , she believed him now that he was somewhere, watching her, even if she couldn’t see him. She plucked up her nerve, and said, “Real y, Nate? Sometimes I fear you value me only for the information I can give you.”