Edward moved to my chest. Another squeal of metal. Straining muscles. Blood dripping onto the table. I could breathe at last. Air rushed into my body, waking my senses. I sat up, shaking off the cold detachment, breathing in lungful after lungful of air. I nearly cried when I saw what he’d freed me from. A metal corset, and below that a metal skirt, already peeled back. There’d never been any chains, I realized. What held me down was a metalwork dress. And Edward, with a butcher’s saw and bloody hands, had painstakingly undressed me.
Beneath the steel dress I was naked, and I covered myself with my hands, still trembling with the feeling of air and freedom and something else, earthy and corporeal. It was as if I’d woken from a harsh London night into an Italian painting, where the world was lush and warm and passionate.
I swung my legs off the table. Sweat and blood dripped off Edward’s brow. His hands were latticed with cuts. He didn’t look at my naked body, but instead he inspected my face. He brushed my hair back, studying my features, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Without the restriction of the clothing, I was filled with a constellation of sensations. I was aware of the smell of cologne mixed with his blood, the rough feel of his trouser fabric grazing against my legs, the desire that seeped from the cuts in his hands, staining the floor.
He slid a hand behind my waist, his fingers like ice. My bare skin was flush against his bloodstained clothes. His hand brushed through my hair.
He pressed his lips to mine.
Coldness flooded into me like a splash of springwater on a winter morning. I gasped with the sensation, feeling suddenly painfully hungry.
I kissed him back, breathless, wanting so much more.
FOURTEEN
I WOKE BURNING WITH sweat. The dream was still fresh in my mind, so fresh I touched my lips with shaking fingertips. I told myself I’d had the dream because of the almost kiss with Montgomery. It had nothing to do with Edward. And now it was daylight, at least midmorning. Mottled sunlight and the distant sound of waves filtered between the bars on my window.
I’d slept through dinner and all night. I might have slept for days, for all I knew. I wiped my damp palms on the bedcovers. When had I crawled under the sheets? I was wearing a nightdress I didn’t recognize, something expensive with lace at the collar. But when I’d fallen asleep, I’d still been wearing my dressing gown.
Someone had undressed me.
I pushed back the sheets as if they were on fire. The memory of the dream flooded back, making me dizzy. Edward’s hands on my naked body. The crisscross of cuts on his hands from peeling back the metal dress. Had Edward undressed me? Was that why I’d dreamed of him?
No, surely not. He was a gentleman and so shy he’d barely look at me. But then who? Had one of Father’s beastly servants removed my clothes? The thought made the fibers of my stomach shrink.
I threw open Mother’s trunk, looking for something plain, and found a simple blue dress. I unlaced the unfamiliar nightdress hurriedly, but a breeze from the window made me pause.
Whispering. The rising and falling cadence of words, carried on the wind, spoken in a language other than human.
I drifted to the window, watching the trees. Beyond the jungle the sea stretched forever. There were no curtains, making me feel suddenly exposed in only the half-unlaced nightdress.
I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My arms and face were tan. The meager food and harsh weather on the Curitiba had stolen the softness from my face. I slipped the nightdress off my shoulder, turning to see my back in the mirror.
The puckered flesh of a scar I’d carried since I was an infant ran the full length of my spine. When I was a child, Mother dressed me only in high-collared shirts to keep it hidden. She said it reminded her of my difficult birth and deformed back. My father’s gifted hands had put it right, but not even he could operate without leaving scars.
Mother was long gone, but not her spirit. Keep it covered, she seemed to whisper. I hurried out of the nightdress and into a chemise, then pulled the blue dress over my head and pulled the collar high around my neck. I’d have to skip a corset. Mine was filthy, and Mother’s were so old-fashioned that I couldn’t lace any of them without assistance. Without it I felt strangely light, and I touched my ribs, thinking of the metal dress in my dream.
Someone knocked at the door. I squeezed the strange latch, expecting Father or Montgomery or one of the natives.
But it was Edward.
“Oh.” The one word was all I could manage. Seeing him brought back the dream with a powerful rush. I bunched my hands in the soft fabric of my skirt to remind myself I was dressed. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t some shifting specter. I closed my eyes and leaned in the doorway, dizzy.
“Juliet? Are you well?” Concern crinkled the skin around his eyes. He took my arm and led me to the desk. He poured water from a pitcher into a glass. “Sit down. Have some water.”
I took the glass with shaking fingers.
“I came to see if you were awake. You’ve been asleep nearly eighteen hours.”
“My carpetbag. In the corner. Bring it here, please.”