“They’re constructed out of plaster,” he said. “Quick to go up, and even faster coming down, I suppose.”
The buildings, all connected by arcaded fa?ades and domed entrances, had been built specifically for the Exposition Universelle, opening in just over two weeks. Ingrid’s mother’s art gallery would be opening that week as well. She and Mama had spent the last month working furiously to ready the abbey. The stained-glass windows had all been repaired, each alcove chapel cleaned out and dusted, and the organ tuned, and men had come in to construct walls to run between the nave and the side aisles, where most of the art would be hung.
Ingrid had exhausted herself with the work, taking up much of the manual labor on her own. A scandalous thing for a lady of the British peerage, but it had been a way to drive out thoughts of Grayson and Gabby—and Luc.
“It seems a shame,” Ingrid said of the exposition buildings. “They’re beautifully done. Especially the Chateau d’Eau.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the head of the Champs de Mars. The soaring Eiffel Tower sat at one end of the esplanade and the ornate Chateau d’Eau at the other. A grand, tiered fountain surrounded an extravagantly carved dais set in the center of the chateau. She’d heard that the fountain would be illuminated at night once the exposition began, as would the Eiffel Tower.
The glass roof of the Palace of Electricity rose behind the chateau. All the electricity required for the fair was going to be generated right there, inside that one, enormous building. It topped the straight line of the Champs de Mars like the top bar of the letter T. The engineers were likely testing the generators, because she could hear the low hum of machinery. There was a subtle electrical charge in the air.
“How are the gloves working?” Vander asked after a beat of silence.
Ingrid held her hands clasped before her as they walked, the soft, buff kid gloves looking as fashionable as those of any of the other ladies strolling the esplanade. Of course, those other ladies would have been hard-pressed to find a pair such as these in any Paris shop. Ingrid doubted they would find the paper-thin metal disks sewn into each fingertip very practical. However, when one wished to contain sparks of electricity erupting from one’s fingertips, those disks came in rather useful.
Ingrid clasped her hands tighter and felt the stiff, unyielding tips of each finger. “Quite well. I haven’t accidentally electrocuted anyone in days,” she replied, winning a laugh from Vander.
They had designed the gloves together after Ingrid had joked about needing to carry around a lightning rod in order to contain her volatile ability. An idea had lit Vander’s eyes. “A lightning rod at each fingertip,” he had returned.
The little disks absorbed the runoff energy that happened to leak out, but Ingrid was getting much better at controlling her electric impulses.
“Were you wearing them this morning?” he asked.
Ingrid paused as they crossed under the shady base of the tower. He hadn’t mentioned the attack until now. Earlier, when they had met for their stroll at the gigantic Ferris wheel, the Grand Roue de Paris, Vander had said nothing. He’d charged up to her, directly into her dust field, and had cupped her cheeks with his ungloved hands. They’d stood like that for a half a minute or more, just staring at each other, Vander’s warm hands so inappropriately pressed against her skin. Ingrid had been terrified that he might actually kiss her. But he’d let her go and stepped away, Ingrid’s relieved breath shuddering between them.
“Does it matter if I was wearing my gloves?” she answered now. “Vander, it was an Alliance assassin, and yet Hans still refuses to admit the Directorate sent him.”
“You shouldn’t have been under that bridge.”
Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. She was worn out from listening to everyone tell her how idiotic she’d been. It especially bothered her that they were all correct.
Vander invaded her field of dust once again to take her elbow. He brought her to a halt at one of the tower’s wide pillars. Reluctantly, she met his warm, golden-brown gaze. She despised admitting she was wrong. Thankfully, Vander didn’t allow her the chance.
“I should have listened to you,” he whispered.
Vander stood a full head taller than Ingrid. He tilted his face toward hers. Men and women walked arm in arm all up and down the esplanade, but Ingrid still felt as if she and Vander were standing more intimately than was proper.
“I wanted to believe Carrick had lost his mind when he told you those things about the Directorate.” Vander sighed, and the quick puff of air caressed her ear.
The Alliance was the only family he had. Ingrid knew he hadn’t wanted to believe they would stoop so low.