The Heartless City (21 page)

“It worked,” he whispered. “Even now, I feel a bit more calm. Like the feelings are still there, but I’m not so overwhelmed.”

She turned to him, her cheeks flushed. “How on earth do you do it? How do you handle… feeling so much?”

A small laugh escaped him. “Until I met you, I really didn’t.”

The song ended and, for a moment, all five of them sat in silence, in awe of the otherworldly thing they’d just experienced. Finally, Cam leapt up and took the record off the Victor, his euphoria so intense his feet seemed to barely touch the ground.

“Now it’s time for
The Weeping Willow Rag,
” he announced, switching the discs. “We’ll see if it’s as sad as the lovely Miss Blackwell surmises.”

He dropped the needle and then sat back down, taking a swig of the bourbon, and after another moment of static, the song began to play.

It wasn’t sad. The rhythm was much slower than the previous song’s had been, but it was just as “ragged” and somehow even more exciting. The melody had a lazy, dragging feel, like a heavy breeze, and it stumbled along with a rough but sweet and almost drunken air. Elliot felt it pull at him the way he imagined the ocean would, tugging him up and down along the waves with its honeyed strains.

“We have to dance,” Philomena exclaimed, climbing up onto her feet, her eyes wild and her face flushed from the bourbon and the song, which―unlike the first―seemed to be entirely instrumental. “Who’ll dance with me?”

“We don’t know how to dance to this kind of music,” Andrew said.

“That makes it even better,” she replied. “We’ll make it up.”

She grabbed his hand and jerked him up onto his feet, and he stumbled against her, laughing in a way that implied he’d drunk as much bourbon as she had. With a lavish air, she laid her hand on his shoulder and placed his hand on her waist, and he followed her lead. She leapt and spun them both in graceless circles. Elliot, Cam, and Iris laughed, Cam louder than anyone, and Philomena stopped and attempted to glare at him through her smile.

“If you think you can do better, Cambrian, come and take his place.”

“No, thank you,” he replied, leaning back against the stone. “This is one of the most entertaining things I’ve ever seen.”

He grinned at Andrew and Andrew grinned back, until Philomena grabbed his arms and swept him back into the dance. Cam laughed again and raised the bottle to his lips, his eyes like pale blue flames as he watched them twirl around the floor. Then, amid the fog of glee, Elliot felt something shift in Cam, something stronger than mere delight or riotous amusement. A longing spread through his body, from his fingertips to his toes, a soul-stirring ache as raw and magnetic as the music. Elliot blinked, furrowed his brow, and looked at Philomena. Could Cam possibly feel more for her than brotherly affection?

At the moment, she was convincing Andrew to lift her off the ground, but once he did, he tripped and stumbled back against a shelf, causing a massive jar of preserves to crash against the stone. They all erupted with laughter, Philomena most of all.

“The problem is that we’re the only ones trying,” she decided. “Elliot and Iris, you get up here, too.”

“And what―dance?” Elliot asked, still laughing.

“No. Recite Shakespeare.” She grabbed Iris’s hand and seized the collar of Elliot’s coat, dragging them onto their feet. “Yes, dance. Come on. I know you want to.”

She flashed them both a wicked grin and returned her attention to Andrew, and Elliot stared at Iris in her single-layer nightgown. If he took her waist, as was proper, he’d be practically touching her naked skin. When he looked back up at her face, however, he saw she was smiling at him, so he swallowed, ran a hand back through his hair, and stepped toward her.

“Miss Blackwell!”

The voice sliced through the buzzing, cheerful air like an icy blade, and they stopped and spun around to see Albert rushing down the stairs.

“The Lord Mayor is coming.”

The temperature dropped, and Elliot’s mouth went dry.

“That’s impossible,” Cam said, leaping up and stopping the Victor’s needle with a
scratch
. “He’s asleep.”

“No, he’s in the Grand Hall. When something crashed, he started this way. He’ll be here any minute.”

The terror that flooded the room melded Elliot’s feet to the floor, and for a moment, every one else seemed equally paralyzed. Then, abruptly, Cam bent down and seized the bottle of bourbon.

“I know what to do,” he said, turning to Iris. “Come with me.”

He grabbed her wrist without waiting for a response and started toward the stairs. She lurched after him, and Elliot finally pried up his feet and followed, Andrew, Philomena, and Albert stumbling close behind him.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at Cam. “You won’t make it out in time!”

“I know,” Cam replied. “We’re not leaving.” He reached the top of the stairs and threw open the door to the pantry, guiding Iris through it and then turning back around. “Stay down here and don’t make a sound,” he said. “No matter what.”

He stepped through the door and closed it behind him, and Elliot, Andrew, Philomena, and Albert froze in the darkness. After a moment, however, Elliot noticed a sliver of light―a gap between the hinges of the door and the pantry wall. He crouched behind it and found that he could see into the room, and soon Andrew and Philomena were ducking close behind him. They watched as Cam steered Iris to a shelf lined with small glass jars, turning her to face him and placing the bourbon on the floor.

“Iris,” he whispered, the ice of his terror penetrating the door. “I know you could probably throw me across the room, but please―don’t.”

“What?”

The floorboards beyond the pantry’s outer door began to creak, and Cam reached out and knocked a few of the jars onto the floor. Iris gasped and started to speak, but he gripped her face, slammed her against the shelf, and covered her mouth with his own.

The air in the stairway dissolved, and Elliot’s stomach dropped into his feet. He clutched the wall beside him, digging his fingernails into the stone, wanting to close his eyes but unable to look away.

“Cry out,” Cam whispered.

Iris released was what likely a genuine yelp, because he clutched the hem of her nightgown and hiked it up her legs, exposing not only her stockings but a flash of smooth, white thigh. He drove his body into hers and crushed her mouth with his own again. Something in Elliot’s brain snapped, and he started to leap to his feet. Fortunately, Andrew clasped his shoulder and jerked him back, and Elliot sucked in a startled breath, not only from the realization of what he’d almost done, but also because of the rage and disgust that had swarmed him at Andrew’s touch. For whatever reason, the two of them were feeling exactly the same.

“Cambrian?”

The Lord Mayor’s voice was stern, but Elliot felt the stunned excitement sizzling beneath it.

“Father!” Cam exclaimed, freeing Iris and backing away, twisting the fear he felt into a mask of alarmed surprise. The Lord Mayor descended the stairs and stepped into the light, glancing at Iris, whose thighs were still exposed by her bunched up skirt. She gasped and smoothed the fabric back over her legs, her cheeks darkening.

“I’m sorry, Father,” Cam began, bending down and clumsily scooping the bourbon off the floor. “I came down here for a drink―although I’d probably already had too much―and Iris was here, looking for more of those pastries we had at dinner.” He swallowed and glanced at the floor, his guise of shame so masterful Elliot thought he might actually blush. “Like I said, I’d had a bit to drink, and when I saw her here, wearing nothing but that nightgown…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I lost control.”

“And the pantry?” the Lord Mayor asked, nodding toward the shattered jars.

Cam bit his lip. “She wasn’t exactly receptive to my advances.”

A surge of amusement, and even a bit of pride, swept through the Lord Mayor, but his face was filled with nothing but sympathy as he walked to Iris and guided her away from the cluttered shelf. “Are you hurt, my dear?”

Her stomach lurched at his touch, but she shook her head and murmured, “No, sir.”

He brushed her shoulders as if she were a child who’d fallen while playing. “You said that, with your adrenalin, you could muster enough strength to fight off the average man. If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you?”

She looked at him, eyes wide. “I would never do such a thing to the son of the Lord Mayor of London.”

His lips curled into a grin, and he shook his head and sighed. “You’ve lived among women for most of your life, have you not?” he asked her gently. “After your mother passed, you lived in a girl’s home or boarding house?”

She nodded, and he sighed again.

“Let this be a lesson to you about living amongst grown men: If you walk around in attire like that, chances are you’ll get a response you won’t be too pleased about.”

Rage seared Iris’s veins, but her face remained pale and cool, and the Lord Mayor patted her cheek and turned his attention to Cam.

“I trust you’ve calmed down enough to allow Miss Faye to return to her room without further interference?”

“Yes, of course,” he said sheepishly.

The Lord Mayor smiled, and Elliot thought he would turn and leave, but instead, he walked to Cam and guided him back away from Iris, coming so close to the door Elliot sensed their heat through the boards.

“As tempting as it might be,” the Lord Mayor murmured in Cam’s ear. “I need you to leave the subject of my research untouched and intact.”

Cam’s blood froze, but he nodded obediently. Then, after a final grin, the Lord Mayor turned, climbed the stairs, and exited the pantry.

Neither Cam nor Iris moved or spoke for a solid minute. Then, slowly, Cam crept up the stairs and into the hall, returning after a moment and closing the door behind him.

“He’s gone.”

Elliot rose, opened the kitchen door, and stepped into the pantry, with Andrew, Philomena, and Albert emerging just behind him. The air in the room was warmer than that on the stairs, but it seemed frigid, and the silence that swelled around them only sharpened the bitter chill.

“Are you all right?” Cam asked, approaching Iris, but she stepped away.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s the only thing I could think of to do―”

“I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She felt numb and sick, like she needed to go sit down, and Elliot opened his mouth to suggest it, but then Cam turned to him.

“El, I’m sorry. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

Cam shifted his gaze to the rest of the group, remorse and self-disgust rising up inside his throat. “All of you―I’m sorry you had to see―”

“Cambrian, relax.” Andrew stepped forward, the warmth in his heart reflected in his eyes. “You thought on your feet, and you did what you could to stop him. We’re all grateful.”

Cam looked at Andrew, his heart aching so badly Elliot thought it would break.

“Well, I
suppose
I’m grateful,” Philomena said with a lavish sigh. “Even if you only chose the
second
prettiest girl.”

She’d clearly meant the comment to be a joke to lighten the mood, but for Elliot, it actually had the opposite effect. It would have been unthinkable for Cam to choose Philomena, as she was the kind of girl men married to bear their noble children. The Lord Mayor might be set on a marriage between the two of them, but he would never condone Cam taking her virtue in the pantry. Cam had chosen Iris because he knew where she stood in the Lord Mayor’s eyes; if it weren’t for her abilities, she would be as disposable to him as a parlor maid.

Perhaps the same realization was currently sinking into Iris, because she cleared her throat and said, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Then she turned and climbed the stairs without waiting for a response.

“Iris,” Elliot called, but she disappeared through the door, so he scrambled up the stairs as well and followed her into the hall. “Iris, wait,” he whispered, and she stopped and turned around.

“Elliot, please. I’m really fine,” she said as he approached, but then she paused and breathed a bitter laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

“If you want to be alone, I understand, and I’ll let you go. But please, just let me tell you something first.”

She sighed. “All right.”

Elliot walked to a doorway to his right and turned the knob. The door was unlocked, so he pushed it open and beckoned Iris after him, and the two of them stepped inside a dark and silent gallery.

“I know how you feel,” he said as he closed the door behind him, but then he realized how obvious and stupid the statement was. “I mean―you know what I mean―and you have every right to feel that way, but I thought it might help if you understood why Cam did what he did.”

“Elliot, I understand―”

“I know you understand that he was trying to protect us, but he wasn’t just afraid of being caught and reprimanded. The Lord Mayor, if he would have found out the truth… what he would have done…” He paused and swallowed. Cam wouldn’t want him to tell her, but she needed to know. “I’ve never known a father who beat his son like the Lord Mayor beats Cam.”

Iris’s blood cooled. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“And it’s more than that,” he continued. “The way Cam feels about his father… even I had no idea until after my affliction.” He paused, suddenly thinking of something. “Here,” he said, extending his hand. “I have no idea if this will even work, but may I try something?”

Iris placed her hand in his, and he swallowed against the wave of her apprehension and closed his eyes. He calmed his mind like he’d done before, and then he thought of Cam, dredging up the memories of his crushing fear and shame. The feelings gathered and pooled inside him, poisoning his blood, and then―before he could change his mind―he let them flow to Iris. She sucked in a breath and doubled over, her body going rigid, and he opened his eyes and released her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you feel something so terrible, but I thought if you knew, it would help you understand―”

“He feels like that?”

She raised her head, her eyes wide with horror, and Elliot nodded.