“Hmmm,” Luna replied, only half-aware of anything he said.
The wheel lurched again. It went a little faster and higher this time, before stopping abruptly. The carriage creaked and swayed more vigorously than expected, and Bryony let out a little shriek of delight, while Luna found herself jolted clean off her bench. She flung out her hands to catch herself. And suddenly was doubled-over, nose-to-nose with her employer.
Her hands planted firmly on his thighs.
Her heart thudded.
His hands were on her as well. Gripping her by the ribcage. She felt his thumbs, both of them. Twin pinpoints of pressure, just underneath the lower curve of her bosom.
His eyes stared into hers, mere inches apart.
“Whoa, careful there!” Ward said. His strong fingers caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back into her seat. “They don’t encourage any getting up and jumping about on this ride. I know from experience!”
Bryony laughed.
Ward laughed.
Luna managed to find her voice and forced a laugh out as well.
Mr. Grimm was silent.
But his hand, which had but moments ago supported her, now rested on his knee, gripping her fingers. And Luna realized she was gripping his back. Tightly. Like a lifeline.
She swallowed a knot in her throat, staring down at his hand. At his carefully manicured nails. Those long fingers of his. Pulse thundering in her ears, she lifted her eyes slowly back up, up, gliding along the buttons of his waistcoat, his red tie, his collar. Up to his face. His head was turned away from her, his expression a complete blank. He gazed out from the carriage over the fairgrounds and on to the harbor, where the water sparkled, and the ships were all festooned in Saint Jollify bunting.
He did not meet her gaze.
“Here we go!” Ward declared, just as the wheel, now at full capacity, began to turn. Faster and faster it flew, arching to its apex before plunging down the other side. Luna felt her stomach trying to escape out from her throat, and Bryony’s whoops of laughter sounded shrill in her ear.
But Mr. Grimm continued to hold her trembling fingers. A steady, firm pressure.
Nigel’s awareness whirled, moving in rapid succession from one point of fixation to the next, in time with theclonksandchonksof the clanking wheel.
First, the sensation of Luna’s trembling fingers gripping his.
Next, the burn in his upper thighs where her hands had pressed, scalding right through his brown tweed.
Is it possible she’s afraid of heights?
His fingers had wrapped her ribcage, and his thumbs pressed just under her breasts, just where he could feel the lower line of her brassiere.
No, remember the way she scaled Lord Bruxley’s wall and descended the tree without batting an eye?
Her sweetheart neckline, gaping. Right in front of him.
It isn’t heights she’s afraid of.
Ferociously refusing to let his gaze drop.
Did she see something? Like that night at the bus stop?
The way her knees were pressed between his, a strange sort of intimacy.
Something frightened her then too. But what?
Ward’s hand, hovering just at her shoulders but not quite daring to drape, as though confronting an invisible barrier.
What secrets is she keeping? And why is she keeping them?
