Page 43 of A Fragile Enchantment

Because calling him by his given name was an intimacy reserved only for friends in Avaland. It would cross a line they could not uncross. Her heart leapt into her throat. “Because! You don’t call me by mine, either. You don’t call me anything butyou. Do you even know my name?”

He seemed unperturbed by her outburst. “It’s Niamh.”

Her entire face warmed at the sound of her name on his lips. Not again. Maybe she could leach the heat out of her skin—or at the very least, keep him from seeing it. She clapped her hands to her face. It was then she realized she’d only succeeded in stamping two dirt handprints onto her cheeks.

“You’ve made it worse. Stop.” He made a soft sound—half amusement, half protest—and procured a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Here.”

It was a shockingly gentlemanly gesture coming from him. She expected him to hand it brusquely to her, or maybe toss it in her general direction, but instead, he lowered himself onto one knee before her. She watched him from outside herself as he reached forward to dab at the streak of dirt on her cheekbone.

She stopped breathing.

His skin scalded, even through the thin scrap of fabric between them. The glass walls glinted in the corner of her vision, until all the world seemed to sparkle around them with magic. All she could see were his brows furrowed in concentration and the sooty fringe of his eyelashes. All she could see washim.He was far, far closer than he should’ve been. She could feel his breath like a caress against her lips.

“There,” he said. And then, as if realizing what exactly he’d done, he drew back as though burned. He shoved the crumpled mess of his handkerchief abruptly back into his pocket.

“Thank you.” The words escaped her in a wheeze. She slipped off her gloves to prevent any more horrible accidents. When at last she felt she’d recovered herself, she said, “Do youreallywant me to call you by your given name? We’re not friends.”

He stared at her blankly.

“Are we?” Her voice climbed alarmingly high.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any friends.”

“That’s not true. What about Sinclair?”

“Him?” Kit curled his lip. “Sinclair is a self-destructive, self-deprecating good-for-nothing. He’s more of a ward than a friend. Someone has to keep him out of trouble.”

Just as someone had to take care of the flowers. Just as someone had to keep her from making more of a mess. She tilted her chin up at him. He’d painted Sinclair with such contempt, but she’d seen the way he reacted when he believed he’d wounded him. Sinclair himself had told her that Kit paid for his houseandgave him an allowance.

Now, she was beginning to see him clearly. All his fretful affection was coated with acid, as if he could conceal what it really was.

“You cannot fool me anymore,” she said accusingly. “You don’t want anyone to see it, or maybe you refuse to believe it yourself, but you do care about people. Youarekind.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” Every flower in thehothouse shivered with the vehemence of his denial. He bristled all over: thorns around a delicate bloom.

It sent a thrill of heady delight through her, and she masked a giggle behind her hand. “You’re right. Of course.”

“Stop smiling like that,” Kit said peevishly.

“Sorry.” She bit her lip to keep herself from grinning. “For what little it’s worth, I think Sinclair is a good man.”

“Hardly. But he can be intelligent on the rare occasion he chooses to be.” He hesitated. “And we understand each other.”

“How so?”

“There are things that aren’t spoken about in polite society,” he said slowly. “He and I never had to pretend with each other, or to be anything we aren’t.”

I don’t have the best reputation,Sinclair told her,and Jack doesn’t want it to touch Kit more than it already has.

Niamh sat up straighter with the sudden realization. She did not want to presume, but the pieces fit together, and she understood the confession he was dancing around well enough. “Were you together?”

Kit looked surprised. “You already knew.”

“He told me, yes—about himself, not you.” She tried and failed to rein in her curiosity. “So, were you?”

“No,” he said guardedly. After a moment, his expression softened some with wryness. “We would’ve killed each other. He was even worse when he was fifteen. So was I.”

Niamh smiled. “I suppose you’ve more options than your friends here in the city. There were only four other girls who fancied girls in Caterlow that I knew of. It could get quite complicated.”