Page 36 of A Taste for the Peculiar

Pye’s eyes slip shut. It’s dangerous to replay these moments, tasting a dream that they can never have. They have no footing in the life that Avirin desires. They could not give her what she wants. Their lessons with her are over.

The reminder twists like a knife. It shouldn’t; Pye did what he set out to do. He provided her the education she sought, and now, she’ll apply it as she always intended. She will use her skills to find a suitable husband. Someone who can provide for her. Someone with a “respectable” future. Someone with only the most mundane reputation.

“Are you still moping?” Cascade calls from the staircase, her arm slung about Selbie’s waist. Even she’s grown tired of Pye haunting her parties, a wayward ghost staring toward Ellison House. He can hardly make out anything in the dark, but knowing Avirin is there, in the distance, is enough.

Selbie whispers to Cascade. They share a look before Cascade gestures toward her chambers, and Selbie disappears inside. Cascade does not follow. Instead, she settles against the wall opposite Pye and folds her arms. “‘You are both the prisoner and the jailer.’ Isn’t that what you told me once?”

The only one keeping you suffering is you.

Pye shakes their head. That doesn’t apply here. This plight is not so simple, requiring more than his usual indifference to social rules. If it were Pye’s future on the line, he knows what he would do. He wouldn’t wait a second longer. He would ride to Avirin’s house. He would knock on her bedroom window. He would ask for her hand. He would kiss her until she tired of him, and then, he would spend every hour waiting for her to call upon him again.

But this isn’t about his prospects. He has never had many of those, and he has certainly soiled any that remained. He wants only the best for Avirin. She has an entire life ahead of her. She is clever, quick, and captivating. She can set her mind to anything she desires. She deserves prestige and merit and culture, access to any and everything, and a husband who can give that to her. Who can match her curious mind. Who can love her half as deeply as Pye does.

Those words have become almost a comfort in the last few, lonely days. Pye does love her. He adores her. That is why he holds such hope for her future. That is why he cannot squander it.

Pye rolls up his sleeves. “There is nothing I could do for her.”

“Horse shit,” Cascade laughs, “you’re cutting shams! You’ve been dangling after her for weeks!”

“She told me about the life she wants. This isn’t it. I have to respect that.”

Cascade’s expression turns hard and flinty when she leans closer. “This is no calf-love, Riften. This is serious. You’re going to ‘respect’ your way into a life of misery. For both of you.”

Then she leaves him alone.

It’s for the best. His yearning is at odds with the atmosphere of this place, and where he once enjoyed losing himself in frivolity, it now leaves him incredibly aware of Avirin’s absence. He holes up in his room on the far side of the manor and pens multiple letters to Avirin, but he resists the urge to send any of them. He isn’t sure how many days pass. It’s all one long, devastating blur until he receives an invitation at the door.

THE LORD AND LADY GILDING

REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF

Lord Riften’s

COMPANY AT A DANCE.

He knows little of the Gildings. Undoubtedly, this is nothing more than a cordial solicitation; he’s only invited to these events to provide gossip and stir up intrigue. He should not attend. Now that he and Avirin — Miss Ellison — have finished their lessons, they should keep their distance…but Pye wants to be near her. Just once more. Just a glance across the room before Pye swears off these damned social affairs and retreats back into his own world for good.

Whispers follow him when he arrives at the Gildings’, but he ignores them and sidles along the dance floor. He’s drawn to Avirin immediately. It’s like fate has tied a string between them, because when she spins, their eyes meet across the crowded ballroom.

The thread pulls taut.

Dark hair sits high atop her head, framing the colors flying in her cheeks. Her pale lilac dress was surely not chosen by her, but it does nothing to detract from her beauty. She is even more breathtaking than the last time Pye saw her.

At the sight of him, her expression shifts into a mixture of elation and sadness. It makes Pye’s chest ache, and they are so caught up in her that they nearly don’t recognize the man she’s dancing with. Those unremarkable spectacles may obscure much of his face, but they cannot disguise the sinister nature Pye knows lies beneath.

His blood freezes and cracks like ice across a lake.

The song ends. Lord Reid’s grip on Avirin never loosens, and when she finally pries herself away, his sweaty handprint lingers on her bodice.

Beside Pye, a woman whispers, “Do you think they’ll dance another set?”

“That’s the on-dits,” another woman — Miss Sargent — replies. “I hear they’ve already drawn up the marriage papers. Apparently, Lord Reid has set his sights on her.” Miss Sargent scrutinizes Avirin over her glass of orgeat. “Though I can’t imagine why. She’s quite beneath his touch.”

A cold sweat breaks out on Pye’s neck. Marriage? Of course this is what Avirin was preparing for, but so soon? And with him, of all people?

No matter Avirin’s desperation, Reid is a fate worse than anything she could imagine. She needs to know. Pye has to warn her.

While the two women giggle, Pye nudges past. The drink sloshes, and both women gasp when it lands on their dresses. Pye hardly pauses to turn over his shoulder. “Do not speak of Miss Ellison unless you find words more befitting of her.” Then he slips into the crowd and tries to peer over the sea of bobbing heads.