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‘No, it does not.’ Snatching my top hat off my head, I clamped it under my arm and gave the priest a cool look. ‘But I presume it is going to happen anyway.’
‘Err…well…’
And that was about the extent of my conversation for the next half hour. People came over to get an introduction, get a loan, or get me to marry their daughter, but I was highly skilled in rebuffing the first two kinds of overtures, and in regard to the last, Miss Linton proved to be a convenient buffer. I would have to remember that for the future.
Still, I had to admit as I glanced over at her and caught her vigorously rubbing her wet hair, after which she turned to offer the wet towel to the Comtesse de Gramont, she couldn’t just be an asset. She could be a disaster, if she wanted to.
‘What’s wrong with the towel?’ She demanded when the comtesse raised her nose and stomped off. ‘It still has some dry patches! And my hair doesn’t smell that bad.’
‘I presume it is not the towel of which she disapproves,’ I informed her coolly. ‘But the idea of rubbing her hair into haystack style in the middle of the Chapel Royal.’
‘Haystack st…! You really know how to compliment a lady, you know.’
‘Yes, I know. Do you have a comb with you?’
The question had slipped out before I really knew why or how. Why the heck would I care what she looked like in front of these people?
Well…it only made sense, didn’t it? She was my escort tonight. I couldn’t let her run around looking like that. Her appearance would reflect directly on me. That’s why I had asked. Yes.
‘Why on earth would I bring a comb to a royal wedding?’
‘I thought so. Well, no matter. Hold still.’
Almost instinctively, I reached up. The familiar movements came easy. Memories flashed in my mind, memories of being dirty, drenched and cold, long, matted clumps of hair clinging to my scalp, sometimes even freezing in the icy air. The mountains had been rough. I’d had no one to help me then. But she had someone now. Gently, I took hold of her hair.
‘Hold still? Why…’ Her words cut off as I started combing through her hair, squeezing out the last remnants of water with a practised hand, straightening rebellious curls with ease. It was all so familiar - and yet all totally new. My gut tightened as I felt a strange feeling grow inside me. It felt…warm?
What was wrong with me? It was just hair! And damn clammy hair, to boot!
My insides didn’t seem to agree. Something tugged at my very core. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to go on sliding my fingers through her soft hair even when it was completely dry. That made no sense! It was just normal, average hair. I had never had the urge to extensively tickle Karim’s beard, had I? So why now? Why her? Was I losing my mind?
Knowledge is Power is Time is Money, I reminded myself. And hair is just hair. Get a grip, and not on her! Remember who and where you are.
‘There you go.’ With a swipe of my forefinger I slid a final stray lock of hair behind her ear, completing the image. ‘Much less faeneumerial.’
‘Faenewhat?’
‘Haystackish,’ I told her, my tone colder and more brusk than usual.
‘Ha!’
The little sound of laughter that escaped her took me off guard. Instinctively, I took a step closer and-
‘Attention please!’
I froze. What was I doing? Shaking myself, I turned towards the voice that had called. The Royal Herald. Of course. We were in the Chapel Royal. Wedding. Prince. Queen. Business deal. Concentrate! ‘Attention, everybody. The Royal Couple is approaching. Please take your places.’
For a moment I hesitated, not knowing whether it would be a huge mistake - then I offered my arm to Miss Lillian Linton. ‘Come.’
And she did. She slipped her arm into mine without the slightest hesitation and walked beside me, taking me aback. I was used to women wanting me, to them being eager to catch my attention - but if and when they had it, they were always overcome by shyness, or even fear. They knew who I was and what I was capable of. Miss Linton moved so easily beside me…almost as if she…as if she trusted me?
Then she’s a fool. And you’re a fool for wasting time on thoughts like this one right here.
/> Abruptly, I realised we had reached our row of chairs - and she was trying to sit down. By Mammon and Midas! I grabbed hold of her arm.
‘No!’
‘But…that man said for us to take our places.’
