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6
It waslate in the afternoon when Gideon heard someone creep into his study. They were trying their best to be quiet, but he could hear much more than a normal human. Being a lich had strange consequences—and heightened senses wasn’t one he would have predicted. Perhaps it was because his body was merely a construct of his own making, each time he changed his form.
He studiously kept his gaze on the book in his hands. He knew who it was. There were only a few options, and the irritating revenant who had taken over one of the rooms upstairs didn’t walk nearly as carefully.
His poor Marguerite. So frightened of every sudden noise, so anxious about what might be around every bend. But this time, he held on to the hope that things might play out differently. The last cries of a dying soul clinging to the hope of one more revolution around the sun, perhaps.
When she stopped some distance from him, he realized what she was doing, and had to keep a smile from betraying his awareness of her. She was watching him. It was flattering and foreign all at once. He remembered the simple, chaste kiss she had placed against his forehead, and he let his eyes slip shut at the thought.
Foolish hopes and dying dreams.
Turning his attention back to his book, he flipped the page. Still, she said nothing and did nothing. Finally, he couldn’t help it. A sly smile crept over him. “Yes, princess?”
She jolted in surprise, her elbow hitting the bookcase behind her, rattling several of the glass cases and jars on it. “Shit—”
Chuckling, he turned his head to watch as she scrambled to keep the contents of his shelf from toppling to the floor. When she turned back to him, she saw the look on his face and instantly grew shy and a bit flustered. He couldn’t help it.
He loved her.
He had loved her for so very long.
And gods help him, she was adorable sometimes. Something instantly grabbed his attention, and it wasn’t the slight blush on her cheeks. It was what she was wearing. He had grown accustomed to Marguerite always insisting on hiding beneath baggy clothing that ill-fitted her. He knew why she did it; she wished at all times to be inconspicuous and unnoticed.
A long black coat peacoat reached her knees, the white buttons standing out in stark contrast. She still wore a hoodie—of course—but it was far thinner than her usual fare and unzipped. Beneath it she wore a tank top emblazoned with a lace skull, and a pair of dark blue jeans. She looked good. Comfortable. Not just that her clothes fit her well, but that she seemed to be…he didn’t know how else to describe it. Wearing her own skin for the first time in a long time, perhaps.
Not literally, of course.
She glanced down at herself and then shot him a raised eyebrow. “What?”
“You look nice, that’s all.”
She shrugged and looked away, choosing to study the bookcase instead of keeping eye contact. What an odd creature she was, brazen and fiery, ready to take an axe into battle at a moment’s notice, and yet too shy to take a compliment.
“I figured that if we were going out around London, I should look a little less like a hobo.” She smirked, still scanning the titles of the books.
“Hm, yes. I suppose I do have some small modicum of a reputation to maintain. Can’t be seen on a date with a woman wearing clothes two sizes too large for her.” He tried not to grin in victory as the mention of a date caused her eyes to widen slightly. She turned away from him, still pretending to be engrossed in his collection. If you can tease me, dear princess, I can tease you back.
“Dr. Gideon Raithe’s a player. Who knew? I’ll try not to embarrass you. I’m sure you have ladies all over the city waiting on your beck and call.”
He didn’t miss the playful smirk she wore. If this is how they would be, he would embrace it happily. Standing from his desk, he straightened his tie and made a show of fixing his clothes and smoothing back his hair. “Yes, well. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but…”
She laughed. When she looked to him, her emerald eyes twinkled in amusement. It was clear she didn’t know quite what to do with him—the feeling was mutual—but there was no fear, dread, or disgust in her expression.
Yet.
That would change, he was certain.
But she is trying. And I will not be the one to surrender to the entropy of our lives. He took a step toward her, once more feeling as though he were approaching a deer in the woods that was ready to bolt at any moment. He had no desire to see her as a fragile creature any more than she wished to be treated as such.
Marguerite didn’t retreat. Perhaps…perhaps…oh, how he was plagued by that word. As he closed the distance between them until he was only half a foot away, he smiled down at her. He didn’t know where he had earned the gall to dare to lift his hand to her cheek and brush his fingers gently over her skin.
Such a little thing she was. He was hardly much taller than average, perhaps by a few inches, yet he towered over her. The moment seemed to hang in the air between them. Her eyes flicked between his, as if searching for something.
The unspoken question in her expression echoed through him. He inched closer, bowing his head, and let his lips graze over her temple. Resting his palm against her jawline, his thumb beneath her chin, he tilted her up to him.
“Gideon?” Her voice was breathy and nearly silent. Desire surged in him, hot and commanding.
“You know what I want, princess…” he whispered.
