The Deepest Night Read Free Page B

in his tone that he meant for something other than food.
    “I’ve never had caviar,” I said deliberately.
    His gaze fell from mine. “Then I’m honored to be the one to offer it to you now.”
    And that is how I discovered that caviar is one of the most purely revolting substances ever to exist. I actually had to spit it out and wipe my tongue clean with a fresh piece of bread to get the disgusting fish-jelly flavor out of my mouth.
    “Charming.” Armand was smearing more onto his own bread with a delicate silver knife. “Glad to know all those lessons in deportment aren’t being wasted.”
    “What josser was the first person to slit open a sturgeon and see a slimy blob of eggs and think, Right, I’m going to eat that ?” I swiped again at my tongue. “I never thought there existed a food I wouldn’t like, but you, my lord, have proven me wrong.”
    “A first!”
    “And last. What else did you bring?”
    Ten minutes later, I realized I was the only one still eating. Crickets had begun to chirp sleepily from the bracken, filling the silence. I glanced up to discover Armand watching me, his face shadow-sharp and inscrutable. The last of the bread and olives lay untouched by his feet.
    “Westcliffe doesn’t want you coming back next year,” he said abruptly.
    I brushed some crumbs from my shirt. “That’s hardly a revelation. She thinks I’m your doxy.”
    “She’s sent letter after letter to Reginald, implying it’s time to find a new scholarship girl. To cut you loose.”
    Reginald was the duke, and my sponsor at the school. I’d only ever heard Armand refer to him as “dad” once. Right after His Grace had tried to murder me.
    “What does he write back?” I asked.
    “Nothing, so far. I’m afraid all her letters have been regretfully mislaid.”
    I smiled, shaking my head. “You can’t keep that up.”
    “No, I know. Eleanore—Lora—listen.”
    But he didn’t say anything else, just kept staring at me, fierce. The flame of the lantern maintained its small, steady burn between us.
    Crickets. Leaves rustling. Very dimly: the surging pulse of the sea.
    “Don’t worry.” I tried to sound confident; I was an excellent liar, but Armand had a hardness to him that wasn’t easily fooled. “They’ll probably send me to another orphanage, but just for the summer. It won’t be for long, and I’ll be fine. You know I’m not nearly as helpless as I seem. I’ll land on my feet, no matter where I end up.”
    “Another orphanage—or worse.”
    “No.” I was pleased my voice didn’t crack. “That won’t happen, I assure you.”
    Hell would freeze over first. The moon would plunge from the sky, cats would bark, and dogs would weep tears of rubies and pearls. I would never, ever return to Moor Gate, or any place like it. I would never let demented people like that have control over me again.
    Armand ran a hand through his hair, leaving a muss. “There is another option. We get married. You stay with me.”
    My attention zagged back to him; I’m sure my mouth had fallen open. “Married.”
    “Yes. Kindly try not to sound so horrified.”
    I covered my lips with both hands, then forced myself to drop them to my lap. “You—you’re not of age yet.”
    “I will be in a month.”
    “Well, I’m not of age yet. I haven’t the faintest idea when I’ll be eighteen.”
    He frowned. “You don’t know how old you are?”
    “No. I don’t even know my birthday.”
    “How you could celebrate it if you don’t … ?”
    I only looked at him.
    “Oh. Right. Orphanage.”
    “And the fact that I have no memory of my life before 1909. The only thing I know about myself at all is that I was born on a steamship. And only because Jesse told me that, and the stars told him .”
    Armand picked up a fat green olive and held it between his finger and thumb, glaring down at it. “The stars, of course. Always the bloody damned stars.” He flicked the olive to the trees, and all the crickets went