Page 47 of The Last Necromancer
"You're right. I should have noticed. But to be fair, you were very good, Charlie. Or should I say, Charlotte."
I jerked my head to the side. Being called by that name brought back memories; some good, some horrible and sad. But it also felt wrong. I wasn't Charlotte anymore. She was gone. "My name is Charlie and that's what you will call me."
"I'm not angry because I didn't see what you truly were," he said. "I'm angry because you lied to me about it."
"Of course I bloody lied! Do you know what it's like for girls living on the streets? It has been…difficult as a boy. As a girl…" I shook my head. I couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't want to think about the horrors that would have befallen me if people had known I was a girl—and a virgin from a good family at that.
His fingers uncurled at his sides. He crossed his arms. "You think I would have taken advantage of you?"
"I don't know. You did kidnap me and were rather rough in the process."
"That's because I thought you were a boy."
"You think it's acceptable to be rough while kidnapping a boy?"
"I kept you in here. In my private chambers."
"What was so improper about that? You didn't see anything until today. And you already knew I was a woman when you marched in here," I added with a sniff. "If impropriety bothered you, you would have knocked first."
"I could have hurt you. You resisted me in the street, you tried to escape and kill me in the process. I could have hurt you at any of those times to stop you." He lowered his face to mine. "I do not like to hurt women."
"So my lie upsets your moral code? Ha! Forgive me for thinking you a hypocrite, Mr. Death."
His lips tightened. His nostrils flared. I feared I'd gone too far, but it would seem his moral code was strong—at least where the harming of women was concerned.
"You didn't hurt me much," I told him. "Even though you probably wanted to, after I shot you." As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. I didn't want to soften. I wanted to remain mad at him for walking in on me. Anger was better than humiliation. I still felt sick, knowing that he'd seen everything. He couldn't fail to measure me against Lady Harcourt and other beautiful women he must have bedded. My body was skeletal compared to her lushness. How he must find the comparison amusing.
"Get dressed." He stalked to the door, his strides long and purposeful. "This conversation isn't finished."
I glared at the closed door, anger and humiliation swirling inside me because of that man. That insufferable bully. I hated him. Hated his smugness and arrogance, hated the way he stomped over my pride. I was caught between wanting to slap his cheek and never seeing him again. One would satisfy the furious woman in me, the other the embarrassed one. I would both slap him and leave if I thought I had a chance of success. But I wasn't fast enough to hit him and he'd proven too difficult to escape from so far.
I took my time dressing. I sat on the bed for an age, the towel wrapped around me, and thought of all the tricks and horrid things he'd done to me in the last few days to fuel my anger and dampen the embarrassment. But there were so few instances. He'd even shown kindness, on occasion. Whenever I thought of those times, and how I'd wanted more of them, I felt even sicker at what he'd seen and what he must think of me now.
The best way to remain angry was to face him, so I dressed. Instead of dragging my damp hair over my face, I decided to sweep it back. Let him look me in the eyes as he gloated.
He was sipping whiskey by the unlit fireplace when I entered his sitting room from the bedroom. He paused, the glass at his lips. A beat passed. Two. I gave him a defiant glare and he downed the remaining contents.
He crossed to the sideboard and poured another. A bottle of wine was open on a tray and a glass sat with it. Either Seth or Gus must have brought it up, along with the selection of cheeses. I wondered if they knew about my being a woman yet. I wondered what their reactions would be.
Fitzroy held out the wine glass to me. "If I give you this, will you throw it in my face?"
"Let's find out, shall we?" I accepted the glass. My fingers brushed against his and something inside me jolted at the touch. Despite everything, I had a strong urge to linger.
He let go of the glass and indicated I should sit on the sofa. He occupied one of the armchairs, looking every bit a king on his throne. I lowered myself to the sofa, but no longer felt sure how to sit. Legs slightly apart like a boy didn't seem appropriate, nor did lounging. But without a woman's bustle to get in the way, I didn't need to perch. I sat back and kept my knees together. It felt far too prim and unnatural.
"I didn't know you were in a state of undress," he said. "I apologize for walking in on you."
"And for not turning around and walking out again immediately? You could have left, Fitzroy, yet you didn't. Did you enjoy witnessing my humiliation? Will you enjoy telling Seth and Gus what I look like without clothes?"
His glare turned chilly. "Is that what you think of me?"
I sipped my wine.
After a moment, he finished the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down on the table beside him. "Remind me to thank Lady Harcourt when next I see her."
"What has she to do with anything?"
"It was she who told me you might be a girl."
