Page 29 of The Rest is History
Like I’m half in the present and half lost, suspended in some other time-space continuum that I have no business and no interest in knowing about.
LikeI’m not alone.
You know in a nightmare, when you try your hardest to scream, and every muscle in your body tenses from the effort, but nothing comes out?
That’s how I feel right now. Cold dread pouring over me and turning to sweat on my flesh. The closest feeling I’ve had tothis is vertigo. When your nervous system is telling your body something your logical brain hasn’t quite worked out for itself.
I need to get out of here. I need outnow.
I pick my skirts up and run. Huffing out short, sharp breaths. Hurtling into the dimness until I emerge into Base Court, which is blessedly bright and busy. I slump into a corner and do my best to hold myself upright. Anne Boleyn sliding down a wall would be a spectacle, no doubt about it.
I cover my face with my hands, my body shuddering from the almighty adrenalin rush I just had.
I need a minute. I need?—
A shadow falls over me and hands grip my forearms firmly. I look up.
Charlie. He’s splendid in his royal regalia. His ensemble really does project majesty. Omnipotence. With his shoulder padding, he looks enormous.
‘What happened?’
His voice is low and urgent.
His eyes search my face.
And if it wasn’t for his hands holding me up, I really would slide to the ground.
‘I just came through there’—I gesture with my head—‘and I had the weirdest…’
I’m too out of breath to speak properly.
I’m too freaked out to articulate why I’m in this state.
All I know is, Charlie’s got me. I’m safe. And I want him to keep holding me. Caging me in with his body. Blocking out the visitors and the rest of the world.
And looking at me like that. Whateverthatis.
‘Did someone say something to you? Are you hurt?’
One hand releases my arm and slides in to curl around my neck, his thumb resting on my jaw, and his touch is so precisely the grounding force I need right now that I instinctively lean myhead into it. As I do, my senses shift so my presence here, with him, becomes more tangible and the shock I’ve had begins to recede. It’s there, but I can put some distance between myself and it. Shrug it off like a cloak.
My gaze roves from the silk, feathered cap on his dark head to the sapphire damask of his doublet that brings out the startling blue of his eyes. Eyes that can so often look cold, but right now are anything but. They’re heated. Fierce. And I have a sudden revelation that this is all I’ve craved, really, since I started at Hampton Park.
For Charlie Vaughan to look at me properly. To see me.
Eyes.
Stubble. That gorgeous, artless five o’clock shadow that I want to scratch my fingertips along so badly.
Mouth.Jesus, that mouth. I never noticed what a full bottom lip he has, and it’s so close.
I wonder what it would feel like between my teeth.
I wonder what it would taste like if I ran my tongue along it.
Eyes.
Stubble.
