Page 66 of Hexbound
He sent the balls flying around the table, then shot her an are-you-serious look. The sound of clacking balls broke the gentle patter of rain that wet the windows. Verity smiled at him obliquely and swept around the table toward him, adding an extra swish to her stride.
She took a step closer, but he withdrew almost fractionally. "The stick?" she murmured, reaching toward it.
Bishop let it go, but he watched her.
Let him watch. She smiled again, then considered the spread with a ruthless eye. Her previous miscue had worked in her favor. Bishop might be worldly, but he knew nothing of being gulled if he thought one broke the trick as early as that.
Verity eyed the nearest green ball. Time to play dirty.
She punched it into the pocket, then turned and considered her next move. Bishop folded his arms across his chest. "Nice shot."
"Thank you."
This time she potted the orange.
His eyes narrowed.
Verity nibbled on her lip, and deliberately missed the next shot. She handed over the cue as he stalked past her.
Circling the table, she rested on the far edge, leaning forward as if to survey what he was doing. Bishop looked down the length of the cue, then noticed her. His gaze dipped toward her bodice and he swallowed.
"Verity, sometimes I wonder if you are pure evil."
That sent her into a gale of laughter.
"You're deliberately trying to torture me," he muttered, and sank the blue.
Toying with a strand of hair, she nibbled at it. "I could only torture you if you actually wanted me."
"Of course I want you," he muttered, a soft sigh escaping him. "You're a beautiful young woman. But too young."
"I'm nineteen," she replied, rolling her eyes. She suspected he'd have a long list of excuses to throw at her, and this was the first. "I'm hardly a child." Her voice softened a fraction, thinking back through the years. "I don't think I've been a child for a very long time."
Sympathy gleamed in his eyes. "You missed out on a lot."
She shrugged.
As he set up his next shot, he asked, "What happened to your mother? I know your father left, but... you don't speak of her."
Well now. Verity glanced down at her folded hands. She never spoke of her mother, not even to Mercy. The pain in her chest was as sharp as the day she'd found her mother's pale, still body. "My mother was the most beautiful woman," she said quietly. "She used to work as a maid in a fancy house, until the owner's son tried to take advantage of her. She had to leave, but the owner refused to give her a reference. Said she was telling lies about her son. So mother married my father, and they moved into St. Giles. Not near the slum then, but on the edge of it. And she had work in a match factory until she started getting sick from the phosphorus. It scared her, for I was a little girl then and some of her friends had died, or suffered phossy-jaw. So she gave it up.
"And when my father walked out on us, well, she needed the money, didn't she? Hex Perkins, the leader of the Black Cats, saw her one day and decided he wanted her. That's how we moved into the Dials. But he grew tired of her after a while and she was forced to do other work to survive. I remember long hours of mending, of laundry, of cleaning in other people's houses. She... took on men sometimes, when the money was tight. And one of them beat her very badly one night. She didn't recover well. The Healers said he'd made her bleed inside, but... there was no money to pay a hearth witch to heal her." Verity let out a long breath, seeing the bloodied linens all over again. "She died very quickly. I wasn't expecting it. When I came home with her mending, there she was... she... she was...."
A hand brushed her chin, and Verity realized she could barely see through her watery eyes. She blinked and a single tear ran down her cheek, another clinging to her lashes. "I'm sorry." She pushed past him, brushing at her cheeks and dashing her tears away. "I don't cry. Inevercry. I don't know what's—"
Strong arms drew her against a warm chest. Verity hiccupped, and a fresh wave of tears overwhelmed her. Feeling mortified, she tried to stop herself but a sob erupted, and then she was undone.
"It's all right to cry," Bishop murmured, the rumble of his voice vibrating through his chest. He cupped the back of her head, pressing her sobbing face into his shoulder. "You loved your mother. You miss her." His voice roughened. "I understand that."
The storm of weeping left her hot-faced and swollen. But Verity had to admit it was nice to be held, nice to be in his arms. She'd wanted to have sex with him, but this... this affection was something she hadn't known she hungered for. It was dangerous in a way that bedding him wouldn't have been.
And she couldn't stop herself from wanting more.
Bishop rocked her slowly, rubbing her back as she collected herself. Verity closed her eyes.
When she and Mercy had been younger, they'd played a game once, lying in their beds and daydreaming about a future that would never exist for them. A game of what-if that was as inconsequential as the spider silk lacing the beams above them:
"What would you do if there was no debt over your head?" she'd asked Mercy.
