Page 58 of The General's Gift
“I am flirting with you, you great ox.”
Rue shot Celeste a long-suffering sigh. “Do you see what I’m up against?”
Celeste mouthed,Be more romantic.
Rue nodded, inhaled grandly, and declaimed, “Come, Ambrose, let us bask in nature’s gentle bliss—for the mongrel needs to piss.”
Celeste’s mouth fell open.
Graves turned slowly, staring as if she’d just professed undying love for a Frenchman. “What was that?”
Rue lifted her chin. “Poetry.”
“Cease this nonsense at once, Sergeant!”
“Well, if you refuse to understand the language of love—” Rue caught him by the epaulet and hauled him off.
Graves flailed. “I’m being taken prisoner. Alert my superiors.”
“Oh no, Captain. I shall escort you to the fields, where the sun may bless your grim little soul with warmth—and all that nonsense.”
Celeste covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. With a sigh, she watched them stride into the fields, golden light spilling around them, and somehow knew they would be all right.
If Rue could woo Graves without killing him, Celeste was duty-bound to face her castle. Lifting her chin, she turned from the phaeton and crossed the courtyard to Hawk.
Her general offered her his arm. “Why has Graves deserted his post?”
“I believe he took a break from the ‘Doses of Man’ mission. It was surpassed by another more pressing issue—taking Othello for his constitutional.”
“Did it work?”
“Sometimes it takes a long time for him to settle into a tree, but Othello—”
“I mean the mission. You sat beside him. You spoke to him. How did you feel?”
Celeste hid her smile under her bonnet. “It was strange. My pulse raced, and at some point, I lost my breath.”
Hawk frowned, analyzing her closely. She rather liked being the center of his attention. Much better than when he ignored her.
“Noted. Was it because Graves was sitting too close? Is proximity an issue? Or the sound of his voice?”
Celeste sighed. “Was he speaking at all? I didn’t notice. I could not stop staring at your forearms when you drove the carriage.”
His expression became thunderous, but not before a telltale blush colored his face. “Celeste. This is not a joke.”
Celeste closed her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry—it’s just… I don’t fear Graves. He looks at me as if I’m a chore and that I might bite him. And he is so loyal to you. Even if I drive him mad… I don’t think he could ever harm me.”
Hawk caught her hand, and his gaze locked on hers. “No one will ever harm you again, Celeste.”
“Alexander, I want to thank you. For what you are doing. Papillon is still here,” she said, pressing her fist to her breast as if she could hold the wings in place. “I feel her fluttering inside me. But it’s no longer overpowering. I think... I promise to resist when she tries to take control.”
His hand came up, and he caressed her cheek with surprising tenderness. “My brave girl.”
Her throat ached with unshed tears, but she felt taller than one of his grenadiers. So this was pride. How strange. It warmed her chest, filling her so full it almost hurt. She decided to capture it, lock it away in her heart forever—to take out whenever the shadows tried to creep back in.
“Come. I will show you your inheritance.”
Celeste entered the castle at Hawk’s side. A line of servants bowed, and the steward stepped forward with his introduction. Fear whispered she was an impostor, that the portraits, furniture, and art must shudder at her claim.
