The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,51

stolen into the vault, desecrating all the noble romantic dreams he’d built.

He’d allowed himself to feel passion for someone else.

This was a betrayal.

“That was not proper of me,” he told Nina. He did not recognize his own voice, raspy with dread.

“I did not mind,” she said.

“We should go.”

He went quickly down the stairs and did not bother to slow when she called his name. Outside, Nina managed to catch up with him, pulling at his arm.

It was raining hard and he welcomed the cold water sliding under the collar of his shirt because the rain nested in her hair like minuscule jewels, it crowned her in summer glory, and he dearly wanted that desperately lovely girl. Thank heavens then for the rain, which cooled his spirit.

“Hector, we must speak,” she told him.

He knew what she wanted to say, it was written clear on her face: she loved him. How stupid he had been, telling himself he was no cad yet being a cad all the same. He’d crossed the border he promised himself he would not cross with her, the shield of his polite distance disintegrating.

She loved him and it stung. Before, he could have neatly snapped his ties with her, stepped away, and let another fellow court her. She would have forgotten him in a fortnight. She was young.

Yet.

She loved him and he knew he’d done this, and he ought not to. He should have known better how easily the sentiments of a young woman could be swayed. He should have known she was not the experienced coquette who flutters her eyelashes at one fellow and another, nor the calculating rich merchant’s daughter who measures the weight of a man in gold. He should have known that she loved him already.

He’d been selfish and ignored this truth. This more than anything dampened any ardor.

Nina tried to touch his face and he was forced to turn his head.

“I shall not use you in this way,” he said.

“What?”

She was confused, but he could not explain. Not then and not there. Perhaps later, once he’d managed to unravel his thoughts, he’d calmly sit down and speak his mind. Or not. Hector could not tell her about Valérie, for one. He might be able to make her understand that he was entirely unworthy of her and that she would be better off setting her sights on a good man, someone who was not a fool longing after a woman he could not have.

He should have left long ago, should have abandoned her at the foot of the stairs that time back in the city.

“Forgive me,” he muttered.

She looked terribly forlorn, her long hair now a wet mess and her dress soaked through. He felt the weight of guilt as he hurried into Oldhouse, but there was nothing more he could say.

CHAPTER 17

Valérie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to find a measure of sleep, which, as usual, eluded her. Her thoughts meandered and tangled together, like strange plants might tangle in the depths of the ocean.

She had not imagined the anxiety the constant presence of Hector would bring her, nor the wretched anger Antonina might evoke. Valérie saw them each morning, talking during breakfast or laughing with each other, as if caught inside a glass bauble, in a private space of their own making, and she hated them.

Antonina was young and carefree, and Hector was solicitous, kind to her.

It disgusted Valérie. And now they’d piled another injury on her.

How dare he speak to Valérie like that! And over whom? Over Antonina! Precious, stupid “Nina,” gilded girl who could have anything she wanted and apparently that included anyone.

She closed her eyes. She opened them. She tossed a book she had been attempting to read at the window shutters.

Valérie rose from bed and decided she could not stay in that room one minute longer. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and walked toward the stairs, hoping she might find solace if her body were not at rest.

She had not gone far when she saw a figure move ahead of her and turn a corner. For one second she thought it a ghost, an apparition in white, but then she shook her head and recognized her. Antonina, barefoot in her nightgown. Was the girl sleepwalking?

Valérie followed her quietly and realized Antonina was headed toward the section of the house where the men slept. What was this wretched child doing?

She kept her distance and peeked around a corner, watching as Antonina stood before