The Heartless City Read online

  “Perfect,” she said. “I’ll see you there around eleven o’clock.”

  She started to head for the door, but Elliot held out the book in his hand. “Wait―here. Since… you know. I mean, if you still want it.”

  She smiled and took the book, but instead of walking away, she pressed it to her chest and said, “I should have said this the first time.”

  Elliot waited, confused, as she didn’t say anything more, but then she let out a breath, glanced at the ground…

  And took his hand.

  He nearly cried out as joy and gratitude shot through his arm like fire, searing his veins, igniting his heart, and bringing tears to his eyes. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and the world ground to a halt. He swallowed hard and murmured, “You’re welcome.”

  She nodded, released his hand, and then hurried back to the kitchen. Just as she opened the door, however, he stopped her one more time.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what’s so embarrassing about penguins?”

  A burst of laughter escaped her as she stepped over the threshold. “Perhaps,” she said, grinning back at him. “We’ll just have to see how I feel.”

  am’s rooms were the second finest of Buckingham Palace’s living quarters; they’d belonged to King Edward back when he was a young man and Prince of Wales. The Lord Mayor lived in the former apartments of the late Queen, and Elliot and his father resided in separate rooms below them on the first floor of the north wing. Eager to tell Cam that Iris had liked the gift and wanted to see him again, Elliot rushed to the second floor as soon as he arrived, but Cam was out, so he trudged to his own room and tried to pass the time by reading David Copperfield. Thoughts of Iris were much more appealing, however, so he tossed it aside and spent the afternoon gazing up at his ceiling instead.

  Around six o’clock, he figured Cam must be back and changing for dinner, so he climbed the stairs again and approached his private chambers. The sitting room was unlocked, so he stepped inside and navigated his way through the evening darkness, following the lamplight streaming from Cam’s open bedroom door. He started to call out to him, but his voice died in his throat, because another voice rang out from the bedroom.

  The Lord Mayor’s.

  “Explain this to me, Cambrian. And don’t waste your breath with a lie.”

  Elliot froze and gripped the arm of the sofa just beside him. He couldn’t see the figures of Cam or his father from where he stood, but he could feel Cam’s fear and hear the ice in the Lord Mayor’s voice.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cam replied, but his voice was unsteady.

  “I told you not to lie!”

  A clatter followed the outburst, and Cam stumbled into Elliot’s view, staggering backward against the bedroom wall and raising his hands. Slowly, the Lord Mayor approached him, clutching an object in his palm, and Elliot’s chest tightened.

  It was the salve Cam had given to Jennie.

  “All right, I’m sorry,” Cam said, his fear growing sharper and more metallic. “I gave that to one of the parlor maids. She told me her hands got chapped in the winter, and I felt sorry for her. I was only being kind. There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “That’s precisely the problem, you little shit,” the Lord Mayor cried, hurling the salve against the wall and shattering the jar. Cam jumped and Elliot winced, his stomach lurching with fear and loathing so potent he thought he would vomit. He knew he should leave, that Cam would never want him to witness this, but he felt as if his feet were glued to the Persian rug beneath him.

  “Kindness isn’t what you give to parlor maids,” the Lord Mayor spat. “Bits of skirt like that exist for one reason: blowing off steam. You should be having it off with half the sluts on the staff, Cambrian, but instead, you’re chatting with them about skin conditions and buying them hand crèmes.”

  Cam attempted to rise from the wall, but the Lord Mayor shoved him back.

  “What were you planning to do with her next? Gossip and share embroidery patterns? Help her dust the drawing rooms and empty the chamber pots?”

  “Father, I’m sorry―”

  A crack split the air as the Lord Mayor snapped the back of his hand across his face.

  “I don’t need you to be sorry!” he roared. “I need you to be a man!”

  Cam blinked and tried to right himself, but the Lord Mayor seized his throat and slammed the back of his head against the wall, pinning him there.

  “The son of the Lord Mayor of London will not be a goddamned nancy-boy.”

  His grip tightened, and Elliot bit his cheek until he tasted blood. He wanted to run inside and tackle the Lord Mayor to the ground, but the flood of terror, rage, disgust, and shame was paralyzing.

  “I need to see some changes,” he growled in Cam’s face. “And I need to see them now.”

  With a violent jerk, he released his throat and turned to leave the room, and Elliot’s sudden panic finally gave him the strength to move. He scrambled behind the sofa just before the Lord Mayor walked by, but when he passed, Elliot wrinkled his forehead in confusion. He’d assume the fear he’d felt from the bedroom belonged to Cam alone, but besides being sickened and full of rage, the Lord Mayor was also strangely, bone-chillingly afraid.

  The bewilderment didn’t last long, however; as soon as the Lord Mayor left the chamber, Cam began to cry. The sound of his sobbing was bad enough, but the shame that bloomed inside him nearly bought Elliot to his knees. It was worse than the shame he’d felt earlier, worse than anything Elliot had felt in his whole life. His soul writhed as if it were disgusted with itself, churning with hatred that clogged his veins, choked his heart, and blackened his vision. Elliot couldn’t breath beneath the weight of it, let alone cry. The only thing he wanted was to crawl out of his skin.

  Finally, he forced himself up and dashed out of the room, running until he reached the clear, free air of the northern stairway. His heart thrashed against his ribs as the feeling began to fade, but part of him still wanted to run back inside and comfort Cam. He knew that if he did, however, he’d only be as vulnerable and useless as before, and Cam would feel even worse if he knew his shame had been exposed.

  Iris had been wrong about his empathy being a gift. It didn’t give him power or allow him to help anyone. All it did was show him things he wished he’d never seen.

  The State Dining Room was one of the loveliest places in the palace. The gold and rose-colored southern wall was covered with oil paintings of the Hanoverian sovereigns, and the northern wall was made up of a panel of tall French windows, leading to a spacious balcony overlooking the garden. The windows were open when Elliot arrived at eight o’clock, and the scents of flowers and freshly mown grass were drifting in on the breeze, but he couldn’t see or smell a thing. All he could think of was Cam.

  Even though the hall was only the second largest dining space―the first being the Ball Supper Room, which wouldn’t be needed until the season began and the nobles who didn’t live at the palace attended as well―it was grand enough to hold the eighty or so courtiers who were strolling about the room and greeting each other with drinks in their hands. After surviving the crowd at La Maison Des Fleurs without a drink, Elliot had thought he could do the same at the Lord Mayor’s dinner, but as soon as he entered, he seized a glass of champagne from a footman’s tray―not out of dread of the crowd, but out of fear and concern for Cam. Once he had the glass in his hand, he moved to the back of the room, scanning the crowd for him and taking long, nervous drinks.

  “Started the party without me once again,” a voice behind him sighed.

  Elliot jumped and covered his mouth, nearly spitting out the champagne. He turned around to see Cam standing only inches behind him, his hair sleek, his suit immaculate, and his smile gleaming. If he hadn’t been able to feel the pain and anxiety in his chest, Elliot would have thought the afternoon had been a dream.

  “You’re a bit jumpy,” Cam observed. “Here, have another drink. It’s t
ruly the only way to get through these arduous formal dinners.”

  Elliot looked down and saw that Cam was holding two fresh glasses, and also that the one in his own hand was now nearly empty. He drained the rest of the first and accepted the second from Cam.

  “Thanks,” he said, handing his empty flute to a passing footman. “So… was Andrew able to find that part and fix the Victor?”

  He’d hoped that mentioning something exciting to Cam would lift his mood, but instead, his anxiety thickened at the mention of Andrew’s name.

  “He did find the part,” he said, glancing down at the red velvet carpet. “But he hasn’t been able to bring it back to the palace and work on the Victor. He won’t be coming tonight, either. His mother… well, it’s not one of her better days.”

  Elliot stared at the floor as well, guilt churning inside his stomach along with the champagne. Then, suddenly, Cam slapped his shoulder and filled him with jarring glee.

  “I’m a prat!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t ask you about Iris! What happened this afternoon? Did you go to La Maison Des Fleurs?”

  Elliot let out a breath and smiled. “Yes. I gave her this book I thought she’d like from Mansion House. She accepted it and even agreed to meet me again tonight.”

  Cam beamed, his happiness genuine and rejuvenating. “Best of luck to you, mate,” he said. Then he gestured toward his hair. “You’d better comb that mop of yours before you go and meet her.”

  Elliot had combed his hair―twice―it just didn’t make any difference, a fact that Cam knew well. “I’ll still be a better sight than you.”

  He smiled and Elliot’s chest relaxed as he took another drink, but then he nearly spit it out again as a young girl approached them.

  Her name was Philomena Blackwell, the daughter of the only living Earl who remained in London, and one of the few courtiers whose feelings hadn’t been a surprise to Elliot once he was able to feel them, because they were exactly the same as the ones she displayed on her face. While Elliot often felt inept at hiding his emotions, Philomena was perfectly capable of it―she just didn’t want to.

  Elliot liked her, even more so after his affliction. While he admired how Cam and Iris could mask and control their feelings, there was something exciting and brave about someone who didn’t try. Her energy was frenetic and her spirit was nearly wild, and she carried some of the fiercest longings he’d ever come across. To most people, such qualities were out of place in any girl, not to mention the most refined and highborn in all of London, but the thing that made her explosive spirit more striking was its container.

  Philomena had turned fifteen a little over a month ago―a week or so after Cam enjoyed his eighteenth “St. Cambrian’s Day”―but if anyone were to look at her, they’d guess she was twelve years old. She was only barely five feet tall, and her frame was slight and elfin, though there was nothing small about the way she carried herself, and her smooth, dimpled face was fresh and as sweet as a china doll’s. She had bright hazel eyes and shining hair the color of caramel, but Elliot found it hard to think of someone who looked so much like a little girl as beautiful.

  As she barreled across the dining room toward him and Cam, however, her heart was more alive than any doll’s could ever be, which was why he nearly spit out his champagne when she approached.

  “Cambrian, is Andrew here?” she asked the moment she reached them.

  Cam grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Good evening to you as well, Miss Blackwell.”

  She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Don’t play with me. I’m serious.”

  He raised his glass to his lips, his grin widening. “Unfortunately, Andrew will not be joining us tonight.”

  “Blast!” she exclaimed, glaring down at the floor.

  Cam chortled into his glass. Elliot smiled as well, in spite of the weight of her disappointment. The daughter of an Earl shouldn’t know a word like that existed, let alone shout it out in front of two gentlemen at a party.

  “He promised he would play for me tonight,” she explained miserably. “The Lord Mayor said I could sing for the guests at the next formal dinner.”

  “I’ll play for you,” Cam offered, but she rolled her eyes again.

  “I’ve heard your attempts at the piano, Cambrian. You’re terrible.”

  Cam clutched his chest and groaned as if her words were a physical blow. “My dreams have been crushed, Elliot. I’ll never play before the king.”

  “Oh, stop it!” she said, smacking the side of his arm, but she was smiling. “I suppose I’ll simply have to wait until the next formal dinner.”

  “I truly am sorry,” Cam said, holding out the drink in his hand. “Would you like a sip of champagne as compensation for your loss?”

  Philomena’s eyes lit up. “My mother would kill me,” she said, but then she seized the drink and drained the whole thing in one gulp. After wiping her mouth and handing the empty glass back to Cam, she flashed a wicked grin and said, “I hope the old bat saw that.”

  She turned and bounced away, and Cam looked down at his empty glass. “Well,” he said. “I suppose that’s what I get for being charitable.”

  Dinner that night was extravagant, as the formal ones always were. The five courses included, among other things: fresh salad, asparagus, peas, sweet bread, lamb cutlets, lobster tail, and the night’s main entrée―goose. When Elliot took his first bite of the goose, he couldn’t help but think of the hostile gander that had attacked him. Could he be eating that goose right now? Or its brother or its cousin?

  He set down his fork and glanced around the table, noticing something strange. At each formal dinner, the seats were assigned and very rarely changed, but tonight the arrangement was different. The Lord Mayor sat at the head of the table with Cam on his right and Earl Blackwell, Philomena’s father, on his left. As usual, Lady Blackwell sat in the seat beside her husband, but instead of sitting beside her mother, Philomena was seated across the table, next to Cam. Elliot, who was sitting next to the Blackwells with his father, furrowed his brow and wondered at the odd and sudden change, but then the Lord Mayor stood and gave his customary speech.

  As Cam had guessed, the Lord Mayor announced that he had decided to lower the age of debut from sixteen to fifteen. The moment he made the proclamation, however, his gaze landed on Cam, and when it then immediately shifted to Philomena, Elliot sucked in a breath. That morning Cam had felt strangely afraid when he mentioned his father’s obsession with getting the world “married off and reproducing,” and now Elliot understood why.

  The Lord Mayor wanted Cam to marry Philomena, and soon.

  It made sense that the Lord Mayor would want the only daughter of the city’s last and greatest aristocrat as a match for his son, but why was he in such a hurry to make it happen now? Years ago, it would have been unheard of for a boy of eighteen to marry anyone, let alone a girl who’d only recently turned fifteen. Elliot liked Philomena, and he knew that Cam did, too, but she wouldn’t even look like a fifteen-year-old girl until she was twenty. The thought of marrying and having children with her now… even before meeting Iris, Elliot would have found the idea as disconcerting as Cam.

  After dinner, Elliot’s father―who’d avoided him as much as he could while sitting right beside him―announced that he was headed back to his lab to do some research. The Lord Mayor escorted him out, and the women departed for coffee, tea, and cakes in the Blue Drawing Room. The rest of the men then filed into the West Gallery, where they would spend the rest of the evening drinking port and brandy. Elliot and Cam sat down on an empty leather sofa, and Cam pulled out his cigarette case as if it were a flask of water and he was dying of thirst.

  “It’s ridiculous that we can smoke in front of women at places like music halls but not at dinner,” he muttered, placing a cigarette between his teeth and then hastily striking a match.

  “That’s because the two places don’t contain the same kind of woman.”

  Cam and Elliot both looked up to see Charlie Hands
, a dough-faced boy about their age and whom they both detested, sitting across from them, crossing his legs and swishing a snifter of brandy in his hand.

  “Good evening, Charlie,” Cam replied, quickly returning his focus to the business of lighting his cigarette.

  Elliot shifted and took a drink from his own snifter of brandy, already feeling sickened and overwhelmed by Charlie’s feelings, which as usual were made up entirely of scorn and conceit.

  “Speaking of music halls,” Charlie said, clearly oblivious to their aversion to his presence. “I think I saw you two at La Maison Des Fleurs the other night.”

  Cam leaned back, took a long, satisfied drag, and blew smoke at the ceiling, so Elliot nodded and said, “Yes. We were there the other night.”

  “I’ve got my eye on a pretty piece who works there,” Charlie continued. “I don’t know her name, but she’s got dark hair and these maddening golden eyes.”

  Elliot stiffened, tightening his grip on the delicate snifter, and Cam sat up and slowly removed the cigarette from his mouth.

  “We know her,” he said, his voice even and cool. “Her name is Iris.”

  Charlie snorted. “You mean you actually got her to talk to you? I can’t even get the chit to give me the time of day. She’s pretty hoity-toity for a common bit of skirt, but I have a feeling I know just how to take her down a peg.”

  Elliot didn’t realize he was about to lunge out of the sofa until Cam put his hand on his leg and pressed him back into his seat. His veins bulged, and his blood screamed as Cam’s rage compounded his own, but the physical grip of his hand did keep him from tearing out Charlie’s throat.

  “Charlie,” Cam said smoothly. “Do you happen to speak French?”

  Charlie wrinkled his brow. “No. I mean, I know La Maison Des Fleurs means ‘Flower House’ or something like that, but my father said it was useless to learn a language I’d never need.”

  Cam removed his hand from Elliot’s leg and took another drag. “Charlie, tu es un être humain putride,” he said as he exhaled. “Honnêtement, je ne sais pas comment ta mère peut être autour de vous.”