The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Twenty-Three

After hours of replaying the night's events in her head, Trinket finally drifted off to sleep only to be awoken soon after by sunlight streaming in through her window. With a defeated groan, she stared up at the ceiling and again played back that embarrassing scene. The kissing, the touching, the overwhelming desire—

She covered her eyes, unable to face the reality of her behavior. What had come over her? And how was she supposed to even look at Booker after all that? Especially after he'd basically pushed her away . . .

With great reluctance, she climbed out from beneath her covers and went to the washbasin to splash cold water onto her burning cheeks. Why had he pushed her away? What had she done wrong? Had his feelings for her changed?

Panic seized her heart.

No. No, Booker wouldn't be that fickle.

Wouldn't he?

"No, he wouldn't," she said firmly, bracing herself against the washstand. "Immature, reckless—yes. But not fickle."

Whatever you say . . .

When she was washed and dressed, she made her way downstairs, still internally arguing with the voices about Booker's loyalty. She hurried into the kitchen where Daphne was already preparing breakfast. Catching sight of her in the doorway, Daphne flashed a warm smile.

"You rise before the sun, don't you?" Trinket said.

Daphne shrugged nonchalantly. A sly grin spread over her face as she nodded towards the hallway and raised her eyebrows.

Trinket's heart skittered as she looked over her shoulder, thinking Booker was right behind her. But the doorway was empty. She turned back to Daphne, and it was clear by her expression that she hadn't missed Trinket's odd reaction.

"I haven't seen him this morning," Trinket replied stiffly, heading to the dresser to fetch some tea.

Shaking her head, Daphne followed after her. She pointed between Trinket and the door several times before raising her eyebrows again.

Trinket sighed, her grip on the jar of black tea tightening. "Yes, everything's fine now. We worked it all out."

That sly smile grew, and Daphne began making kissing noises as she puckered her lips.

A wave of heat ran through Trinket's entire body, and she pushed past the teasing woman to return to the table. "Lord, Daphne, it's too early for this kind of harassment."

Daphne's laughter echoed off the walls as Trinket prepared the tea, but she didn't persist. Trinket released a relieved breath and let the soothing scent of the tea leaves ease her nerves. Just as her cheeks were returning to their natural paleness, Booker walked in. His eyes went to her, and when a gentle smile tugged at his lips, she somehow lost control of the spoon in her hand.

"Oh, blast," she mumbled to herself as she scooped the utensil out of the strainer.

"Everything all right?" Booker asked, approaching the table cautiously.

Her eyes darted to him as she swept the stray tea leaves from the tabletop. The sight of that playful grin both infuriated and excited her. Her pulse pounded as a pit of dread sank into her stomach. "Yes, yes, just trying to make sure you don't have to chew your tea," she said, fixing her attention back on the teacups.

Though she refused to look at him, she could feel Booker's gaze. After a long pause, he spoke again. "Trinket, can I talk to you in private?" he said, his warm breath tickling her ear.

In private. All of a sudden, the prospect of being alone with him was terrifying. What might she do? Would she lose control again? And why did he need to speak with her? Were the voices right? Was he no longer interested in her? Would he ask her to leave?