Star's Crossing

30: In Which All is Fair

Mare made her way unsteadily down the dim corridors of the Watt estate. At last she came upon the group in the parlor, chatting mildly over glasses of cold tea. Upon her entrance, Geoffrey leapt to his feet and crossed the room, offering his arm.

Mare took it without looking, instead searching for Lilith's eyes. But the girl turned resolutely toward Alison, bending forward in hushed conversation. Teddy too ignored Mare, standing with one arm folded behind his back and a glass of tea poised before his lips. Mare thought she imagined the color that rose to his cheeks as she entered.

"Atwood, Atwood," murmured Geoffrey in her ear, escorting her to a sofa and fetching her a glass of tea. "The townspeople are right. Trouble does indeed follow in your footsteps."

"So I'm told," said Mare bitterly, drinking. Her veins pulsated quite pleasantly against her skin, and the warmth of Camden's whiskey settled upon her bones like sunlight. "And though others are always around when that trouble comes, it seems I bear the responsibility wholly."

"It's a better responsibility than most." Geoffrey smirked over his glass and Mare turned her attention to him.

With that silly grin on his face he looked ages younger and far less novel, a common boy rather than a striking hero or dashing rake. Mare suddenly felt foolish for her swooning; though he was very good-looking and smart, his father was right. Lazy as a cat. And quite taken with games, like his black-eyed cousin.

"How do you figure that, I wonder, Mr. Bridge?" Mare didn't bother to cloak the acid of her tone.

"Think about it. Most girls are troubled with being too trite or too witty, too attractive, not attractive enough. Thick, thin. Bright, foolish. Cunning. Secretive. Boring." Geoffrey sat across the way, crossing one leg over the other, eyes glittering in the afternoon sunlight. "You're trouble. That's poetry, Mare."

"Here I thought life was devoid of such things." Mare remembered their discussion on the pavilion the night of the ball. It felt ages had passed. "Yet despite your claims, you seem to have as much a hunger for drama as everyone else."

"Drama, no. Poetry? That I don't mind a bit. But most of all, it is justice I enjoy."

Now Mare narrowed her eyes. There was something in the way he appraised her over the rim of his glass; something mischievous in the leonine gold of his eyes, the bemused set of his mouth.

Perhaps it was the whiskey in her blood or the humiliation left in Theodore Bridge's wake; Mare leaned very near, and Geoffrey matched her, bowing his ear to her lips. "I have never been kissed, Geoffrey Bridge."

When she withdrew he remained, the smile on his lips levelled, the ice in his eyes thawed and bright. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a word emerged, his gaze lifted to the door at Mare's back, and Camden entered.

He looked very smart in a day jacket, and his hair, having just been rinsed, was swept back so only a single dark strand hung over his forehead.

"Took you long enough," chided Alison, gesturing toward the table set with tea. "Have a drink, cousin."

"Don't mind if I do." Camden withdrew the crystal bottle of whiskey from his jacket and waved it.

Alison straightened but did not readily protest. Geoffrey cracked a smile, his eyes tethered to Mare's.

Teddy bristled. "Cam, I don't think that's the best—"