"No," Grayson said.
His voice was firm. A lantern swung overhead, casting odd shadows across his face. Some of the black ink had smudged on his cheek, bruising the skin, and there was a smattering of stubble across his throat. He looked tired, Penny thought; surely he didn't want to embark on a three-hour carriage journey any more than she did.
"Why not?" she asked.
"It could ruin your reputation."
"I'm staying at an inn called—" Penny squinted at the sign above the empty grate. "Nyxos's Nunnery. I think my reputation is already in tatters."
Grayson ran a hand through his hair. "If someone sees us..."
"Like who?" Penny raised an eyebrow. "A bandit? A sailor with a gambling addiction? Trust me, Grayson: nobody we know will see us here."
He sighed. "I still don't like it."
"I'm sure we can get the other room refunded."
Something dark passed over Grayson's face. "That's not what I'm worried about." Penny shivered, rubbing at her arms, and his expression turned begrudging. "Fine. Fine. We'll stay here and share a room, then. Just for the night."
They made their way up the narrow staircase, pausing at a sloped doorway halfway down the corridor. Someone — their coachman, Penny suspected — had deposited their trunks inside already. She privately felt it was a miracle that nobody had stolen them.
She surveyed the room. It was basic, as far as rooms went: a small window; a wax candle; an empty fireplace; a basin with a cloth; and then a narrow bed with a scratchy quilt thrown on top. Large enough to fit two people, Penny noted, but not by much; it would be a bit of a squeeze, especially with Grayson's height.
Still.
They'd manage.
Penny knelt by her trunk, rummaging through until she found a white nightdress. Grayson squatted by the fireplace. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on his box of matches. On anything but her, really.
Not that Penny blamed him.
Penny rose, laying the nightdress on the bed. Apart from the night that she'd barged in on Grayson, she'd never been in a bedroom alone with a man that wasn't her brother, Isaac, or a familial relation (that she could recall, anyway). And she'd certainly never stripped in the same room as one.
But, you know.
First time for everything.
Penny's cloak hit the floor. Then her soaked slippers and gloves. Then her skirts. Grayson fumbled with the matches slightly, although his gaze didn't waver from the fireplace. Penny stripped off her stockings next, and then twisted around to work at the fastenings of her corset. Her numb fingers pulled uselessly at the stays.
Several long moments passed.
Grayson cleared his throat. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes." No.
"Good."
Another silence fell. Penny shivered, bending over for better purchase. She could hear the crackle of flames, and Grayson's clothes moving as he shifted.
"Do you need assistance?" Grayson asked finally.
His voice was reluctant. It was the sort of tone, Penny thought, that one used when they would rather soak their own head in whisky and stick it into the fireplace. Still. She didn't have much of a choice.
"Please," she said.
Grayson rose.
His figure was backlit against the fire, his hair a white halo of flame. There was something hard about his face; something determined. Grayson reached her in three strides, and then his fingers were gliding over her back, working expertly at the fastenings. Almost too expertly, Penny thought, and something sour curled in her chest. Exactly how many times had he done this before?
She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"There." Grayson stepped back, and there was relief in his voice. "Done."
The sour feeling intensified. Well. He didn't need to sound quite so glad about it. Penny turned, facing the opposite wall.
"Thanks," she muttered.
Penny shucked off the dress, shrugging on the nightgown. Grayson must have changed at inhuman speed, because by the time she turned around, he was shirtless and dressed in loose trousers, facing the fireplace. Her chest tightened.
"I'm dressed." She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice. "You can turn around now."
Grayson turned, and then made an odd, strangled noise. His eyes flicked over her — almost involuntarily — and then focused firmly on her face. Penny crossed her arms, glancing down at her nightgown.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." Grayson averted his eyes to the ceiling. "It's just... Do you know that nightgown is... er..."
"Just say it."
"It's sheer." He swallowed. "In the firelight."
"Oh."
"Never mind." Grayson turned for the wash basin, producing a damp cloth. "Here. You still have blood on your face."
He held the cloth out like a barrier between them. Penny pulled a face.
"Can you do it?" she asked. "I can't see."
For a moment, Grayson looked like he was about to argue. Then he sighed, cupping her face in one hand. He rotated her head gently, pressing the damp cloth to her temple with gentle fingers. Penny shivered, and he lowered the cloth.
"Done," Grayson said.
There was something gruff about his voice. He turned for the wash basin again, rinsing the cloth. Penny moved to take it — to dab the ink from his face — and Grayson held it protectively to his chest.
"I can do it," he said.
A flash of exasperation filled her. "Don't be silly. It'll be easier if I do it."
Grayson's eyes were dark. Still, he held out the cloth. Penny took it, placing one hand on his shoulder for balance as she bobbed up on her toes. Grayson was marble under her touch, his entire body stock-still. As soon as she'd finished, he took a large step backwards.
"Thanks," he said. "Let's go to bed."
He threw the cloth in the basin. A lump rose in her throat. It was ridiculous, Penny thought, to feel hurt by his behaviour. But did he really need to act like she was covered in warts and plague-infested fleas? Like he might physically be sick if he touched her?
Penny touched her throat. They'd cared for each other once, hadn't they? Surely that had to count for something.
She climbed into bed. Grayson crossed to the window, blowing out the candle. Then he slumped down against the wall, crossing his arms.
Penny sat up. "What are you doing?"
"I'm sleeping here," Grayson said.
Irritation flicked through her. "Don't be ridiculous. There's enough room in the bed for the both of us."
"I'm fine where I am."
Penny pulled her knees into her chest. "I'll never be able to sleep knowing that you're uncomfortable."
"I'll have you know," Grayson said, "that this wall is very comfortable. Top notch, as far as walls go."
He patted the wall. Penny gritted her teeth.
"Oh, come off it, Grayson," she said. "I'm not going to ravish you, if that's what you're worried about. I can keep my hands to myself."
There was a long pause.
She couldn't see Grayson's face in the darkness, but his breathing changed, somehow. It became lower. Harsher. There was a shifting of material, and for a moment, she thought he might stand, but no; he was just adjusting positions.
"Goodnight, Penny." His voice was pointed.
Penny flopped back on the bed. Moonlight scattered across the ceiling, forming odd black-and-white patches like slatted keys on a piano. More fabric rustled. Grayson sighed. Then fabric rustled again. Penny sat up.
"Grayson, this is stupid," she said. "Get in the bed."
"I can't."
"Really?" She pulled a face. "Because your legs were working five minutes ago."
"No, I can't," Grayson said."I don't think you understand the effect that you have on me, Penny. If you could read my thoughts..." There was anguish in his voice. "You wouldn't like them. Trust me."
"Oh."
There was a long silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Heat crept into her cheeks. Did he mean...? Yes. He must. And she'd been stupid enough to think that he was revolted by the sight of her naked.
Right.
Penny softened her voice. "Get in the bed, Grayson. I really don't mind." She paused. "Unless you're thinking about beating me to death with a shoe or something, in which case, please stay where you are."
He blew out a breath. "Penny..."
"Please," she said. "I'm too tired to argue."
It was true; every part of her was heavy with exhaustion, half-melting into the bed. Grayson rose. He arranged himself carefully beside her, being careful not to touch her. Still, Penny could feel the heat of him radiating across the bed. The shift and creak of the bed moving under his weight. She spread her hands over her stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
"Earlier," Penny said, "when you were speaking with Camille by the carriage, and she was touching your elbow..." Her words hung above them, like unseen stars in the darkness. "There was a moment where I felt strange about it."
A pause. "Strange?"
"I think you know what I mean."
The distance between them felt like a physical weight. Penny rolled to face him, and Grayson balled his fists.
"You shouldn't say things like that." His voice was low.
"Why not?"
"Because it gives me hope," Grayson said. "And hope is a terrible thing to have."
He was staring up at the ceiling, one hand pillowed behind his head; his lashes cast dark shadows across his cheekbones. Penny swallowed. He really was beautiful, she thought, and kind; it wouldn't be difficult to fall for someone like Thomas Grayson. She could see why she'd done it once before.
She shifted her weight. "You're really not going to tell me what Cami asked you? The favour you agreed to do for her?"
Grayson closed his eyes. "I promised her I wouldn't say anything."
Her chest felt hollow. She'd expected as much; burning hells, she respected him for it. But there was a part of her, Penny thought, that was still hurt by the fact that Grayson wouldn't share everything with her. Which was ridiculous. Obviously.
He didn't owe her anything. They weren't even friends, really.
"Grayson?" she asked.
"Yes?"
She chewed her lip. "Do you really think that we'll be able to find a cure for my brother?"
Grayson seemed to consider his words carefully. "I think that if a cure exists, then it'll be in the Great Library. The Library has everything. And we'll scour every shelf, Pen. We can spend weeks in there if we have to. Months."
Penny stared at the ceiling. Months. Did Ryne have months left? Probably not. The realization brought a lump to her throat, and she stared hard at the ceiling, willing her eyes to stop stinging. When she spoke, her voice was thick.
"You're right," she said.
Grayson faced her. "About what?"
"Hope." Penny stared up at the dark ceiling. "It's a terrible thing to have."