Free Chain of Gold by Cassandra Clare Page A

cologne, a blur of a smile. His hands were gentle as he swept her back intothe waltz. “Just—try to smile, and no one will notice anything happened. James and I are practically interchangeable in the public consciousness anyway.”
    â€œJames—left,” Cordelia said, in shock.
    â€œI know,” said Matthew. “Very bad form. One should not leave a lady on the dance floor unless something is actually on fire. I’ll have a word.”
    â€œA word,” Cordelia echoed. She was beginning to feel less stunned and more angry. “A word ?”
    â€œSeveral words, if it will make you feel better?”
    â€œWho is she?” Cordelia said. She almost didn’t want to ask, but it was better to know the truth. It was always better to know the truth.
    â€œHer name is Grace Blackthorn,” said Matthew quietly. “She is the ward of Tatiana Blackthorn, and they have just come to London. Apparently she grew up in some hole in the country in Idris—that’s how James knows her. They used to cross paths in the summers.”
    It is a girl who does not live in London, but she is about to arrive here for an extended stay.
    Cordelia felt sick to her stomach. To think she had thought that Lucie was talking about her . That James could have felt those feelings about her .
    â€œYou look ill,” Matthew observed. “Is it my dancing? Is it me personally?”
    Cordelia drew herself up. She was Cordelia Carstairs, daughter of Elias and Sona, one of a long line of Shadowhunters. She was the inheritor of the famous sword Cortana, which had been passed down through the Carstairs family for generations. She was in London to save her father. She would not fall apart in public.
    â€œPerhaps I’m nervous,” she said. “Lucie did say you didn’t like many people.”
    Matthew gave a sharp, startled laugh, before schooling his face back into a look of lazy amusement. “Did she? Lucie’s a chatterbox.”
    â€œBut not a liar,” she said.
    â€œWell, fear not. I do not dislike you. I hardly know you,” said Matthew. “I do know your brother. He made my life miserable at school, and Christopher’s, and James’s.”
    Cordelia looked over at James and Grace reluctantly. They made a stunning picture, his dark hair and her fair icicle beauty. Like ashes and silver. How, how, how could Cordelia ever have thought someone like James Herondale would be interested in someone like her?
    â€œAlastair and I are very different,” Cordelia said. She didn’t want to say more than that. It felt disloyal to Alastair. “I like Oscar Wilde, for instance, and he does not.”
    The corner of Matthew’s mouth curled up. “I see you go directly for the soft underbelly, Cordelia Carstairs. Have you really read Oscar’s work?”
    â€œJust Dorian Gray ,” Cordelia confessed. “It gave me nightmares.”
    â€œI should like to have a portrait in the attic,” Matthew mused, “that would show all my sins, while I stayed young and beautiful. And not only for sinning purposes—imagine being able to try out new fashions on it. I could paint the portrait’s hair blue and see how it looks.”
    â€œYou don’t need a portrait. You are young and beautiful,” Cordelia pointed out.
    â€œMen are not beautiful. Men are handsome,” objected Matthew.
    â€œThomas is handsome. You are beautiful,” said Cordelia, feeling the imp of the perverse stealing over her. Matthew was looking stubborn. “James is beautiful too,” she added.
    â€œHe was a very unprepossessing child,” said Matthew. “Scowly, and he hadn’t grown into his nose.”
    â€œHe’s grown into everything now,” Cordelia said.
    Matthew laughed, again as if he was surprised to be doing it. “That was a very shocking observation, Cordelia Carstairs. I amshocked.” But his eyes were dancing.