She
touched his hand, and he went stock-still. She
leaned over to examine it, the top of her head
brushing beneath his nose. Only his sudden
immobility stopped him from violently pulling away.
“From the candles?” Had she bathed in bloody
honey?
There was a small woven basket waiting on his desk
the next day, still smelling like warmed-from-the-oven
sin. A note was attached written with the words
“Have a good day!” A drawing of a tiny dog chasing
a butterfly completed the absurdity.
He stood in front of his desk, just staring at it and
the basket for a full minute. Asps didn’t smell like
baked items, but the latter were no less dangerous.
He tented the edge of the cloth cover with his
smallest finger. Three fruit tarts lay inside.
Poisoned most likely.
No.” She smiled. “I am exactly where I need to be.
I have no desire to enter negotiations with Lord
Garrett and his heir.”
He couldn’t keep down his dark pleasure at that.
No one knocked on his door the next day. Nor the
day after. Nor the one after that. But that didn’t mean
he was unaware of what was happening. Someone
had carried a plate of those fucking biscuits past his
room, and even the oak door had provided no
barrier for the smell. Not for anything of hers.
I want to know who she is particularly close to
among the staff here.” Who is besotted with her. Hell,
they probably all were. Except Donald, who rarely
broke his stoic façade. And Andreas. “And what
questions she asks.”
Donald inclined his head, hair slipping a fraction
more. “It will be done.” He watched Andreas for a
moment. “And she and her family will be safe here,”
he said, gaze steady, eyes just an extra bit bright.
Andreas nodded sharply back, dismissed him
quickly, all while trying to hold back the curses
layering his tongue at the words that were both said
and unsaid. Donald was infected too.
Goddamn biscuits.
How do you define difficult?”
“By your presence.”
She grinned fully, delighted to feel the tension
dissipate. “Now you are just flattering me for no
reason.”
He grunted.
“On the contrary,” she said, as if his grunt had
been a worded response. “It was most flattering.”
He stared at her.
“What? Did you think I wouldn’t figure out how to
interpret your grunts?
Mr. Wiggles seems
taken with you.”
“It tried to urinate on me the other day. I prefer not
to be ‘taken’ by something like that.
She leaned down, a fraction closer, and for some
reason unknown to man, he lifted his head the tiniest
bit. Enough so she could brush his cheek with her
lips. “Good night, Mr. Merrick.
She smiled, a warm smile that held no trace of
aberrant humor.
It bothered him on a level he couldn’t comprehend.
It bothered him on a level he couldn’t comprehend.
He experienced an overwhelming urge to grab that
smile and hide it solely for himself to gaze upon. A
Da Vinci masterpiece he intended to jealously
guard.
You are the least sane person I’ve had the
misfortune to meet.”
The corners of her eyes pinched a little, just for the
barest second, then cleared. “Well, there are plenty
more people for you to meet, Mr. Merrick, so do not
give up hope yet.” But the tone of her voice was far
too cheerful.
He watched her for a moment. Watched as her
face cleared of anything remotely hurt or upset. “Do
you object to being called insane or my saying that I
had the misfortune of meeting you?”
“Neither, of course.”
He drummed his finger on the desk, irritated and,
God, how did people live feeling guilty about things?
“You are just fine as you are,” he said gruffly.
Her expression froze for a moment, then bloomed
into a smile that would slay demons.
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