“No.”
She pulled back to gaze into my face. “Why?”
I stared into those beautiful blue eyes and spoke the truth. “Because I would never forgive myself if you got hurt.”
She blinked, then rose on her toes and brushed her lips across my cheek. I shut my eyes as her rosy scent filled my nostrils, and the sound of her steady beating heart somehow calmed my nerves.
“Lydia!” Kitty stood on the bank of the lake waving and beckoning to her sister. “It’s your turn to take over at the bakery. You’d better come, or Mom will throw a fit.”
“I’ll be right there.” Lydia leaned even closer, whispering into my ear, “I know you think you can push me away, but I’m not going anywhere, George Wickham. Married or not married, I will be here for you.”
She let go and skated awkwardly back to the bench.
Kitty looked between me and Lydia. “What were you—were youice skating?”
“It’s okay.” Lydia gave me a wink and wave as she slipped her shoes on and rose. “I was perfectly safe.”
My little fae-witch was determined to help. I had to admire her for it. I pressed a gloved hand to my cheek, and a slow smile worked its way over my face. Lydia certainly was something else, and I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to continue resisting her charms.
Chapter 9
NetherfieldManorwaslargeand imposing. I stepped out of my Jeep and smoothed my hands over my clothes. It had been too long since Darcy and I talked face-to-face.
Snow clung to the roof and settled in gentle mounds along the windowsills, turning the grand estate into something out of a storybook. Tall, frosted trees framed the lengthy driveway, their bare branches laced with lights that flickered like old-fashioned candle flames.
I entered the large entryway, looking up at the sparkling chandelier above my head.
Oscar walked into the front hall in his pressed tuxedo muttering to himself, a clipboard and checklist in hand. “The meeting with the royal council at the lodge is coming up thisThursday. I must make sure I have extra blankets on hand for Gerard Smoot, who constantly complains he’s cold. And Tom Selving will need space to store the medical supplies he loves to show off.”
It was like Oscar to always be busy. I coughed, and he glanced up. “Oh, yes. It’s you,” he said in his slight, dismissive way. “Come, he’s waiting.” He led me up the steps of the large manor staircase and into the hallway. “Wait right here.”
I stood next to a wall with several magical video clips in frames. Titles scrolled across the top of videos of people celebrating or even hugging Darcy. One said, “New worker protections in place thanks to the support of Prince Valemont.”
I looked at it curiously. I’d heard that Netherfield Manor was enchanted. This clearly wasn’t the typical decorations since the prince went by Darcy in town and wouldn’t want the wall decor exposing his secret.
“You can’t do this to us. Do you believe the council will back these new moves? Vampires and werewolves are monsters. They need to be locked away, not given protections,” an angry voice snarled. “And these other regulations. When is enough, enough?”
“When all beings are treated fairly and protected from exploitation,” Darcy spoke with a hard and unyielding tone.
“If you keep pushing, you’ll regret it. You may snub the council, but you can’t fight against the people. Watch Pam Smoot’s videos.”
“That will be all, John.”
That name. I instantly recalled seeing him speaking against Darcy in the video my sire had shown me. What was his name? John Rittle. Moments later, a fae man stormed out of the room. He paused when he saw me, looking me up and down, and sniffed as if he knew just by smelling me that I was lower-born fae. Without saying a word, he continued on his way.
As if on cue, the decor on the wall transformed into a painting of a winter wonderland with little kids running in the snow and sledding down a large hill. Perhaps the hallway’s decorations had to do with the council member visiting.
It was clear from Pam Smoot’s video that John Rittle hated vampires. And John was a cousin to the fae man, Albert Jones, who’d been killed. I recalled what Sephira had said about the murderer not being an actual vampire. But if it was John, how would he know I was a vampire? And why not expose me instead of the elaborate setup? A highborn fae such as John Rittle could bring someone like me down in a second. However, it was a reach since I didn’t have an idea of the killer’srace. Or anything about John Rittle, or Albert Jones for that matter.
Oscar came back holding a tray that had two plates of food and glasses resting on it. “You may enter now.”
I walked into a large sitting room in front of a blazing fire. Oscar set the food and drinks on a small table before bowing and exiting. The plates held roasted chicken thighs, buttery mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots with warm cranberry relish.
Darcy picked up his plate and sat in one of the sizable chairs in front of the fire. “Wickham.” He motioned for me to sit.
“Darcy.” I grabbed my plate and sat across from him in another high-backed chair.
An awkward silence filled the space, as if neither of us knew how to begin. I definitely didn’t. How did I cut through the ill will between us? But I cleared my throat. “Seems Oscar is still enjoying playing the part of servant.”
