Last night wasn’t a mistake. Or a superficial meeting of our bodies. It wasn’t just anger or pleasure that drove me into his arms.
It was him.
Thorne.
That same soothing warmth I felt last night settles over me, and I find myself missing him all over again. Yet beneath those pleasant feelings are darker ones I don’t know what to do with. Ones that remind me I’m supposed to be marrying Thorne’s friend.
Rage ripples through me, burning my blood and expelling me from my bed. I march over to my wardrobe just to give myself an excuse to stomp my feet across the smooth wood floor. It helps soften some of my ire, as does the distraction of dressing myself. Minka normally aids with the process, but she’s yet to come to wake me. By the time I hear her enter the door from the outer room, I’m outfitted in a cream blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and a sage green skirt. Even though I know the sound of approaching footsteps are Minka’s, I can’t stop the traitorous quickening of my pulse and the futile hope that it’s Thorne who’s entered my suite.
I try not to let my disappointment show when my lady’s maid strolls into my bedroom. She’s in seelie form, yet even her humanoid manifestation bears whiskers, and they twitch now as a sign of her disapproval. “You got dressed without me.”
“Sorry,” I say, giving her a forced smile. “I woke up early and couldn’t stand being idle. You may help me with my hair.”
She beams and follows me to the vanity. I settle upon the chair as she takes up the brush and begins running it through my tresses. In the mirror, I catch sight of her amber eyes going wide as the brush snags on a tangle. “What happened to your hair, Miss Rose? It’s a disaster. It wasn’t this tangled last night.”
The blood leaves my face. “Oh! I…” Shit, I can’t lie. Nor can I confess to my late-night flight or the lovemaking that knotted my golden strands. “I went out on the balcony last night. The wind mussed my hair.”
There. Two true statements.
“Well, this is one situation where my cat claws may work better. Perhaps we should shear these knots straight off.” She chuckles but her expression falls. “I’m merely joking, Highness. I really shouldn’t shift into my unseelie form too much more. Once you break the sleeping spell and we return to the palace, I’ll need to stay in seelie form.”
I frown, studying her fallen face in the mirror. “Is there a chance my parents will have a change of heart? I’ll do what I can to convince them you deserve a second chance. I can tell you really enjoy being a cat.”
She grins but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Rose.”
I nibble my bottom lip as she continues brushing my hair. A question brims in my mind. Finally, I ask, “Do you enjoy working at the palace? For my parents? Aside from forbidding you from shifting, do they treat you well?”
“Oh, they pay me very well,” she says. I can’t help but note that she saidpaywell instead oftreatwell. “And I do enjoy working at the palace. I love being in charge of tea and wine service. The position is highly coveted, so I am quite wealthy for a servant. I wouldn’t make even half as much working at a public house or restaurant.”
Discomfort writhes inside me as she continues to brush out my hair. She’s said nothing about my parents as employers, only that the pay is enviable. I feel just like I did last night before Thorne came to check on me. It seems he succeeded in cheering me up after all, for only now do I feel the full weight of my burden crashing down upon me, my anger over the sacrifice I already agreed to make.
I fold my hands in my lap but they quickly form fists.
Minka steps back, my now-smooth hair half pinned up while the rest tumbles around my shoulders. It’s the same way she styled my hair during the dancing game when I wore the dress Thorne chose and waltzed with him in the parlor. The memory makes me smile. I may not have been willing to acknowledge it at the time, but even then Thorne was my object of desire. It was his reaction to the dress I relished, his partnership in our dance I treasured.
“When did you get these lovely shoes?”
I turn to find Minka crouched before my wardrobe, assessing the pink silk dancing slippers Thorne gifted me last night.
“Oh. Those. They’re…dancing slippers. For dancing.”
“Yes, I know that, but when—”
“Would you mind fetching my breakfast, Minka?” I give her my sweetest smile. “And your best cup of tea?”
Excitement flashes over her face and she forgets the slippers at once. “Of course, Miss Rose. I’ll brew the absolute best cup of tea!” She skips out of my room, and I retrieve the shoes from the floor. My heart flutters as I’m reminded once more of Thorne’s sweet gesture. I can’t believe he bought these when we were shopping at Bartleby’s without me knowing.
My heart aches as I fight my growing need to run to his room, knock on his door—
That very sound echoes from the main room of my suite. My pulse rackets as I realize…it’s too soon for Minka to have returned. Besides, she wouldn’t have knocked. I try to smother my excitement, my anxiety, my hope, but my arms tremble with it as I shove the shoes inside my wardrobe. Then I all but run from my bedchamber, through the sitting room, and to the door.
It’s Thorne. It has to be Thorne. It—
I fling open the door.
It isn’t Thorne.
It’s Monty.
