Jolene’s stricken expression snaps me back to my purpose. Shit. I stepped out of my role for a moment and lost my patience. That wasn’t something William Haywood the Poet would say to a pretty woman interested in his writing.
I force a sigh and drop my head. “Those were the last words she said to me,” I say under my breath.
“Who?” Arwen says. She and Jolene exchange a look. “You mean June? The woman your poetry is about? That’s what the title of your book means, doesn’t it?A Portrait of June Etched in Solace. Such a lovely title.”
My gaze is distant as I lift my head. Addressing none of their questions, I say, “Someone I used to know. Blooming hell, it was so long ago now.I just need to sit down. That’s what she said to me. Then she was gone.”
Jolene places a hand on my forearm. “I didn’t mean to dredge up such painful memories.”
“Memories are like broken glass,” I say. “They only hurt if you touch them.”
“That’s beautiful,” Arwen says.
I flash her a mournful smile, then my eyes dart back to Edwina.
Only…she’s not there.
I shift from side to side, glancing over the heads of patrons who stand between me and the end of the bar, but I see no sign of her.
Something tightens in my chest. “Where’s Edwina?”
The women startle and glance behind them.
Arwen cocks her head. “She was just there?—”
I rush to the end of the bar. There’s no sign of Monty or Daphne, only strangers. Monty may have left outside to sully the air with his cigarillo smoke, while Daphne is probably dozing in the rafters again.
“Where is the woman who was sitting here?” I ask the patrons who’d been nearest Edwina.
“She left just a moment ago,” an older woman says with a shrug, her breath reeking of ale.
“Alone?”
“No, with a gentleman?—”
I rush to the back of the dining room where the stairwell to the bedrooms is located. Urgency fuels my steps as I clear the stairs two at a time. I’d tell myself this is about sabotage, but it’s more than that. Edwina was nowhere close to being in her right mind. If that fae with the lion’s tail seeks to take advantage of an almost unconscious woman…
Rage boils my blood.
I have a sister, for fuck’s sake. How could I not get angry at the thought? In this situation, I can’t keep up the pretense of being William the Poet. I’m not even William the Stage Actor right now.
In this moment, I’m just Will, and I’ve had a long fucking day plastering a smile to my face and flirting with strangers. The only real fun I’ve had is teasing Weenie, but look where that got me. I haven’t an ounce of patience left for assholes, so this male better not be one.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway is dimly lit and empty. I sprint around the corner and finally spot who I’m looking for.
Edwina sways on her feet as she struggles to fit her brass room key into the lock of a door. A door that is not hers. Our bedrooms are farther down the next hall. The lion fae stands behind her, his tail flicking back and forth, protrudingfrom the back of his trousers. It’s common for fae with animalistic features in their seelie forms to wear clothing that accommodates them. Others can shift certain features at will, and their clothing shifts with them. So the sight of his tail out in the open isn’t what sparks my ire.
It’s the way his tail tugs the hem of her skirt, brushing her ankles with every flick and swish. Then her calves.
I start down the hall, fingers balled into fists.
Edwina startles, but not at my approach. Neither she nor the lion fae seem to hear my footsteps. She yelps at the brush of the lion’s tail and whirls to face him. Her lids are still heavy, but she forces them wider. “Whoareyou?” she says, words slurred together.
“Darling, we’ve been chatting for minutes,” he says, voice smooth. “You need to take someone to bed before midnight. And you said you’ve always wanted to try the pleasures of a man with a tail.”
He flicks it up to brush her neck.
She cringes away, hands raised to block him. “Nope, nope. Not as sexy as I thought.”
