“I only lose when I’m ordered to. When I’m at the club, I’m holding back. When I give it my all, I win.”
His confidence sends a violent thrill through me. “I think I glimpsed some of that in the alley the other day.”
“Yeah?” he whispers. “You mean when I was fucking you against the wall?”
I swallow a squeak and purse my lips to hide my smile. I tuck the ends of my hair behind my ears. “No,” I whisper back. “When you nearly split a fae male’s face open with his own cane.”
“I think I saw a similar side of you.”
I lift my chin. “Maybe I’ll go into amateur boxing too.”
“Don’t you dare. You’ll eat your opponents alive. Maybe literally.”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he gives me a sweet smile. Too soon his expression falls, flashing with horror. “Oh, God, Daph. I can’t believe I haven’t said this yet, but I’m so sorry about your book covers.”
I shrug. “At least now I’ll have more time to work on them. Not that I needed it. My skills have improved a lot, thanks to this sexy body.” I poke him in the side, and he catches my hand.
“What do you mean you’ll have more time?”
“Edwina’s new covers have been postponed until early next year, after everything is settled with whatever bill the Modesty Committee is trying to pass. Mr. Fletcher assured me it won’t affect us too much in the long run, and he has a solution even if their bill passes. We’re going to proceed with my sexy covers, but we’re going to print something called a dust jacket. It will not only protect my artwork from damage but will also hide the smut so only folks who want the good stuff can see it.”
He runs a hand over his face. “I’m so relieved. Ari said the covers were canceled.”
I roll my eyes. “Ari is depressed that she can’t model for hemorrhoid potion in her undergarments until this mess dies down. She can’t pay a lick of attention to anyone else right now, and it’s her loss. I was going to relay our weekend sexcapades in graphic detail.”
“Aww,” he says with a coy look. “I’m so honored my cock is so brag-worthy.”
A middle-aged man in a top hat whirls to eye us with a glare.
I blush and lower my voice. “If only we had a private compartment.”
“Who needs privacy?” he says, his lips by my ear, his hand running up my inner thigh. “My fingers are dexterous enough to move without drawing much attention. You can keep quiet, can’t you?”
I bite my lip and halt his wandering hand. “No, I can’t.”
He chuckles and ceases his seductive teasing. Then, belatedly, he adds, “To be clear, you turned down my proposal?”
“To fondle me in the public car of a train in the middle of the day? Yes.”
“No, the other proposal. The wedding one.”
My pulse quickens. I know he only proposed out of a misplaced sense of urgency, but it sends a warm thrill through me to hear the offer is still on the table. Even so, it’s not one I can accept. “For now,” I say, holding his eyes so he can see how earnest I’m being. “I want to take that step without any other influence at play.”
“So you might say yes someday.”
“I might,” I say with a wink.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
DAPHNE
We disembark at the northernmost station and hail a cab to get as close as we can to the unseelie forest by carriage. After that, there’s no other way to get to my hometown except for walking. Several signposts stand sentinel outside the woods as we approach, staggered every few yards, to remind travelers that they are about to enter unseelie territory. This entire forest is protected unseelie land where human rules do not apply. Hunters who dare step foot beyond these signposts will undoubtedly be torn limb from limb by the first dangerous fae they encounter and there will be no recompense to their families. Any conflicts that arise—whether between residents or visitors or any combination—are dealt with according to unseelie tradition, which is often a fight to the death.
I share a glance with Monty, ensuring he’s ready for this. I prepared him as best I could on the train, reminding him that even though Cypress Hollow is modeled after a human village and will look rather cute, it is very much a place of ancient lore and fae-governed practices. The village is meant to give fae creatures who are interested in seelie culture but not seelie rules the ability to experience it without sacrificing their values.
He nods, giving me a dimpled grin. “Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, we enter the canopy of trees, the early evening sunlight dimming the deeper we go and casting speckles of golden light on the leaves and underbrush. It’s such a beautiful palette of color. I’d give anything to capture this moment—the quiet stillness of the woods interrupted only by birdsong, the feel of Monty’s hand in mine—and replicate it on canvas. Yellow ochre here. Cadmium red there. Burnt sienna and viridian?—
