Light exploded around me.
The hall was lovely—the gold, navy, and mahogany shades tasteful and elegant without being overstated. Gabriel Noble showed his wealth well.
I turned to thank the servant and my mouth dropped. I snapped my jaw closed with a jarring clack. Fire lit my cheeks.
“Thank you for letting me wait inside.” I gripped my purse to keep my hands steady. As if throwing myself on the mercy of a stranger in the dead of night wasn’t enough, the stranger had to look likethis.
Tall and well made, he wore a disheveled but expensive cut of clothing that displayed strong shoulders with no padding in sight. Any formal trappings had been shed for a simple fitted white shirt, open at the collar, and snug black trousers. He was slimmer than the boxing brute I’d first thought him, though by no means skinny. I inhaled, refining my first thought toextremelywell made.
And his face… I was used to glamours and spells—the fae ruled with them, and sorcerers rarely went without. But therewas always a subtle effect to the magic—an overlay that could be sensed, though not fully grasped.
There were no spells on this man.
Long dark lashes brushed over brilliant green eyes—eyes that a sorceress would kill for. But no woman would call him pretty. His cheekbones were too stark. His jaw too strong.
A compelling face, arresting,sensual. No hum of a glamour, no shimmer of illusion. In a town filled with otherworldly beings, he had a masculine beauty completely rooted in reality. Off-putting andabsurd.
The cynical bend to his left brow and the tilt of his head suggested he knew exactly what reaction his looks would provoke.
The brow rose higher.
I blinked, heat flooding me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. “Yes, right.” I dragged the remnants of my tattered pride around me like my too-thin shawl. “I need to speak with the First Noble. Please. I know it is late.”
Women likely threw themselves at this man’s feet, but that didn’t ease my embarrassment or need. Unless he could charm Montranc’s guards into releasing Kennen, or stop the mobs from tearing anyone associated with him apart, this man’s beauty would do me little good.
Unreadable eyes assessed me. I forced the color from my cheeks and met his stare. My last resort. My last sliver of hope.
He gestured and pivoted, striding down the hall, my card dangling carelessly from two fingers. I hesitated for half a second as he disappeared into a dimly lit room, but followed.
A fire crackling in the hearth flared higher at a flick of his fingers as I entered. Papers littered a deep mahogany desk, piles of books and documents stacked haphazardly across the surface. He tossed the card onto the mess, pointed to a chair, then left without a word.
I tentatively sat in the indicated seat. He was the oddest servant I’d ever encountered. The cut of his clothes was finer than most, but his manner was not that of a lord. Not with the way he’d pointed to my chair, gestured for me to follow, and walked as if attempting to blend into his surroundings.
As if he could ever blend in, with that face. With the way he filled his clothes and held himself.
The beautiful man strode back through the door, grabbed a tome from one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and rounded the desk.The Gilded Thousandgleamed in shiny foil as the book thumped onto an already tottering stack. The complete list of every house worth knowing.
He dropped into the large chocolate leather chair on the other side and leaned back, drumming his fingers on the only uncovered portion of mahogany. “Now, what is it you need so desperately that you had to appear at such an hour and in such a state?”
For a moment, I was speechless. “I need to speak with Gabriel Noble.”
“Then congratulations, you have achieved your purpose. Shall I see you to the door?” He motioned casually, his eyes piercing. His body was languid in the chair, belying his expression and the tilt of his dark head. Indolent, yet commanding.
My shoulders tightened. “You are Gabriel Noble?”
“I am.”
My breath caught at the formal admission and expression in his sharp, abnormally vivid green eyes. The mannerisms of a servant seemed ludicrous now—an impulsive flight of fancy on my part. The man seated in front of me looked as ruthless and capable as I’d been told. And I couldn’t sense his power levels at all.
Something in me rebelled. “But you answered the door. And your dress.” I waved a hand at his simple white shirt, loose and slightly rumpled above black trousers. A mage living on Ember Square would have a dozen retainers and servants lurking around, and be wearing a powered cloak to receive visitors at the least.
He raised a brow and began winding a half-coiled piece of spell wire around his finger. “It’s the dead of night. My butler and two footmen are out on a task for me. If we are making assumptions…”
His eyes passed over my mussed hair, which had long since escaped its butterfly pins, to my clutched hands and battered bag, down to the mud-stained hem of my dress. “You look as if you are two steps from scrubbing pots, yet your bearing speaks otherwise. You hold your head as if comfortable in disdain. Not that a member of the—” He gave me another once-over. “—gilded would be afforded more goodwill from me than a wash maid. I’ve often found the opposite to be true. A wash maid earns her place, after all.”
If he desired, I could show him my earned skills with the pistol stashed in my torn dress pocket.
“Lord Seventh of Frostwood gave you this for a reason.” He plucked the card from the mess, twirling it negligently between his fingers, then sent it spinning across the desk to land in front of me. “One would assume.”
