He turns Tula down a steep path leading to a dry riverbed, and I nearly tumble over her neck before he winds an arm around my waist, securing me against his chest. My focus narrows to his solid heat at my back, the brush of his soft hair against my cheek, the press of his forearm against my stomach.
“How long will it take to get to Tír na Lune?” I ask to force my focus to less treacherous territory.
“Not too long, Miss Fitzroy.”
“Charlotte,” I say.
“Pardon?”
“Are we back to formalities again? Now that you’re myofficialbodyguard? I hope you’re still allowed to use my first name.”
I like the way it sounds in your mouth.
“Charlie,” he says.
“Who’s Charlie?”
“Could be you.”
“Charlie.” I test out the nickname. “It’s lovely, but I’m not sure it suits me. Shall I give you a nickname as well, then? Which do you prefer—Lach or Lannie?”
“Use either, and I will pitch you from this saddle.”
I laugh as the path flattens, and Lachlan removes his arm from around my waist. A pang of disappointment sparks in my chest that I do not spend any time examining. Or at least, notmuchtime.
I know this feeling. This blinding, white-hot attraction that lives much lower than my head or my heart. What I mistook for love with George.
It’s lust, pure and simple. Nothing more than an ill-advised crush.
Still, Lachlan and I will be spending an awful lot of time together this Season. I suppose there’s little danger in getting to know the man.
“How long have you been a celestial knight?”
“For the past nine years. Since I was twenty-six.”
I do a quick calculation, seven human years for every one faerie year. “You look very spry for two-hundred and forty-five.”
He chuckles. “And your arithmetic is very advanced.”
A small insect whizzes by my ear and I flinch. He steadies me with a pulse-quickening brush of his hand against my hip.
“Did you always want to be a knight?”
“Since I was a lad.”
“But you did not become one until your mid-twenties. Is that typical?”
“No.” A single, strained word. “Before Desmond hired me, I had a … different profession.”
His tone has me avoiding asking exactly what his previous profession was—if he wanted me to know, he would have said, so instead I ask, “Did you enjoy it?”
“Parts of it.”
“Why did you leave?”
“I was … Well, I suppose you could say I was fired.”
He’s being more cagey than I expected, but goodness knows I haven’t been completely forthcoming withmydetails.
