“Would he agree to it, do you think?” I press Aowen.
“I don’t see why not. What are you up to?”
“Food. Sneaky food.” Vesper ties off the end of Aowen’s braid, then flits over to start mine.
I pop a grape into my mouth.
“Ensnaring a duke. And earning his clue.”
“Where should I sit?”Lord Hopnell asks, twisting around in the pale afternoon sunlight streaming into the east salon.
He’s a froggy-looking man with bulging eyes, a too-wide mouth, and a generous belly over stick-thin legs. His silver hair—parted down the center and shaped into two log-like curls atop his ears—does little to dampen the effect.
“Right there in front of the fireplace, my lord.” I gesture to a large chair with red silk cushions framed in white wood. A veritable throne. “I hope you’ll agree this is the only seat in this room that suits you.”
Lord Hopnell puffs his chest, grinning as he settles down. “I must say, Miss Fitzroy, I was a bit taken aback when you suggested the palace as the setting for my portrait, but”—he swivels his gaze around the room—“I do believe it was the right decision. It’s appropriate for how close His Grace and I are.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle a snicker. My acquaintance with Lord Hopnell is a result of our twin banishments to the frozen wilds of the courtly dinner table. But I would never insult my pawn. “A powerful man deserves a powerful background.”
Speaking of power, the air shifts as Lachlan strides into the salon. He’s changed into his pristine white armour, at my request. His auburn hair is freshly braided, and his pauldrons make his shoulders look absurdly broad. I wanted another shiny object in the room to lure Duke Áine’s attention. The strategy may have been a bit too effective, though; the sight of him in full dress takes my breath away.
“Sir Cathal,” Lord Hopnell croaks out, displeased. Many of the Tír na Lune courtiers observe Lachlan with barely concealed distaste. I am not sure if it’s because they believe him to be a trumped-up harlot who doesn’t deserve his knighthood, or because his loyalty lies with a different House. “What are you doing here?”
Lachlan doesn’t miss a beat. “Our future queen is under the protection of House Macán. It is my duty to ensure her safety.”
Lord Hopnell huffs. “Surely you don’t believe she’s in any danger from me.”
“Never, my lord,” Lachlan says in that smooth, low voice that does funny things to my insides. I want to hear it whispering filth in my ear again. “But I thought it wise to be here for you, too. A man of your stature must have acquired a few envious enemies over the years. I offer you my protection as well.”
Lord Hopnell’s shoulders swell, and a wide smile splits his face. “Yes, just so. Good thought, man, good thought.” He turns to me. “How should I pose?”
I guide Lord Hopnell into position as I say into Lachlan’s mind,Give him what he needs, huh?
Men are simple creatures, Charlotte. Make us feel important and we’ll do whatever you ask.
Yourself included?
Of course, he purrs,but as I told you, you need toaskfirst. Out loud. Otherwise I might get it confused with all the begging you do in my dreams.
I spit out a laugh, and Lord Hopnell gives me a confused look. “Relax your face, my lord,” I say to him, then settle in to get started.
Despite the distraction of Lachlan’s mind-flirting, once I put charcoal to paper, that familiar creative focus washes over me.
Time melts away, and I am halfway through my initial sketch when voices echo through the hallway to our left.
Lord Hopnell twists his head around. “Is that His Grace?”
I chide gently, asking him to please hold his position. I want us all to seem unbothered by the duke’s presence.
“Wait for me in my office,” Duke Áine says as the footsteps stop, and my spirits leap.
Lisande simpers, “But, Torvil, we’re needed?—”
“In my office.” A sharp reprimand, followed by a low, “And do not call me that in public. I’ve asked you too many times, Lady LaBeaumont.”
Lisande clacks away as I focus on the buttons of Lord Hopnell’s waistcoat, clinging to the fabric in a desperate battle with his paunch.
Duke Áine steps up beside me. “What’s going on here?”
