Page 15 of My Fae Lady

I lifted my skirts enough to give a clear view of my feet and began dancing around the room. When I reached Sylvan again, I stopped. I released my skirts and held out my hands, placing one on his shoulder and clasping his left hand with the other. He blinked down at me, and his free hand naturally found its way to the small of my back.

I didn’t bother explaining the steps. That hadn’t worked for the quadrille. This time, I let the music do the teaching for me.

I no longer had to wonder what Sylvan was like in the air, for we flew over the floor. Without the pressure of counting and following strict forms, he moved naturally. I followed his lead, each turn ratcheting up the heat that began at my core and slowly radiated outward. The steps didn’t match a waltz perfectly, yet they were . . . perfect.

The music slowed, and we spun to a halt. My hand slid down from his shoulder, over the surprisingly soft feathers of his waistcoat. I licked my lips. “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

“I never said I couldn’t. I said I don’t.”

“Whyever not? You are . . . quite talented.”

Sylvan removed his hand from my back and stepped away, his other hand sliding free of mine, taking my warmth with him. He grabbed the nearly empty box of truffles from the table and left without replying.

Seven

Sylvan

⊱❀⊰

My daunting lessons continued during lunch the next day. Giselle attended the feast laid out before us dressed in a fitted gown and shoes that made her nearly as tall as myself. The tips of her footwear matched the royal purple fur slung over her shoulders.

As she sauntered around the room, picking on my posture and lecturing me about the flatware, I couldn’t help but envy her grace. I had little of my own without my wings.

“Do you change your clothing every hour?” I demanded, interrupting her next point about the differences between the dessert spoon and the soup spoon.

“Heavens no,” she said, flicking her wrist at me demurely.

“But you’re wearing a different dress than the one you dined in during breakfast.” My eyes briefly roved over her form in the tight gown that hugged the flare of her hips and made her backside more ample.

She ran her fingers down the fur, drawing my attention to the pale column of her throat. “It’s not at all uncommon for a gentlewoman to change her clothing to suit the task and the meal. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying dressing fabulously even in the comfort of one’s own home.”

“How often will I have to change my clothing during our farce of a wedding and for whatever other Seelie society nonsense you have planned?”

Her lips twitched. “As often as I tell you to.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much. I’m not a doll for you to dress as you please, you know.” I lobbed the accusations at her, but neither landed with any of the impact I had hoped.

Amusement lit her colorful eyes. “Perhaps I am having a bit of fun at your expense. If you didn’t want me to make the most of a rather unfortunate situation, then you should have made that a requirement of the bargain.” She batted her long lashes at me, the picture of mischief. “Would you like to make a new one?”

“You damn well know I don’t, you conniving trickster,” I huffed. “This one is uncomfortable enough as it is.” At the mention of the bargain, the magic tugged at my heart, and the organ jumped in my chest.

The end of the meal brought a pause to Giselle’s lesson, thank the darkness. I made my way back to my quarters. I’d already tried practicing with the damned devil shoes in my room. The heels caught in the carpets and made matters more difficult. After checking that the hall was empty, I carried them out into the corridor to try my luck on the hardwood.

I'd made some improvements since I’d started. It didn’t help matters that my wings were missing. My center of gravity had shifted drastically after their brutal removal, throwing off the way I carried myself.

“Are you practicing for a promenade?”

The sudden sound of Giselle’s voice knocked me off-balance. I rolled my ankle in the ridiculous shoes and went tumbling to the floor. She rushed after me, fur bouncing on her shoulders, skirts whirling around her ankles.

The fall sent a sharp jolt of pain through my old wounds. I gritted my teeth through the worst of it.

Her steps remained graceful even at full speed. I barely heard her footfalls across the floorboards. Her spine stayed so stiff she could have balanced a pin on her head. Giselle hovered over me and tutted, her tall, obnoxiously royal purple heels so near my face I could smell the leather and polish.

“That was quite the tumble. Did you survive it?” she drawled, her lips in a subtle twist.

“Get your cloven hooves out of my face,” I muttered acidly.

She slid back a step, but the vibrant Seelie purple of the elongated heels continued to taunt me even at a distance. “Are you finished pouting at me with your whole entire body yet?”