Page 50 of My Fae Lady

“A kiss!” I twisted the knob again. “If you open the door, I’ll kiss him!”

The door swung open. I was tempted to flee, but I knew House wouldn’t let me actually escape without upholding my end of the deal. Remembering the kiss that had broken my and Sylvan’s bargain, I licked my lips. This was just to appease House. Nothing more.

I faced the scowling Unseelie, rose up on my tiptoes, and pressed my lips to his. I dropped to my heels an instant after making contact, worried House wouldn’t be satisfied. More worried that I wasn’t satisfied with that excuse for a kiss.

But when Sylvan grabbed my wrist and towed me through the door, we were allowed to leave the room.

⊱❀⊰

Our dance satisfied House enough that it allowed us to spend the rest of the afternoon apart. I was finally permitted into my workroom, the Seelie Scales now resting on my workbench, and all my tools ready in their drawers. I pulled the cufflinks from my pocket and lost myself in the intricate enchantments.

When I finally decided I ought to take a break and hung my apron up on the hook meant just for it, I realized I was still wearing the dressing gown I had donned before breakfast. I often spent the entire day in my dressing gown, preferring the comfort and ease of movement compared to my fashionable frocks, but never with company.

At least Sylvan wasn’t polite society. It probably hadn’t occurred to him that I was wearing a dressing gown, since it was nearly as ornate as the rest of my clothes, the only difference really being the fact that I didn’t have to wear a corset and that it buttoned in the front.

I pressed a hand against the nearest wall. “I should like to dress before supper, please.”

Nervous, as House was picking and choosing what requests it responded to with far more autonomy than I had ever experienced in all my decades living here, I opened the door of my workroom and found my dressing room on the other side.

With a relieved sigh, I stepped through, at which point every article of clothing stored in the room—save one—disappeared.

I pointed at the peach nightgown. “That is not appropriate supper wear.”

House didn’t care. The practically sheer piece continued to be the only garment it offered.

I considered my options. I could continue wearing my dressing gown. House might not let me out of my dressing room, but I didn’t have to change. Or I could dress the way it demanded and perhaps strike a deal as a reward for my cooperation. Knowing exactly how much the Unseelie had influenced House since its creation, and remembering how Sylvan had tricked me, I worded my bargain carefully.

“I will wear that to supper, but in exchange, you will never again shrink any bed I am in, getting ready to get in, or that you are planning to make me use.” I knew better than to push so far as to demand getting to sleep by myself in my own bed, but so long as there was space, I could survive my nights with Sylvan.

Even wearing a scrap of silk that revealed more than it hid. I wasn’t shy, but I was susceptible to the intriguing dichotomy of Sylvan’s soft hair and hard muscles, smooth talons and rough calluses. Touching him was dangerous. It was one thing to kiss him to convince House to open doors. Then there was sitting in his lap, which was a trial mitigated only by the fact that my hunger was as much for food as for him—his body, that is. It was pure physical lust; I didn’t like him. Or enjoy his company. Or the way he listened to me when I lost myself in the intricacies of a magical enchantment.

Not at all.

He was an ass. But I also wasn’t sure I could survive trying to sleep pressed up against that ass—or worse, his front—again without embarrassing myself.

“Do we have a deal, House?”

In response, the manor pulled the wall with the hook holding the nightgown closer.

Reluctantly I dressed, or, well, undressed, for supper. House whisked away my dressing gown and undergarments the instant I pulled them off. Slipping into the cool silk, I put my hands on my hips.

Sylvan hadn’t been impressed with my gown the day of our wedding, but maybe this would actually make him stop and take notice.

And maybe, just maybe, I wanted that reaction more than I should have.

Nineteen

Sylvan

⊱❀⊰

After a hefty dose of gentle coaxing—grousing, scratching, and lecturing didn’t help my cause—House gave me trousers, the suspenders to hold up the fall front of my pants, and nothing else.

It was superior to a towel, so I dressed. Treading water, dancing the waltz with my enemy, and fighting with House had exhausted me, and I was starved for supper.

I stomped into the dining room sulkily, ready to bark complaints about the manor’s erratic behavior, eager to hurl accusations at the intruder for causing all of this. But the moment I cleared the archway, I stopped dead.

Giselle sat in her large chair, eyes on the food before her, paying me no mind. I could see her in profile, and the view was breathtaking. House had dimmed the lights and adorned the long table with lit candles. Sheer silk hugged her hips and shapely breasts, and the peach fabric and warm lighting did lovely things to her skin. She glowed.