Page 51 of My Fae Lady

But it wasn’t just her dress—or lack thereof—that had stopped me in my tracks. It was the way she indulged herself. House had laid out two plates before her. One contained assorted cheeses and breads. The other held a decadent piece of chocolate cake, topped in a creamy icing and drizzled in even more chocolate.

Giselle filled her fork and took her time sliding the dessert past her lips to savor it. Her eyes closed and her head went back. Her hair was down the same way she wore it for bed, gathered in a lush autumn-brown mass over one shoulder.

She hummed around the bite, and the soft sound of her contentment went straight to my pelvis. Suddenly my trousers were ill-fitting.

“Whatever it is you’re about to say to me,” Giselle moaned, “I don’t even care. This cake is so delicious it’s made me impervious to your snark.”

She glanced once my way and choked. My hair was damp and mussed. I was barefoot and shirtless.

“House wouldn’t give me proper clothes to wear,” I grumped.

Silent laughter shook her shoulders. She covered her mouth to stifle it. Regaining her composure with some struggle, she returned to her dessert, filling her fork again. She made it look heavenly, and I hurried to the seat right next to her, ridiculous attire forgotten.

The manor was clearly irritated with me, but it did not deny me this time. House supplied me with two plates that matched hers. I dove in, filling my mouth with the rich sweetness of the cake, making my own contented noises. The nutty scent was familiar and divine. House provided champagne, and we drank greedily, giggling at one another and the absurdity of our situation.

It was then that I noticed the old journal leaning haphazardly beside the base of the candelabra. Worn and frayed, it was out of place amongst the decadence and immediately recognizable.

Giselle caught me staring at it. “It’s yours, isn’t it?”

I nodded once briskly, then filled my mouth with another delicious bite. I’d kept many journals over the years, but based on its size and binding, that was the one I’d written in last, during the war, just before my home was taken from me.

“I read it over a century ago,” Giselle confessed, her eyes on her champagne glass. “House showed it to me when I wanted to learn more about the wild magic that fueled it. Moments before I came here for dinner, House reminded me of its words by throwing it at me.” She chuckled. Her eyes were burgundy, and her nose and cheeks had reddened. “It was helpful reading all those years ago, but I confess the notes on the wild magic were not as captivating to me as the author . . . General Rook. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Of course it was me. I downed my glass as a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol spread through my chest. “Captivating how?”

She licked the chocolate off her fork. Her lips glistened in the candlelight. “My father always had unkind things to say about the Unseelie, but I stopped listening to his hateful words after reading that journal. He wanted me to believe that they were all unreliable tricksters. Dangerous. Powerful. Vicious.”

“We are.”

“You can be,” she agreed. She nibbled at her lip, and now I was the one captivated. Stuck on her words and the movement of her mouth. “But then you can also be like General Rook. You can be so noble of heart that you surrender yourself and your beloved home into the hands of the enemy in exchange for the lives of your young soldiers.”

Heat smoldered in my cheeks. She was complimenting me, and yet I’d never felt so small and vulnerable—never felt so seen.

“The war had raged endlessly for much too long.” I don’t know why I suddenly needed to explain myself, but the words burned on my tongue, eager to get out. “The conflict dragged on longer than a human lifetime. The soldiers they sent me were getting younger and younger and younger. Imagine standing before a battalion of troops barely older than Jeremy and being the one who needed to send them to their death.”

She made a sympathetic noise in her throat. “And now they live because of all that you gave up.”

“They made new homes in the trees near my ash tomb for a time. Eventually, the need for community and the pull of family drew them back out of Gremyl Woods . . .” My voice escaped as a rasp, and I swallowed. “Until I was all that remained.”

Silence fell between us. Giselle must have sensed that this was not a topic I wanted to discuss further because she quickly changed the subject to magic and artifacts and growing up in the house, and suddenly my lungs no longer felt like they were in a vice.

I ate at a pace that matched hers, the intoxicating scent of Giselle and the decadence of the dessert overwhelming my senses. It was then that I remembered why the taste of the cake was so familiar. The taste, the aroma, the airy feeling like I’d grown lighter, the blood warming in my veins . . . It had been centuries since I’d been a guest at an Unseelie mating ceremony.

I froze, the fork halfway back up to my lips. “Stop eating that cake!”

Giselle chortled playfully. “Not a chance. You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands. If you want another piece, take it up with House.”

“Darkness take you, stop eating that!” I insisted. I dropped my utensil, and it clattered against the cake, scattering crumbles of chocolate.

“Why? It’s delicious.” The sound of her enjoyment shot through me anew. My blood fired.

I was fully aware of House’s game now, and I wasn’t willing to play. I leapt up from my seat and spun for the archway, only to have my escape melt away before me. No doors. No windows.

“It’s a mating cake,” I growled at her over my shoulder. My hands formed fists at my sides that shook. “A powerful aphrodisiac is baked inside it.”

“Ridiculous. I feel no different at all,” she said, shooing my warnings away like they were gnats.

I paced around the table like a caged tiger. I didn’t need the cake making matters between us any more complicated. I already wanted to do things to Giselle no gentleman should do to a lady.