Page 9

Damn.

He catches me staring and winks.

It feels like an invitation.

With a long strip of measuring tape dangling from her hand, Cress says, “You could’ve left your shirt on.”

“Oh.” He—rather unfortunately—tugs his shirt back over his head. “Apologies. I’ve never been fitted before.”

“Mmm,” says Cress, running the tape across his shoulders and down his strapping arms. “There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Mind telling me why you’re in ‘desperate need of a last-minute tailor’ at this late hour?”

“I have somewhere to be in the morning that requires formalwear.” He shrugs. “My brother lives in the East Quarter, and I figured if Adelphi is anything like Vandalia, shops might be closed tomorrow for the rite.” His eyes meet mine over Cress’s curly hair. “If I’m intruding…”

“You’re not,” I answer for us.

He continues to watch me as if he’s studying me. As if he’s intrigued by me.

The last time a man looked at me with such rapt interest, it ended with his hand wrapped around my throat and his cock buried in my sex.

My eyes flick to my cloak in the next room where a pocket full of gold waits patiently for me to spend it. It’s enough to pay for my gown and an hour with a consort at Lickerish. But maybe I won’t have to sneak over to the brothel for my last tolerable one-night stand.

“Cress.” Her name tumbles from my mouth before I can talk myself out of this stupid, stupid idea. I bolt over to my things, grab the velvet bag of coins from my pocket, and toss it to her. It’s more than enough to be considered a bribe. “Two hours.”

She catches the bag easily. Then she empties her hands of both the gold and the tape as she glances between the two of us, brow furrowing, and signs, “You don’t even know him.”

“It’s never stopped me before,” I sign back.

Granted, venturing to a brothel for sex is far safer than asking a stranger to take me home and let me have my way with him, but that is neither here nor there. Is my impending doom making me more impulsive? Probably.

She purses her lips as if she’s having the same thoughts as me. “I don’t know, Rory…”

The stranger shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Do you need me to step outside while you talk?”

“Yes,” Cress says while I say, “Actually, do you want to get out of here?”

His starry eyes flash. “Do I what?”

“Do you,” I begin slowly, keenly aware this is incredibly forward and improper, “want to get out of here? With me? And go for a walk or a drink or anything that isn’t standing in silence as Cress tailors our outfits? Kill some time somewhere else?”

I press my lips together to stop my rambling. I never ramble. Nerves. It’s the electric jolt of possible rejection shooting through me, making my ridiculous mouth run away with itself. It doesn’t help that he’s studying me again. Does he see a desperate, foolish woman with no sense of propriety?

His mouth slips into an easy grin, one I’m sure he’s mastered to make women melt into a puddle at his booted feet. “We could go to my brother’s for a game of cards?”

“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll leave through the back.”

“Wait just a minute,” Cress hisses, hands finding her hips like a nursemaid. “What if Brutus notices? What if Vivian finishes training and comes here only to discover I let you leave with—” She glances at the stranger and frowns. “We don’t even know his name, Rory.”

“It’s Quill,” he says. “Quill Godrickson. Pleasure is all mine.”

Her eyes narrow.

“There, now we know his name,” I say, reaching for the laces on the back of my dress. “Will you help me out of this, Cress?”

She remains where she is, steadfast in whatever she’s feeling.

“All I’m asking for is a couple of hours to live,” I say quietly. “Before… you know.”

My imminent death is a card I do not play often, but when I do…