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She sighed.
Only Lord Cyrus Drake had managed to do that, damn him.
As her mind roamed, she spent some moments thinking about what he’d said when he left. His whisperseal had called him away, but she’d not heard enough to fully understand where he was going.
She’d caught two words, though. “Rhovan” and “Jerrity”. Perhaps she could at least find out what those two things meant.
Would it be prying into someone else’s business? Yes, most probably. But was she going to do it? Absolutely. This might well be a case of sin first, apologise later. But since she was determined to meet Lord Cyrus again, it behooved her to find out all she could about him.
And with that sop to her conscience, Maelin pushed the covers back, stretched, and swung her feet to the floor.
As if waiting for that sound, the door opened to admit Inkytink.
“Good morning,” she said, rustling her way to the bed and rescuing Maelin’s slippers from underneath with the flick of one tentacle. “I hear you had an...interesting...time last night?”
Maelin’s cheeks heated. “You could call it that.” She stretched. “However, I wouldn’t mind you bringing me a hammer so I can destroy that insanely ridiculous machine this morning.”
“Didn’t like its choice for you?” Inky paused. “That’s not what I heard, missy.”
“Well,” demurred Maelin, “it was certainly surprising. But nothing like the mate I had requested on that card. That dratted thing didn’t work at all.”
Inky thought about that as she hung Maelin’s gown in the closet, shaking and brushing the silk layers into perfect order.
“Don’t be too hasty,” she said finally. “Knowing you, Miss Maelin, you put down some quite silly things.”
Maelin sniffed. “I might have.”
“What if he did the same thing?”
“Oh.” That thought hadn’t occurred to her. But upon a moment’s reflection, it made sense. “I never considered that,” she replied, a smile creasing her lips. “He was probably as horrified as I was.”
“Possibly.” Inky passed her a soft robe, then headed across the bedroom to run her bath. “Or perhaps not.” She turned, as the water began to run. “I heard it was quite a Velarine. Hot enough to melt the candles in the chandeliers down to nubs.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that...”
“You don’t have to. Everyone else is saying it for you.” Inky swished bath salts into the water. “Seems you and this Lord Drake raised a whole lot of eyebrows. There are at least fifteen ladies who are going to need new fans this morning, since theirs are lying broken on the floor of the ballroom.”
“Oh that’s just silly,” laughed Maelin as she crossed her bedroom, and walked towards Inky and her bath. “I’m sure they were just accidentally left behind. You know as well as I do that it happens at just about every ball...”
She sighed with pleasure as she sank into the warm water. “It’s all gossip, Inky. You know how people love to gossip. Just one Velarine and the whole of Caelemar is buzzing. No different to any of the other times the Velarine turns up at a ball and sends people into a frenzy.”
Inky was quiet for several moments, setting soaps within Maelin’s reach and unfolding towels. “What do you know about this Lord Cyrus Drake, Miss Mae?”
“Well,” she thought, “Not much.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?”
“He’s somewhat of a mystery, that one.” Inky leaned a couple of tentacles against the tub. “Wealthy as can be, ’tis said. But nobody seems to know where he lives. Very smart, ’tis also said. But nobody knows where he got an education.”
“His lineage?” Maelin couldn’t help the question.
“Solid,” answered her tickerkin. “The Drakes go back far enough you can’t trace ‘em. Plenty of money there too.” She sighed. “Just too many unanswered questions for my liking, Miss Mae.”
“He’s got fire in him,” murmured Maelin. “A strange fire.”
“Uhhh...”
