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“There’s a card...” Darady waved it.
“Well, for coggles sake, let’s see it.” She stood and hurried to the door, taking both card and flowers as Darady followed her into the room.
“You need a really nice vase for those,” she said practically.
“Mmm.” Maelin sniffed the white roses, and then opened the card.
“A token of my thanks for our dance, Lady Maelin. I would be delighted if you would join me for lunch, so that we may continue our acquaintance? I would be honoured by your presence...the Silver Shell at noon.”
The signature..Drake.
No niceties, no persuasive encouragement, just a simple request.
And one Maelin couldn’t possibly refuse.
Chapter Eleven
He couldn’t have picked a better day for an outside lunch.
The Silver Shell was elegantly poised on the wharf, close enough to the ocean to enjoy the magnificent view across the Sea of Echoes, blue and green waters playing games with each other and topping their waves with white crests of foam that sparkled in the sunlight.
Rather like Maelin’s dress, he thought absently, staring out toward the horizon that was presently nothing more than a soft layer of clouds.
It could blacken, he knew, when storms built to gigantic proportions and sent larger waves to hurl themselves up against the pilings of the wharf.
On days like that, the Silver Shell lived up to its name, lowering a protective array across the open front, a transparent curtain that turned the entire restaurant into a clamshell.
However, that was tucked away at the moment, since the umbrellas were fluttering in the breeze and the day was perfect for lunch by the ocean.
Would she come?
That was the question plaguing Cyrus. It had poked through the hard business he’d attended to last night. If he hadn’t been called away...
Hellforge, he and Lady Maelin would have become much better acquainted. He knew he’d had a responsive woman in his arms, and he was shocked to find himself responding to her in a very unusual way. But he couldn’t hold back—her scent, her smile, the softness of her skin and the eager response of her body against his.
She’d ignited a few fires he thought he’d damped down forever. But he was wrong.
The horror at the corner of Jerrity Street remained in his thoughts, though, even as Maelin of Theryn fought to kick them aside.
It was a confusing puzzle, laced with blood, death, and a very strong case of lust.
“Lord Cyrus,” said a quiet voice next to him. “What a lovely place for lunch.”
And there she was. He rose, bowed over her hand, and seated her, keeping command over the urges that whispered “kiss her, lick her, taste her...”
“I am so pleased you accepted my invitation, my Lady. After last night’s dance, I wondered if you’d turn it down.”
She smiled, not a hair out of place. “On the contrary, my Lord. I thought our steps matched very well indeed.” She glanced out over the ocean. “I’m not someone who...who...usually dances like that.”
“No?”
“No.” She turned back to him. “I’m afraid I may have shocked you a little, but then again, it was the Velarine. And we both know that dance has quite a reputation.”
“Well deserved, I’d say,” he smiled, amused at her words. “Nevertheless, my Lady, our steps matched perfectly. Seldom have I enjoyed a dance more.”
“You’re very kind, my Lord.” She dipped her head in acknowledgement.
“Call me Cyrus? All this my Lord-ing and my Lady-ing is...wearying.”
