Page 27 of My Fae Lady

“What is it?” My voice had dropped an octave, sensing a threat.

She swallowed, and her chin lowered, hiding her all-telling gaze. “I’m afraid you will need to do more than just act like a gentleman in front of Mr. Hilferty.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Ahem . . .” She cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is, Mr. Hilfterty is my father’s oldest and dearest friend. In my father’s absence, he’ll insist on protecting me as if he was a close relative. I’m worried acting proper won’t be enough for him. You’ll also need to behave as though you’re . . . well . . .”

“Smitten?” I guessed.

She nodded curtly. One of the silly ostrich feathers leaned toward my face. I batted it away and tipped up the edge of her hat. Her eyes had gone a deep lavender, but when they met mine, they returned to that nervous golden hue.

She nodded. “Yes. He won’t help if he guesses this is just a paper wedding. He’ll want you to be . . . taken by me in some way. Otherwise, he’ll fret that I’m endangering myself. Then he’ll become an obstacle rather than a boon. I’d hoped to do this more properly so we wouldn’t need his influence, but my family is conniving and we’re out of time. Thank the light for dear Caro.”

Grinning, I offered my arm, claws retracted and hidden away. “Don’t fret, cupcake. I don’t need lessons on how to act enamored. He’ll believe I’m smitten and a gentleman. One that doesn’t have fleas and has never resembled a wolverine or lived in a tree.”

She looped her arm around my elbow, then gave me another exaggerated inspection. “At the moment, you certainly don’t look like you have fleas.”

“My lady,” I said, a hand over my heart in faux surprise, “did you just compliment me?”

Her lips twisted in that droll manner I was beginning to grow quite fond of. “I think I did. Now, don’t stomp on my dress, you silly elephant. I really like this one.”

“I quite like it, too, my dear,” I admitted, taking on the drawling cadence of the Seelie tailor and puffing out my chest. “It suits you, darling. You’ll be all the rage this season.”

We made it down to the lobby arm-in-arm, giggling at each other like two fools who were actually in love and not playing pretend for an audience. The ballroom was adjacent to the dining hall. Just as we arrived, the band began to play a waltz.

“Oh good, Mr. Hilferty is already here,” Giselle said, tugging me forward. She waved demure gloved fingers at a gentleman at a table near the archway that separated the diners from the ballroom’s dance floor. His blond hair was shorn short, showing off his elongated ears in the Seelie fashion. He wore a silver pin on the breast pocket of his tailcoat that signified his relation to the courts.

“Not just yet, my lady.” I removed her hat, handing it off to a waiting waiter along with her reticule. My hand went to the small of her back, and I swept her up into a dance.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes rounded and filled with a lavender so bright it put the flower to shame. Her lips curled into a giddy smile as I dodged us around another waiter just in the nick of time. Our feet hit the hardwood dance floor in a patter that was almost elegant.

“Were I smitten,” I whispered in her ear, pulling her closer as we glided in amongst the other dancers, “I’d use every excuse to put my hands all over my beautiful bride. Every. Excuse.”

“And you wouldn’t dare crush her toes or tread on her dress,” she quipped.

“I wouldn’t dream of harming a single thread on the dress she’s so fond of. I will keep my elephant feet entirely to myself.”

“And you’ll be sure your tottering bride doesn’t fall,” she pleaded, her fingers curling into my shoulder. “This fit won’t allow for much movement. I wasn’t planning on dancing today.”

“You weren’t planning on dancing at your wedding?” I pouted at her. “A bride should dance with her groom, cupcake.”

The slow smile that spread her cheeks did something to my heart. Something entirely unpleasant. It beat hard against my breast. “You’re right, of course. A bride should dance.”

She leaned into me and let me twirl her. I kept her steady and on her feet every time she swayed. It was long after the waltz had ended that I realized we probably didn’t need to keep dancing. I’d made my point. Her gaze had turned to violet and filled with hunger. Luckily for her, we’d be eating shortly.

But then we kept dancing a bit longer anyway . . .

And we didn’t stop dancing until Giselle spotted Mr. Hilferty standing at the edge of the ballroom floor, straightening and re-straightening his cravat, his eyes trained on his pocket watch in a show of impatience.

“Oh dear,” she started, “perhaps we should—”

I whirled her off the dance floor before she could finish the thought. We both needed a moment to catch our breath. She stared longingly at a chilled glass of champagne, lungs heaving. The violet in her gaze softened to lavender when she caught me watching her. Thirst and hunger evidently played a part in both colors.

Mr. Hilferty was a lean man, taller than myself and even more ancient, short yellow hair slicked back with pomade. Age was tricky to gauge on an immortal, but I could feel his centuries in his aura the closer I came to him.

The silver pin on his breast was that of the Seelie Scales, a symbol of the goddesses of light’s justice. He touched the pin, swiping his thumb over the metal in a show of deference before taking the seat opposite me.

I helped Giselle into her tall-backed chair, playing my part, touching her shoulder, her hand, and her arm slightly more than would be deemed polite, but just enough to make our act all the more convincing. I was a groom in love, after all, and our house was on the line.