Page 39 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“Forget that happened, I beg you,” Elspeth said, coughing. “Go back to thinking about the beast I slayed for you.”

“Quiet, you two,” Susan admonished. Her severe tone suffered slightly from the humor glittering in her eyes. She scooted to the edge of her seat. “I want to hear about Malcolm’s witch. Is it true you keep her locked away? How very fae of you.”

“Strangely romantic,” Margot cooed, “and more than a little deranged. Yes, how very fae.”

Feeling on the spot now, Malcolm tugged sheepishly at his cravat, loosening it around his neck. His friends were dressed in a revealing manner befitting their professions, their necklines cut low. He hoped an older Vanir like Hrafn wouldn’t read into that too heavily.

“If either of you were to see my mate during your stay,” Malcolm said, “I would ask that you not discuss your business openly in her presence. The blooming bond is still fresh between us. Unsettled mate instincts can cause even a mature fae to behave irrationally.”

“You mean, don’t tell her that we’re courtesans?” Margot said, pointing between herself and Susan. “Or do you mean don’t ask her if she wants a tumble?”

Malcolm flinched. “Both,” he rasped, his teeth clenching. “I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about our business arrangement.”

Margot pouted at him. “But my favorite thing about the fae is how opened-minded they always are regarding bed sport.”

“Hrafn is of an older generation descended from the Divine Night, called the Vanir. They were legendarily opened-minded about such things,” Malcolm said, “but when it came to their mates, the blooming bond could make them quite possessive and, well—”

“They were legendarily violent,” Elspeth finished. “Surely it’s safe for them here. Your mate is confined.”

“It’s probably a moot point.” Malcolm rubbed at the back of his neck, and Solis mimicked the gesture on the rug. “I’ve reinforced the door and the window in her room. I’ve added more locks. I’ve done everything shy of chaining her to the damned—”

Malcolm felt it when Hrafn entered the parlor, felt her heat and the thrum of their growing bond cozying up beside his heart. It struck him moments before all eyes shifted to a space just behind him. His pulse surged in his throat and his thighs.

He turned to her, and his heart thundered against the cage of his ribs. She was barefoot, ebony hair unbound. It fell in loose waves, cascading along her wings. She’d been in the woods again, scouting. He could smell the wilderness on her.

A dozen roly-poly, child-like shadows trailed her, herded from behind by Clapa, who poked at the stubborn ones as they tried to drift from the group. The little hunks of smog were supposed to be sleeping in the sunlight. Apparently, they’d awakened early.

“Aw!” Elspeth gasped. “Those look like shadow ba—”

“Don’t say babies, please,” Malcolm grumped.

In response to Elspeth’s cheerful greeting, the little puffs of darkness gathered at her feet, bouncing and chirping at her, begging for attention. She gave it to them, petting them one at a time, her cheeks filled with a smile.

Clapa flew in close to inspect Elspeth. She ran a claw through her blue hair, chittering as she tied it into a knot.

“Well, if it isn’t the world’s best tiny messenger,” Elspeth said. “Thank you again for the frog and Malcolm’s letter.”

“Hoppies yum yum.” Clapa rubbed her belly.

Hrafn padded to the center of the room, taking in the guests one at a time, her expression stoic.

“Hrafn, this is Lady Elspeth Dagrun, my neighbor from the estate next door,” he said, indicating the young woman with a gesture. Then he turned to Susan and hesitated. The fae did not like to tell lies, and he had no practice at it, but the truth seemed potentially hazardous.

After a moment of unbearable silence, Susan cleared her throat, set aside her tea, and stood. She made a polite curtsy. “Malcolm’s told us so much about you, Hrafn of the Vanir. I’m Susan Boots, and this is my associate, Margot. We work in entertainment.”

“That’s right,” Malcolm said with confidence because it was true enough.

“What sort of entertainment?” Hrafn asked briskly.

“Well, we’re with the . . . um . . .” Susan looked to Margot for help.

Elspeth sat a bundle of little shadows in her lap to pet them, chin down, hiding her smile.

“The opera,” Margot said hurriedly.

She’d spoken the word in the same moment that Susan stammered out, “The theater.”

“Gods,” Malcolm groaned.

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