Slowly, he nods, glancing down at his open shirt. “May I dress first?”
My cheeks heat, but I nod curtly. “I will wait for you in my room. Knock when you’re ready.”
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Anywhere,” I say. “Just…away.”
I disappear inside my room, resting my head on the door when I’m alone, wondering what’s wrong with me.
A few minutes later, there is a knock.
Bracing myself, I open the door. A girlish part of me swoons at the idea of Lord Ambrose calling on me—even if I commanded it.
None of my suitors were as handsome as he. Obviously, none of them were Fae, either. But the marquis is not a suitor, nor do I want him to be.
I just need someone to talk to. And right now, he is my best option.
He offers his arm. “Shall we?”
Grateful, I take it. We walk down the hall, neither of us speaking. It’s not awkward, however. It feels as if we are waiting until we can breathe outside the confines of the manor before we begin the conversation.
“Would you like to walk?” he asks when we leave the house and begin down the steps. “Or should I rouse a groom to prepare the carriage?”
I glance toward the dark forest. “Is it safe?”
“No one will bother you while you are with me.”
“Not even goblins?” I ask, trying to joke. The question comes out timid.
His arm stiffens slightly. “Not even goblins. We won’t find any inside the estate grounds anyway—they cannot cross the fence.”
Though I’m nervous, I nod.
“Am I correct in assuming that your reluctance means your time in Rose Briar Woods has not been pleasant?” he asks.
“Your estate is lovely,” I answer automatically.
“There is far more to Faerie than my estate. And much of it is beautiful.”
“And deadly,” I say under my breath.
The marquis tugs me to a stop, turning me so I have no choice but to face him. “You’re safe with me, Alice.”
“And if I were to leave your side?”
A true smile flickers across his face, transforming him. “I wouldn’t advise it.”
He’s like a different man when he smiles—still just as handsome, but far more approachable.
“Carry on, my lord. I will stay by your side.”
“My name is Brahm,” he reminds me solemnly, his voice heartbreakingly familiar. “Brahm.”
For a moment, my heart stutters. I study him in the night, questioning what I know cannot be true.
I can make out his ears in the lantern’s glow—they’re noticeably pointed. I know if I were to trace them with my fingers, I would feel the difference. They are not human ears, but those which belong to the Fae—not as prominently pointed as the northern elves’, but certainly not rounded at the top.
And yet, I cannot shake the strange suspicion that I’ve met this man in the shadows before—that I’ve waited for him every night for three weeks straight.