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“There. You see how perfectly we agree on important matters?” She smiled politely. “I can’t wait to see how well we...agree...on other important matters.”
She licked her lips slowly, knowing he was watching her tongue, and discovering how exciting it was to have this kind of an effect on a man.
This kind of power.
It was a new idea, and something that sent a tiny sensual shiver down her spine.
“Cyrus,” she whispered, allowing herself the liberty of leaning against him for just a few brief seconds.
“I know,” he growled back. “Believe me, I know.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Fuck. Can’t. Got a company board meeting and dinner.”
“You have a company?” Maelin’s eyebrows rose.
He grinned at her. “I have many things you don’t know about, dear Mae.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yet...”
That made Cyrus laugh, a rich sound that made passers-by smile as well. “Minx.”
“The day after then.” She thought for a moment. “Besides, I want to talk to Uncle Phineas. I haven’t had chance yet with all the fuss and bother about the ball, and getting myself settled in, so tomorrow might be a good time to try.”
“This certainly isn’t the Tidehold Conservatory, is it,” he commented. “Do you miss it?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
He laughed again. “The day after tomorrow, then. I’ll send an invitation. Make it formal.”
“I’ll accept. With pleasure.” Maelin’s eyes drifted to his mouth once again. “With great pleasure.”
Cyrus took a deep breath and sighed. “What on earth am I going to do with you?”
She grinned. “I can’t wait to find out.”
*~~*~~*
To say the rest of the day was a bit difficult for Cyrus would be an understatement.
He needed to think. To sit at his desk, start making notes, and try to pull the pieces of this growing mystery together before there was another victim.
When he finally reached his office, and sat at his desk, notepad at the ready, quill in his freshly topped-up inkwell...his mind refused to acknowledge any of it and dragged him back into the cabinet with Maelin.
She was, without a doubt, trouble.
He had his life organised exactly the way he wanted it. Quiet, almost unnoticed, offering plenty of time for him to take care of what were—to him—important matters.
His businesses, of course. The import/export side of Drake Holdings was busy, and often demanded several days of negotiations with the shipping companies.
There were several other areas that benefitted from his oversight, as director, or board member, or simply just a friendly counsellor.
Then there was the Gloamtide. He looked at that as a duty, a way to give back some of the time and money that people had given him so long ago. The fact that his father possessed a title that went back for generations hadn’t stopped him from falling into worse circumstances than the humblest Gloamtide worker.
And he’d barely reached his teenage years when he realised that there would be no title to inherit if he didn’t do something to rescue his father.
An acuity for financial matters helped, and he’d shed his pride, going from business to business in the Gloamtide offering his special gifts to storeowners and Velvet Houses alike.
