Chapter Five

 

 

Taylor wasn’t happy when I’d told him to get lost. It was, however, for the best. He wasn’t going to be able to help me with Byron. At this short notice, the only plan I had time to put into place was that of femme fatale. As much as I hated doing it, it wouldn’t be the first time. And I had to admit that it was almost always successful, even if I normally passed the dubious honour of acting as bait over to Lexie who enjoyed that kind of role-playing far more than I did. For now, it was more important that both Taylor and Lexie were safely tucked away from the moneylender’s reach until we had the necessary coin to get him off our backs. Whether he was after something else or not, he wouldn’t be able to argue if we paid him back.

Once I was sure that Taylor was out of the way, I sprang into action. Desperate times called for desperate measures. I depilated, plucked and pruned myself to within an inch of my life, before liberally dousing my skin with the expensive scented moisturiser which I saved for special occasions. Then I grabbed The Dress.

Every girl has one of these – an item of clothing that says ‘shag me but don’t you dare screw with me’ written all over it. Mine was hot pink, naturally – and very, very tight. It cost me an arm and a leg but it was well worth it, even if I’d only ever worn it twice before and felt distinctly awkward on both occasions. The cunning stitching around the bodice created the illusion that my breasts were far larger than they really were and the fabric panels around my hips accentuated my waist until I looked like some kind of sculpted Barbie doll. It was bloody uncomfortable to wear and sitting down was not a feat for the faint-hearted. I had to go for it, though – I had no choice. It helped that the vast majority of men were generally pretty stupid when it came to such matters. I had no doubts that Sidhe men – even Sidhe men who had females throwing themselves at them every minute of the day – would be no different.

I was less successful with my make-up, carefully applying eyeshadow before stabbing myself with the mascara wand so my eyes watered and I looked like a Pierrot clown in the rain. I was clearly out of practice. I wiped it all off and started again, more slowly this time. When I was done, however, and looked at the results in the mirror, I felt satisfied. The effect was that of a wide-eyed sultry temptress. Byron would have no chance. Or so I hoped.

I ignored the tremor of fearful butterflies rippling in my belly. I wasn’t a terrified child any more, I reminded myself. I grabbed a bag, flinging extra lipstick and powder inside. Then, as an afterthought and because you simply never knew, I shoved Bob’s letter opener in too.

Tottering out on high heels, I almost collided with Charlie, my dodgy black-market-dealing neighbour. I usually avoided him. This time his reaction to my appearance served me well. For once, I got what I wanted.

‘Whoa! Integrity, wherever you’re going, I want to come too!’ He leered at me, his eyes dropping to my chest and lingering there.

I pushed away the creeped-out feeling that was threatening to overcome me and smiled. ‘Sorry, Charlie. Invitation only.’

‘I can be your plus one.’

I placed my hand on his arm. I needed both the practice and the affirmation. ‘That’s so kind of you,’ I purred. ‘But no.’

He almost dropped his bag. Given the fact that it contained his takings for the day and he usually clung onto it like a drowning man to a raft, it was the response I’d been after. He licked his lips. ‘Check this out,’ he said in a low whisper. He dug into his pocket and took a small silver sphere. Threads of red ran through it. I peered down.

‘What is it?’

‘Poison. It’s from a plant which grows along the Veil. It almost killed me to retrieve it. Give this to your worst enemy and they’ll drop dead in seconds.’

Ugh. ‘Why are showing it to me?’

‘It’s brand-new stuff, Integrity. And expensive. I’ll let you have it for free.’ From the lascivious look on his face, he had a different kind of ‘payment’ in mind.

‘I don’t want it. Anyway, you shouldn’t be venturing near the Veil. It’s dangerous.’

‘You’re worried about me,’ he said, his eyes suddenly gleaming.

‘No,’ I replied flatly. ‘I’m simply giving you sensible advice.’

‘The Veil is secure, Integrity. Nothing gets out of there and nothing’s getting in. You should check it out some time. I could take you.’

‘No thanks. Whatever the Lowlands hold is of no interest to me.’

‘Are you scared of a little Fomori demon?’

I gave him an irritated glance. ‘Have you ever seen a Fomori demon?’

He pouted. ‘No.’

‘Exactly. No one has seen a Fomori demon and no one wants to. The Fissure isn’t some cautionary tale to keep children in line, Charlie. The Fomori annexed half of Scotland.’

‘That was almost three hundred years ago. Who cares?’

I rolled my eyes. I was done with this conversation. ‘You can keep your poison. I’m on my way out.’

‘Why go out when you can party with me here?’

I smiled and pointed at his chin. ‘I think you’re drooling,’ I told him. Then I sauntered off, appreciating the fact that I could feel him staring after me. For good measure, I threw in a little extra hip swing. There was an audible sigh from behind. Charlie was a sleazebag for sure but I felt better knowing that my outfit was such a success.

Thankfully, the taxi was already waiting; I didn’t like the idea of hanging around on the street looking like this. I arranged myself on the seat, running through the moves I’d need to make to attract Byron’s attention. When I’d covered various different scenarios and was confident of the possible outcomes, I finally started to relax. Maybe this could even be fun. Maybe.

The moment the taxi pulled up outside the Astor Hotel I slipped into character, nodding imperiously at the doorman who helped me out of the car. There was a nervous moment when I realised just how high my dress was riding up on my thighs but I pulled it down in one fluid movement and strolled inside. From the looks I received from both the staff and guests milling around at the front, my plan was already working.

Taking tiny mincing steps, I made it to the bar without falling over. Then I crooked a finger to grab the bartender’s attention and ordered a glass of champagne. Normally, of course, I drank beer but right now I was selling an image.

It took less than three minutes for the first guy to approach me. ‘Hello there.’ His voice had a definite Cockney twang. That was surprising in itself. Most English people avoided coming to Scotland if they could possibly help it. That was due mostly to superstition about breaks in the Veil but it was also a difficult journey to make. He would have had to cross the Channel to France and then gone overland across Europe and up to Scandinavia. Flying anywhere near the Lowlands was a big no-no. Whatever was going on there caused jiggery-pokery to electrical systems. It just wasn’t worth it.

His lip curled up in a good impersonation of Elvis. ‘I couldn’t help but notice you from my table. That’s some dress. You have good taste.’

I flicked him a look. A human coming onto a Sidhe? That was pretty daring, even for a guy as overtly good looking as this one. ‘I do have good taste,’ I told him. ‘And that’s why I’m not interested.’

He affected an expression of mock hurt. ‘Why so hasty?’ His gaze drifted down my body. Irritatingly, my dress had begun to wiggle back up my thighs again. It was like the damn thing had a mind of its own. ‘Nice legs. When do they open?’

Oh, he so did not want to go there. I fixed him with my coldest look and brushed my index finger against his lips. ‘Nice mouth. When does it shut?’

A spark flared in his eyes. ‘Wonderful! I like my women feisty.’

When was the last time a man was called feisty? I resisted the urge to put him down further; I was here for a reason and, while I needed him to back off, I didn’t want to appear too haughty. I couldn’t see any Sidhe in the bar but that didn’t mean there weren’t already others here who were in some way related to Byron. ‘Thank you,’ I murmured, softening my smile. ‘But I’m really not looking for anything other than some peace to enjoy my drink.’ I tapped the side of my glass for emphasis and turned away.

He stood there for another moment or two as I prayed he’d piss off. Eventually he got the message.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I sipped my drink and covertly checked the time. It was still early evening but I was feeling the effects of my sleepless night. It would be really nice if Byron could show up right about now. If he waited until later – or, worse, if he didn’t make an appearance at all – I was liable to end up snoozing on the bar before I could put any of my plans into action.

‘You alright there?’ the bartender asked.

I nodded, looking him over. He was human but wearing the Fairlie Clan badge. That was unsurprising considering the Fairlies owned this hotel. No Sidhe – even a lower-class member – would be caught dead serving drinks. It was typical for the Clans to press others into service to do the jobs they had no desire to do themselves. The bartender might have pledged allegiance to the Fairlies but that didn’t mean he was blindly loyal to them.

I dropped a tenner and raised my eyebrows. He glanced from the money to me and back again. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked finally.

I kept my tone casual. ‘You got many Sidhe staying here this weekend?’

He shrugged, sliding his hand over the note and palming it with professional ease. ‘Quite a few. They usually end up down here. Which Clan are you?’

I tapped the side of my nose as if it were a secret and winked. I might have been honest about my origins with the Wild Man but that was in pursuit of a greater cause. Advertising that I was the last remaining member of the Adair Clan wouldn’t serve me now. Fortunately, the bartender got the memo and nodded knowingly. If he was curious about my reasons for keeping my Clan secret, he was too polite to show it.

I passed over another ten-pound note and lowered my voice. ‘I might sit here for a while,’ I said. ‘I like people-watching.’ I tilted my head. ‘I don’t particularly enjoy getting drunk though.’

The bartender stroked his chin. ‘We have a wonderful sparkling cider that’s entirely alcohol free. And it’s very similar in colour to champagne.’

I grinned, briefly forgetting my role as temptress in favour of acknowledging the bartender’s understanding. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

He smiled in return. ‘Last night, Byron Moncrieffe arrived around seven,’ he told me.

I decided to brazen it out. ‘Am I that obvious?’

‘You’re not the first woman who’s heard that he’s in town. You’re not even the first Sidhe.’ He jerked his head to a table over to the right. I discreetly followed his movement, registering the three young Sidhe girls dressed up to the nines and giggling.

I lifted a shoulder in rueful acknowledgment that he’d caught me out. As if. ‘Any tips?’

The bartender’s looked quickly left and right, as if someone might be listening in. Then he leaned over. ‘He prefers doing the chasing himself.’

‘Noted.’ By the sound of things, the playboy princeling was as predictable as I had imagined. I had no idea what the bartender thought of me trailing after royalty and I didn’t much care. It would suit my purpose if he lumped me in with all the other hangers on.

Less than twenty minutes later, when my champagne glass had been helpfully filled with cider rather than anything that might cause inebriation, three snooty-looking Sidhe swept into the bar. I was in luck. A helpful nod from the bartender confirmed my suspicions.

The Sidhe ejected a family from the best table in the centre of the room and set about checking the surface for minute traces of dirt and ordering drinks. Ah ha. The advance entourage.

I straightened my posture and angled myself away from the table. Just as another group entered, Byron Moncrieffe included, I flipped out my hair in a move calculated to garner attention. Then I pointedly ignored them all.

The hum of voices from the other patrons quieted to a hush, although the group of giggly Sidhe girls found it impossible to stifle their excited laughter. I was almost surprised that there wasn’t a trumpet to herald his arrival. Honestly, for someone who was in his position for no other reason than the circumstances of his birth, the reaction he received was ridiculous.

I twisted my head slightly so that I could see the table reflected in the mirror hanging across the bar. I counted seven people in total: the three who’d entered first, two women, a cheeky-looking dimpled friend and Byron himself. They were all Sidhe and, by the insignia they were sporting, all from Clan Moncrieffe. That was good. A tight-knit group who kept to themselves would be less likely to know about me – even if I had once had the displeasure of meeting Byron himself.

Surreptitiously – and still using the reflection in the mirror – I eyed him. He had an easy smile which contradicted my memory of him. His bronze hair and golden skin remained the same but he’d definitely grown into his body. Trying to remain dispassionate, I took in the roped muscles on his arms. His clothing, while casual, was as well-designed to display his buff physique as my dress was designed to show off other, uh, attributes. Nah. He wasn’t that good-looking. Maybe he was alright if you liked your men golden and muscled and charismatic. Shite. Okay, he was as sexy as hell.

I noted a small scar underneath his eye that I didn’t remember. It must be fairly recent. Unfortunately, it worked for him, taking away his disturbing perfection and giving him more of a rakish air. Probably the same air that the stubble around his jawline was meant to provide. I leaned slightly to one side to get a better glimpse of it. And that was when I realised he was watching me right back.

I choked slightly as Byron raised up his glass in greeting. Don’t blush, Integrity.  I raised my fake champagne to him and offered a distant smile. Then I caught the bartender’s attention and engaged him in a conversation about the weather. I didn’t look into the mirror again.

It didn’t take the three Sidhe girls long to make their first advance. The prettiest one waltzed up and, although I didn’t see what she did, her voice was loud enough to make it clear that her approach was welcome. In less time than it took the bartender to pour me another drink, her two friends joined in, pulling over chairs and simpering. I remained aloof. If he liked the chase, then that’s what he’d get.

I let a tiny Mona Lisa smile play around my lips. I was mysterious and interesting. And bloody uncomfortable sitting in this dress. There was a spot on my back where my bra strap was rubbing against the zip. It was very itchy and very annoying but interesting, mysterious women don’t do contortions in public to give themselves a damn good scratch. I twitched my shoulders but it wasn’t going away. That was okay though. I could saunter my way to the bathroom – drawing attention to myself along the way – and take care of it there.

Nodding my intention to the bartender, I slung my bag over my shoulder, then carefully descended from the stool. The door to the restroom was in the far corner. Perfect: I’d have no choice but to walk past Byron’s table. I flipped my hair over my shoulder again and strutted off.

The Cockney guy who’d approached me before glowered in my direction. This time I gave him a sweet smile, filled with sultry promise. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. Then I tilted up my chin and walked past Byron, the Sidhe girls and his entourage, telling myself that this would be a really bad time to trip and fall flat on my arse.

When I eventually made it to the safety of the bathroom, I immediately found the itchy spot and moaned in satisfaction as I scratched it.

There was a muted flash of light and Bob’s booming voice floating up from my bag. ‘Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing,’ he said.

I cursed and unzipped the bag. ‘How did you get out?’ I complained. ‘I thought you had to wait until I rubbed the blade.’

Bob thrust his hips forward. ‘Uh Integrity, you can rub my blade any time.’

Oh for Pete’s sake. I started to zip the bag closed again but he made a good show of protesting. ‘Oh come on! That’s not fair! Until you take all three wishes, I can appear whenever I want to, okay?’

That certainly didn’t sound right. ‘I thought I was your owner.’

‘You are! But if you’re going to keep ignoring what a wonderful opportunity you have with these wishes, then I’m going to keep appearing to remind you of what you’ve got.’

‘Until I give you back to the guy who owned you originally,’ I said shortly.

A crafty expression crossed Bob’s face. He held up his miniscule index finger and gave me a shit-eating grin. ‘He never cleaned the dagger. I never appeared to him.’

‘So?’ I asked sourly.

‘You don’t know much about genies, do you, Uh Integrity? I’m yours until you take the wishes. You can give me away, hide me in a drawer, drop me in the ocean if you like. I’ll still come back to you.’ He gave me jazz hands. Actual jazz hands. ‘It’s magic!’

I stared down at him. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘It is! Try it. Go on. Try it.’ He craned his neck upwards, glee in his eyes. ‘We’re in the ladies room? Please try it, Uh Integrity! Leave me here! I love being in the ladies room!’

‘You’re disgusting.’

He beamed at me. ‘Thanks.’

‘What happened to your begging me on hands and knees to keep you around?’

He gave an indolent shrug. ‘Twenty-four hour cooling-off period.’

‘What?’

‘You get twenty-four hours after picking me up to change your mind. That passed, oooh, about thirty minutes ago.’

I gritted my teeth. I should have dumped him the second I realised what he was.

‘In my experience,’ Bob continued, ‘this generally goes better when the owner thinks they’re in control and making all the decisions. I like you though. I can tell you’re a bit different.’ He winked as if he were paying me a wonderful compliment. Or softening the blow. ‘Now tell me, who are you trying to impress? I can help. I’m good at true love wishes. Sometimes. Okay, almost never. But I can still help. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘Never you mind,’ I told him as the door opened and one of the Sidhe girls strolled in. She gave me a funny look; she probably thought I was holding a conversation with myself. There certainly wasn’t a trace of fear in her expression so she didn’t recognise me. It was a relief to know that my face wasn’t plastered on Wanted posters all over the Clanlands.

I snapped the bag shut and firmly zipped it. There was a muffled squawk of irritation from Bob, which I covered with a cough. I gave her an airy smile.

‘I was drinking a glass of champagne,’ I told her, ‘when I heard someone say hello. Then I realised it had to be the drink talking.’

Her mouth fell open slightly as my feeble joke sailed right over her head. She looked me up and down and edged away. ‘Are you from Macquarrie Clan?’

‘No. Why do you ask?’

She shook her head. ‘No reason.’ She backed quickly into one of the stalls and firmly closed the door. I shrugged and walked back out. There will always be haters.

This time, when I walked back past their table, I fixed on the handsome dimpled Sidhe who was sitting next to Byron. He caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back slowly. His eyes danced. Yahtzee. I continued to saunter past and, just for a moment, there was a brief lull in the conversation. Well, well, well. It appeared I was already getting somewhere.

I jumped awkwardly back onto my bar stool and smiled at the bartender. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What do you know about the Macquarrie Clan?’

He opened his mouth but was forestalled by a smooth voice from behind. ‘Other than the fact that insanity runs in their family?’

I glanced round, my gaze falling on none other than Byron himself. ‘Insanity, huh?’ I murmured. ‘That makes sense.’

The corners of his chiselled lips lifted . ‘I’m Byron,’ he said.

I gave a tiny smile back. ‘I know.’

His emerald green eyes laughed at me. ‘Then you’re at an unfair advantage. Aren’t you going to tell me who you are?’

My tongue darted out and wet my lips. His eyes followed the movement and I felt a frisson of unexpected lust in my belly. That was quite enough of that, I told myself firmly. I sniffed. ‘I’m here incognito,’ I told him quietly. ‘I could tell you…’

‘But then you’d have to kill me?’

I shrugged. ‘I’m a pacifist. But, yeah, at the very least I’d have to tie you up in a room somewhere while I made my escape.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ he murmured. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Don’t bother, mate,’ grunted the Cockney, appearing at my other side in a bid to get the bartender’s attention. ‘She’s not interested.’

Perfect timing. I waved a hand in the air. ‘He’s right,’ I said cheerfully. ‘You should go back to your friends. I’m just enjoying a quiet drink.’

Byron folded his arms so that his biceps bulged. I wondered how many times he’d practised that move in the mirror. ‘Right now,’ he drawled, ‘it’s far more interesting here.’ He gestured to the stool next to me. ‘May I sit down?’

I did my best to look nonchalant. ‘It’s a free country.’

He sat down. My dress was already riding high again but, to Byron’s credit, his eyes didn’t once drift downwards. I caught a whiff of spicy aftershave that almost did me in. Then I remembered what he was really like and what I was here for.

‘I’m surprised that you’re not aware of the Macquarrie Clan’s reputation,’ he commented. ‘It’s well advertised across the Sidhe world.’

That throwaway observation meant that he didn’t recognise me from our encounter in the Bull’s palace all those years before. It had lasted only a few seconds so that wasn’t completely surprising but it meant that, despite my white hair and eye colour, he hadn’t connected me to my father. He’d pegged me as one of the lower-class Sidhe, probably from a minor Clan. My chances of success had just quadrupled.

‘I don’t get out much,’ I told him. Then I crossed my legs. It was deliberately calculated body language to give off the vibe that I wasn’t interested. ‘Hard to get’ would win the day.

Byron beckoned the bartender, who’d finished serving the annoying Cockney. He gave a deferential bob of his head and poured him a neat whisky without asking what he’d like. I guessed that this wasn’t Byron’s first evening here. And he probably took a different girl home with him every night. As long as I was that girl tonight, nothing else mattered.

‘One for the lady too,’ he purred. ‘But make it the really good stuff.’

Shite. ‘I’m good with what I have.’

‘I’m sure it’s nice. I happen to know, however, that there are wonderful vintage bottles in the cellar. They only bring them out on special occasions.’

The last thing I wanted was for the bartender to pop a cork right in front of us. ‘Well,’ I said lightly, ‘this occasion isn’t that special.’

Byron’s eyebrows shot up. ‘In that dress? I’d say it was very special.’

Watch it, I thought. You’re verging on sleazy now. ‘I’m not wearing this because I’m looking for attention,’ I said, coolly. ‘I’m wearing it because I like it.’

His eyes glittered. ‘You like hot pink?’ he asked, emphasizing the word ‘hot’ so it was laden with innuendo.

‘I do,’ I replied, irritation flashing down my spine.

Byron appeared amused. ‘Then make that bottle pink champagne, Timothy,’ he instructed the bartender, who nodded again and walked off, no doubt to the famed cellar. So much for my bribe then. I had to admit, though, that it was interesting Byron had taken the time to learn the man’s name. I hadn’t.

If I protested any more, I’d end up going too far. Beaten for now – at least in the alcoholic stakes – I caved. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

His eyes held mine. ‘You can thank me later.’

I shivered. ‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘I’ll thank you now.’

Byron threw back his head and laughed. ‘Very well. Thank me by telling me your name.’

I turned back towards him, deliberately relaxing my posture as if I were warming to him. Which I most definitely wasn’t. He was a wanker who’d once treated me as if I were a piece of dirt. He’d called me pathetic. Well, I wasn’t so pathetic now. I was going to wrap him round my little finger, take from him exactly what I wanted, and then never, ever see him again. ‘What would you like it to be?’

He reached out and placed his hand on my bare arm. His touch seared my skin and, involuntarily, I jerked away. That wasn’t in the script. ‘Tell me,’ he repeated.

I hadn’t had a name when he knew of me before and the best lies are those that are wrapped around the truth. Deciding it wouldn’t do any harm, I told the truth. ‘Integrity.’

‘Interesting name.’ He leaned forward. ‘So, Integrity, do you live up to it? Are you honest and morally upright?’

‘If I wasn’t, would I admit it?’ I asked. Both of us were amping up the flirtation. It was faster than I’d have liked but I had to follow his lead. I had to make sure I didn’t screw this up.

He laughed again. ‘I guess not.’ He reached out again, this time taking my hands. I managed not to flinch. His thumb stroked the centre of my palm in a manner that was too familiar for someone I’d just met. Damn, but he was good. ‘You have very soft skin,’ he told me.

‘Actually, I have eczema all over my chest,’ I said with a straight face.

For the first time he appeared taken aback. ‘Really? That’s awful.’

‘Yes.’ I cast my eyes down and tried to look sad. ‘I have a cracking pair of tits.’

For a horrifying heartbeat I thought I’d completely misjudged the moment. Then Byron’s eyes crinkled and he laughed again. Without taking his eyes off my face, he purred, ‘I can’t disagree with that.’

I winked saucily just as Timothy returned with the bottle. Without so much as a flicker of apology for breaking our earlier deal, he presented the label to me. I swallowed. That was seriously expensive stuff. I gave a tiny nod – what else could I do – and he pulled out the cork in an expert motion. Without spilling a drop, he filled my glass.

I murmured my thanks and sipped. Although champagne wasn’t my usual tipple, this was damned good. ‘Aren’t you having any?’ I asked.

‘I’m more of a Scotch man myself.’ His eyes danced. ‘Even if whisky does make me frisky.’

I sucked in a breath. I opened my mouth to match his comment with one of my own when one of the other giggly Sidhe girls elbowed her way between us. ‘Your highness!’ she cooed. ‘Why don’t you come back and join us?’

I caught a flash of annoyance in Byron’s emerald green eyes. Then he turned to her and smiled. ‘There’s no need to be so formal,’ he said to her. ‘Call me Byron.’

Her mouth parted and she licked her lips. She moved away from me so I was presented with her back and started to regale him with an anecdote about her girlfriends and another local bar. It wasn’t particularly interesting; besides I was prepared for competition. She was too young and too eager. I knew he’d get rid of her before long. And I could play this game too.

I shuffled away on my bar stool to give myself more room, took another sip of the delectable champagne and glanced casually around the bar, my gaze falling on the Cockney bloke. Feeling my eyes, he looked up and glowered. I shrugged in apology and offered a half smile. His mouth tightened and I thought he wasn’t going to take the bait but he wasn’t that unpredictable. Less than twenty seconds later he was back by my side.

‘You’ve changed your tune,’ he snarked.

I toyed with my glass. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude before. I’ve had a bad day. Now I’ve got a drink or two inside me, I’m starting to relax. Perhaps I can buy you one to make up for how I acted.’

‘I don’t let women buy me drinks,’ he threw out in typical Neanderthal fashion. Then he looked at Byron and the girl behind me. ‘I guess you’ve been given the brush off too.’

I smiled. ‘I guess so.’

He leered down my dress. ‘Why don’t we leave this place and head upstairs? Then maybe you’ll open those legs for me after all.’

Ick. Ick. Ick. I held up my palms. ‘Er, actually I…’

There was a sudden crack in the air and he was thrown backwards, falling several feet through the air and landing dazed against the wall. My mouth dropped open.

‘I think you owe the lady an apology,’ Byron growled. He was on his feet, his brows snapped together and his mouth tight. I’d expected a reaction but not that fast and not that violent. The Sidhe girl backed away, her hand clasped to her mouth as she looked from the sprawled Cockney to Byron and back again.

‘What happened?’ she squeaked.

I frowned at him. ‘I don’t need a hero,’ I told him. ‘I was handling that.’

His expression grew even darker. ‘It didn’t sound like you were handling it.’

I wondered if I was now seeing the real Byron, heir presumptive to the Sidhe stewardship and all that entailed. If that was the case, he certainly had a temper.

I made a quick decision. The flirtatious banter had gone and was unlikely to return. I still needed to be in full control of this situation and with Byron’s friends on their feet and the tense atmosphere in the bar, I wasn’t going to achieve that if I stuck around. I threw some money down and stood up, putting my bag on my shoulder. ‘I told you I was a pacifist,’ I said softly. ‘This is a little too rough and tumble for my liking. Thank you for the champagne. It was lovely meeting you. I’ll have something to tell my grandchildren.’ Then, without another word or glance at either him or the Cockney, I walked out.

Something poked me in my ribs. There was a muffled protest coming from my bag: Bob. I jabbed him back and began to count, crossing my fingers as I did so. One. Two. Into the lobby. Three. Four. Five. Shite. This was taking too long. Past the table with the elaborate flowers. Six. Seven. Up to the doorman. Arse. I’d misjudged the situation.

‘Integrity!’

I allowed myself a tiny smile. No, I’d got it right after all. I turned slowly, reluctantly.

‘Byron,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I think my quiet evening has been ruined. It’s time to head home.’

He regarded me seriously. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

He would have to do better than that. Come on, Golden Boy. Give me something to work with. ‘I don’t think it’s up to you.’

‘But it is. How can I possibly let you go with what happened there as the only story for your grandchildren? It’ll hurt my reputation immeasurably. You need to give me another chance so that they’ll think better of me.’

Better. I gave a silent round of applause. ‘I promise I’ll paint you in a very favourable light, my liege.’

He winced. ‘Don’t call me that. My father might be Steward but that doesn’t mean I will be.’

‘Byron.’ I softened my voice and looked at him up through my eyelashes, noting his reaction. Yep. He might be a pretty face but he was also pretty dumb. ‘I can’t go back in there,’ I told him, gesturing towards the bar. ‘It really is better if I go home.’

He tilted his head, a bronzed curl falling across his eyes. ‘We were getting along very well, Integrity,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s not ruin things. I have the penthouse suite. I can get Timothy to send up the champagne. No one else is going to drink it and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

I did an imaginary dance. I am a sexual goddess. At least for tonight anyway. ‘I don’t know… I’ve got work tomorrow and…’

‘Please. Just one drink.’

I met his eyes and something inexplicable flared between us. What the hell was that? ‘Okay,’ I said finally. ‘Just one. But only because you’ve paid for that champagne and it’s so expensive.’

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he held out his arm. ‘One drink,’ he breathed. ‘I promise.’