CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Quinn~
Surely Moira had had long enough for her to decide if she wanted him or not? Over the last four days, he had come to some conclusions himself.
Even if Moira wasn’t a virgin and liable to transmute the first time he had intercourse with her, he couldn’t handle an affair with her. Not because he couldn’t think of plenty of ways to have sex without sticking his dick into her. It was just that his heart wasn’t strong enough to survive messing around with his mate. It was marriage or nothing.
Looking back, he couldn’t believe he had ever thought he could marry Cynthia. The feelings she had aroused in him were so wishy-washy compared to his feelings for Moira, that he couldn’t believe he had mistaken them for love. They wouldn’t have lasted a year. Whereas he knew that whether or not Moira accepted him, he was bound to her for life.
Anyway, he had a good excuse to approach Robin. He would visit her and inquire about the judges. Explain about Elena and Whitlock and then feel her out about a marriage between a Fairchild and a Drake. There were advantages to marrying into a billionaire clan. West Haven already benefited from the Drakes investing in the island’s economy. He was perfectly prepared to buy the Council’s consent.
Not Moira. Never Moira. She had to make a free choice. That was why he had given her space and time. But he was prepared to use his family’s wealth to bribe the Council. His parents would pay any price to see him married to a virgin and assure themselves of grandchildren. Maybe even a granddaughter.
He wanted to stay on West Haven as much because this was where Moira wished to be, as because he had found his talent flowering here. But that would ultimately depend on Moira and the Council. If she turned him down, he couldn’t stay. If the Council banished them for marrying, they would have to face exile together. Could she love him enough to give up the island?
Time to find out. He drove into town. He had expected to see Robin in her office. Instead, he was shown into her private sitting room. It was a pretty space. All gilt and brocade, with the sort of spindly furniture that made him feel every one of his inches and twice as broad and clumsy as he really was. He hoped she would not ask him to sit on any of those dainty chairs. He had a feeling that at the first touch his bulk would reduce them to splinters.
Robin greeted him with her customary courtesy and a placid smile. She waved a genteel hand. “Do have a seat, Quinn.”
Unbelievably, Moira appeared not to have confided in her aunt, yet he knew that they were close. Hadn’t Robin heard the gossip? He looked around for the sturdiest option. Even the couch was a fragile two-seater settee. He didn’t dare sit on its narrow cushion.
“Try the blue one,” Robin said.
That one was upholstered in cream and blue roses and looked just as flimsy as all the other furniture. He sat down with a sinking heart. But it held his weight and was surprisingly comfortable. He leaned back and nothing cracked or gave. He relaxed a trifle.
“What brings you to the Tidewater?” asked Robin. “I hope there’s nothing wrong at the cottage?”
“The cottage is fine.” It needed a vault, but he could scarcely ask his landlady to build him one. “I came because I heard the judges have been selected for the art show.”
“Ah.” She beamed at him. “Yes. The university has arranged for five experts to judge the Art Fair. I have the list here. All excellent, highly thought of people. I planned to make an announcement at the colony today.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “We already heard.”
“Let’s have some coffee, shall we?” suggested Robin. She rang a little silver bell. A server appeared, took an order for a pot of coffee, and vanished efficiently.
“Go on, Quinn.”
“The thing is that one of the judges is Elena Androvitch, who happens to be my art instructor. I don’t know if she can be asked to give an unbiased opinion of my work.”
The door opened. The server placed a silver tray with two delicate hand-painted cups and a matching coffeepot before Robin. There was a plate of cookies beside the cups. The saucer of the cup he was handed looked like a doll’s in his big hand. He sighed inwardly. “Thank you,” he said.
Robin waited until the server had gone before she spoke. “If there is a problem, I would expect Ms. Androvitch to excuse herself.”
“Which means my work will be judged only by four people, rather than five,” Quinn pointed out.
“Hmm. That is unfortunate. However, I left the selection of the judges entirely in the hands of the university. I can’t alter their roster. Although I could perhaps ask for a sixth member to step in whenever there is a difficulty.”
It would have to do. “There is another problem. A bigger one. One of the judges has a bad reputation. Moira’s old partner is among the judges. Several of the artists have complained that he is at best dishonest, and at worst,” Quinn paused, “Vindictive.”
“Adrian Whitlock,” Robin said. Quinn probably imagined he read distaste in her flat tone.
“Yes, ma’am. From what I hear at the colony, Whitlock has an unsavory reputation. I can’t imagine why the university has included him.”
Robin shook her head. “We’ll have to manage with him. He was the university’s choice. It would seem that his reputation for dishonesty and bias has not reached the administration of the School of Art and Design. But thank you for the warning. I like to think that even the most crooked psychic would think twice before attempting mischief on West Haven.” There was steel in her voice. Quinn felt his spine shiver slightly. Interesting.
“And now we come to the real purpose of your visit, Quinn. How do matters stand between you and my niece?”
Ah. Moira had been talking to her aunt. Quinn swallowed. “I haven’t seen her in a couple of days.” He turned both hands palm upwards. “I’ve been giving her space. I was wondering if it was too soon to approach her again.”
“That depends,” Robin said sternly. “On what you want to say.”
She made him feel like a gawky adolescent in the principal’s office. He swallowed. “I want her to marry me,” he said firmly.
“Hmm.” Robin sipped gracefully from her cup. It looked exactly right in her fine-boned hand. Elegant. Sophisticated. Precious. “Have you considered the ramifications?”
He had done nothing but consider them. “I have. I am aware that the Council frowns on marriages between the Fae and hunters. But I hope we can overcome their objections. My family has had a summer home here on West Haven since the Haverstock Era. Our good citizenship cannot be disputed.”
“You obviously have never sat in on a Council meeting,” she responded dryly.
“You think they will forbid our marriage?” he asked.
“Let’s just say that I think it will be easier to obtain forgiveness rather than permission.”
“What do you mean?”
She told him.