Page 49 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Just working on a present for a friend.” Malik looped his arm through hers and turned the opera house owner back toward the door.

“For me?” Wynni batted her eyelashes at him.

Malik chuckled. “It’s a secret. Though I believe you already have more of Bronwyn’s work than anyone else.”

Wynni gave a boisterous laugh. “That’s true.” She turned to Bronwyn at the threshold. “You know where to find us if you change your mind.”

And with that, she shut the door, leaving the room too quiet for all the thoughts racing through Bronwyn’s head.

She sank onto her stool and eyed the bag of pastries, but she couldn’t summon enthusiasm even for them.

Malik was jealous of Lord Griffith. He might have kissed her neck.

What in the name of the Goddess was she supposed to make of that?

Chapter 20

Malik

WhenLadySiâninvitedMalik to attend the party at Lord Griffith’s manor with her, he jumped at it for all the wrong reasons.

Oh, he told himself it was an excellent opportunity to spend more time around a few potential suspects and to see how the experiment of Bronwyn’s painting worked out. But really, he knew the true reason for his anticipation was the thought of seeing her again.

He’d kept himself away the last few days. He had needed that time to collect himself. A few minutes alone with her and he’d nearly destroyed months of work, days of agony in keeping his distance and pretending his interests lay elsewhere.

Damn it all, he’d become weak. The moment she’d taken a bite of that jam-filled pastry and moaned in delight, his cock had gone hard as a rock in his breeches. How she hadn’t noticed, he still wasn’t sure. And when some of the jam had clung to the curve of her lip? Well, who could resist sampling that?

And then she had to go and bring up Lord Griffith—

The carriage jolted over a bump in the road, and Lady Siân pressed into his side.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” She eased herself off him but stayed much closer than before, their shoulders nearly touching. “This ride has been so unusually bumpy.”

It had been rather tame, actually, but he wasn’t surprised that she took advantage of each little jostle to get nearer to him. The tactic would work on most men. In fact, her pleasing face and family name would be enough to win over most. It may even have worked on him if his heart wasn’t already elsewhere.

“You could give His Highness more space,” her brother said from the opposite bench. Though the man was never the exuberant sort, he seemed more dour than usual this evening.

“Oh, oh, yes, of course.” Siân slid to the side.

Finally, Malik could breathe again. He needed to get his wits about him or it was bound to be a long night, and they hadn’t even arrived at Lord Griffith’s manor. Already, with his thoughts back on that day in the opera house, he’d accidentally committed to some social event at the Yarwood home—he’d casually replied “yes” after completely missing the question.

Mr. Yarwood stared out the window in apparent boredom as his sister began talking once more. She hadn’t been near this expressive when Malik had first met her at the royal wedding. Had he known how she’d bloom around him, he might have chosen someone else for this ruse. The guilt of the deception was beginning to gnaw at him like a stubborn rat at a cord.

She touched his arm. “Malik?”

He pulled away from the touch without thinking. Damn it all, he shouldn’t have given her permission to use that name. Another slip on his part. Why couldn’t he simply have left her with Alastair? He hated that name, but it would be better than the familiar one she now found any reason to use.

“Mm?” He grinned, trying to cover up his reaction and the fact that he clearly had not been listening to her again.

“I asked if you think we have cause to worry tonight.” She blinked up at him dolefully. “We have had such unfortunate luck of late.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Malik replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Why would they bother with a private party?”

“You never know.” Mr. Yarwood tore his gaze from the passing view of the brightly lit streets of the upper end, with their gas lamps and wrought iron gates leading to the various manors. “The accidents do seem to follow His Highness these days.”

It was rare that Malik wanted to squirm under someone’s gaze, but the pointed stare of the young lord—along with his words—had that effect. Malik had been present for the most recent incidents, there was no mistake about that.

“What are you implying, Rees?” Malik asked. That he was as much a target as the royal couple? Probably.

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