Page 49 of Thorns & Fire
No.This flirting couldn’t continue.They were not lovers.They were not friends.Not after what he’d said to her in the gardens.
‘There is no ‘always’ for people like us.’
As devastating as she found him, as much as he affected her physically, she couldn’t allow this.Armed with a beautiful gown and the title of the book he’d kept hidden, Wren steeled herself against his inquisitive gaze.
She took her cloak of black velvet off the hook and made for the door.‘Let’s get this over with.’
Kipp and Dessa were waiting in the hall, dressed in similar finery, though looking significantly more cheerful.
Wren forced a smile to her lips as she nudged Dessa.‘You really do look beautiful,’ she told her, because it was the truth.Her friend was utterly radiant with her voluminous skirts and blood-red lips.
Dessa gave a wicked grin as they followed Kipp down the back stairs and into an alley.‘A certain warrior can’t keep his eyes off you.’
‘Listen up, ladies,’ Kipp said, drawing them into a huddle.‘When we leave here, we assume our pseudonyms.Wren, Torj – you are a wealthy, happily married couple from Aveum: Lord and Lady Hargrave.You are my honoured guests for the evening.Dessa, you were going to play the part of my sister, but I realize you can’t keep your hands off me, so you’ll be my intended bride from Tver, the Lady Kingsley.We’ll be attending one of the most notable balls of the season, hosted by one of Harenth’s most prestigious families.Honestly, I don’t know how you would have managed this without my help.’
‘Just fine,’ the Warsword grumbled.‘I assume you can create enough of a distraction for Embervale and me to slip away and search for any evidence leading back to Drevenor?’
Kipp snorted.‘Have you met me?’
‘Why us?’Wren asked.‘Why not Dessa—’
‘Because,’ Torj growled, ‘you and I can play the part of the couple seeking a quiet reprieve, should we be questioned.’
‘That’s one word for it,’ Dessa muttered, and Kipp barked a laugh.
‘And you?’Wren asked her friend with a glare.‘Who are you meant to be?’
‘Who do you think?’Kipp gave her an incredulous look as an ornate carriage pulled up at the end of the alley.‘I’m Kristopher fucking Snowden.’
‘Furies save us all,’ Torj muttered, striding towards the carriage.
The ride to the estate was short, but Kipp insisted that no nobles of their supposed standing would be caught dead wandering the streets in all their finery.At least the carriage is large enough that we’re not on top of one another, Wren thought as it drew to a halt outside a grand manor house.But the musing conjured an image of herself and the Bear Slayer in that very position, and she had to borrow Dessa’s fan.
Torj was the first to leave the carriage.With his back to her, Wren was allowed an unobserved moment to admire the way his black cape hung from his shoulders.The rich fabric swirled around him as he moved, so different from the practical, mud-stained cloak she was used to.Despite the noble trappings, she could still see the Warsword in him: the alertness of his stance, the subtle scanning of the entryway for threats, the power held in check beneath the fine fabrics.
It was a strange duality – the fierce protector and the handsome nobleman – and it heated her blood like nothing else.
Which was why when he turned and offered her his hand, she took it without thinking, his fingers warm around hers.As soon as her feet were on solid ground and she was sure she wasn’t about to trip over her skirts, she snatched her hand back.
‘Happilymarried couple,’ Kipp reminded her, as he made for the grand stone steps leading into a brightly lit foyer.‘You’re to dance, be merry while Dessa and I search the lower floors, then we’ll swap and cause a diversion for you.’
Wren could already hear the music within – the soft melody of a lute, several fiddles accompanying in harmony.A strong hand slid around her waist, drawing her close as they headed into a crowd of nobility.Fingers unconsciously flexed across her hip, as though desperate to explore more of her.
‘What are you doing?’she hissed at Torj, suddenly short of breath.
He didn’t remove his hand.Instead, his thumb stroked over hergown deliberately, sending a shiver down her spine.It felt like forever since she’d been touched like this.Her body betrayed her, yearning for contact despite her rage.
And then, he leaned in.
‘If you were my wife,’ Torj said, his voice low and rough, ‘I wouldn’t let you go.So that’s what I’m doing.’
She was speechless.His words seared into her like a brand, each syllable igniting a trail of fire across her skin.A maelstrom of desire surged through her veins, leaving her breathless and aching.He held her pressed to his side and she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, the subtle touches sending sparks of awareness through her.
His familiar scent wrapped around her, and Wren let herself breathe it in, a delicious form of torture as they moved through the crowded foyer.Servants scurried about taking cloaks, and she found her shoulders bare.
Several eyes latched onto her as soon as her cloak was swept away by an attendant, scanning the opulent choker at her throat and the tops of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath.Wren didn’t care for their staring, but there was no denying that a certain kind of power was now in her grasp.She watched as a young nobleman started and stopped in her direction several times—
Soft lips pressed against her neck, right over her fluttering pulse.
