Page 150 of Bitten & Burned
I groaned into the mattress.
“No. I can’t really hide from this. I wanted to, but… I’m not going to be able to.”
Anton hesitated. “Is your father… a strict man?”
“No,” I said. “He’s just… a disappointed man.”
“Ah,” he said, like that explained everything. “What’s he disappointed in? Your love life? Career? Lack of children?”
“Career.”
“You work for one of the most prestigious museums in Verdune.”
“Yes, and he wanted me to take over the family business.”
Anton paused. “Oh, right. He’sthatAmbrose Marlowe.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
Anton’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Want me to let Vael in, or let him suffer a little?”
“Let him suffer,” I said. “Also, I need clothes. Make sure my father isn’t with him.”
Anton moved with purpose. He didn’t bother with a shirt, but he did pull on the trousers he’d left on the floor.
He opened the door just enough to reveal himself and leaned against the frame, body relaxed, tone anything but.
“Good morning, Mr. Vexley. To what do I owe the glorious honor of being rudely awakened mere hours after finally having gone to bed?”
“Is Rowena with you?” Vael asked. His voice had that brittle edge it got when he hadn’t slept yet and was barely holding it together.
“She is, but she’s… indisposed at the moment,” Anton replied, glancing over his shoulder at me with a slow, warm smirk. “Would you like to come in anyway?”
“No need,” Vael said. “I just… wanted to give you these. I assumed she might need clean clothes.”
A pause as the bundle changed hands.
“Did you pick these out yourself?” Anton asked, voice all sugar and sharpness.
“If it’s wrong,” Vael said tightly, “at least she’s not traipsing through the manor nude like some forest nymph…” He paused. Then, softer: “Her father’s in the study. He’s impatient to see her. Worried. Not angry.”
Anton didn’t answer right away.
Then: “I’ll let her know.”
The door closed.
“The concierge has left the lady’s clothing…” Anton announced, smirking.
“The lady?” I asked, raising a brow.
He gave a lazy shrug. “After what we did on the floor? Yes. The lady.Ma dame, mon amour…ma p’tite chou.”
“You have got to stop with the cabbage,” I said, laughing despite myself.
“It’s diminutive,” he said, entirely too pleased. “Mylittlecabbage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Give your little cabbage her clothing.”
