"This is exquisite," she said, and again, Adaeus was curious. Conversation was apparently possible with her.
"What do you prefer to dine on?" he asked to see how she responded.
"Naturally, I prefer French," she said. "I know I should explore more widely, but I tend to stay with the traditional."
"Our palate runs more to the English," Adaeus said and Miss Samra watched him, quelling a grimace.
"I don't have a great deal of experience, I must confess."
"Then you will be enlightened." The roast beef arrived, so rare it graduated from pink to red at the very center of the meat. The mansion kitchen was well trained and knew his and the rest of the family's preferences. They preferred different flavors from the cream, butter and richness of French cooking, more spices, too.
Miss Samra ate and he could tell she enjoyed it, closing her eyes as the tender meat melted in her mouth. Was it true or was this a show she put on to please him? It was hard to tell what was real and what was a consequence of the potion working on her mind.
Tarquin watched her coldly, but Miss Samra didn't notice or didn't care.
"How long will our guest be staying?" Tarquin asked.
"It is hard to tell. It all depends on how quickly her body processes the potion. As a human, her constitution in weaker. Has there been any developments with the investigation?"
Tarquin watched the girl for a moment. "The medium was a wine bottle. I found it in her kitchen. By all accounts, she had drunk from it alone. There was no evidence of anyone else being there at the time."
Adaeus turned to Miss Samra. "Where did the bottle of wine come from?"
She looked up, confusion showing in her eyes. "What bottle?" She looked around the table.
"The bottle you had yesterday at home. Where did you get it?"
"My friend Michele left it for me at my door. He'd come by but I wasn't there."
"And who is this person Michele?"
"I've known him for years. He's my friend. We went to university together."
"What's his surname?" Tarquin cut in.
"Moran."
"And what does Mr. Moran do?"
"He's a graphic artist," she said, looking confused. "Why are we talking about Michele?"
"Just curious," Adaeus said dismissively.
"And he lives in Paris?"
"Yes, in Gringy."
"I will check him out," Tarquin said.
Adaeus nodded. This was not a person Adaeus was aware of being affiliated with the human administration. As a graphic artist, he could simply be a decoy, a means for making her accept the wine. It did show that whoever had done this, knew her friendships, which suggests someone who knew her, or someone who had taken the time to study her. Either way, this was premeditated.
As Adaeus watched, Miss Samra embraced the pleasure of the dessert, some concoction including cinnamon and apples.
* * *
Chapter 31:
* * *
Melisande followed Adaeus into the study after dinner, sitting down in the chair that had been indicated as hers. Adaeus sat down behind his desk, his beautiful form shown by the light of the fire which roared in the grate. Spotlights over the desk turned on, gently brightening the space. Her beautiful Adaeus was returning to work.
They didn’t actually know how old he was. He looked much younger, merely forty, with gray just starting to speckle his temples. He was utterly perfect, sharp jaw and fine cheekbones, a slim aristocratic nose. Lips she could spend hours staring at.
"You work too much," she said.
"You think so?" he said, leaning back in the leather chair, which creaked with the shifting weight. "I have an empire to run." In the back of her mind, she knew his operations extended much further than he ever admitted to them.
"It's not good for you to work so much."
"It is required, Miss Samra."
"Please call me Melisande."
Adaeus smiled. "I suppose from your perspective that seems appropriate."
She hated having to sit on this chair, so far away from him. Did he do anything other than work? It wasn't right. As she watched, he returned to work, his hand grabbing a fountain pen and his thumb pushing off the cap. His hands were firm and she shivered considering them on her skin.
The light rapping of rain started on the window, making her feel like she was cocooned inside this bubble of warmth and splendor that was Adaeus' study. There was only one truly splendorous thing in the room and it was the man sitting at the desk, bright and powerful. Melisande drew in a breath and let it go again. She was too far away from him. He was the fire, the source of light and warmth, and she was over here in the corner.
If there were some way she could lighten the burden for him, she would. He worked so hard. Everyone depended on him and he had no one—misunderstood. The lone guardsman who made sure everyone was safe. He really was trying to keep the peace between his people and hers—working relentlessly to ensure everyone coexisted smoothly, but the burden to himself was enormous. An accusation that it wasn't true voiced in the back of her mind, but it was drowned out by other voices.
"You should come with me to the opera," she said.
"Opera?"
"Or away. Let's go away, just the two of us. Anywhere. Maybe somewhere exotic." She rose out of her chair and took a few steps closer to him. Her wrists were still bandaged from where he had tended to her. The thought made her heart melt. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, just you and me in a strange city. It sounds wonderful."
"Is that your idea of wonderful, Melisande?" Her name dripped off his tongue like honey, sending a frisson of pleasure down her spine. Walking around the edge of the desk, she kneeled and crouched down on her lower legs, too afraid to approach completely for fear he'd tell her to return to her seat or worse, to leave. That could not happen. She needed to be in his presence. Her heart would break if she was turned away from his glorious warmth. He'd turned his chair toward her and was watching her. "And what would we do in this foreign place?"
"Explore," she said earnestly, shifting a little closer. And other things, intimate things. His eyes were dark and reflected the flickering lights of the fire, seemingly creating motion where there were none. She wanted to be closer, but was wary of the point where she would be too close and he would send her away.
"I hadn't known you were such an adventuress, Miss Samra."
"Melisande."
"Melisande," he said. Again a frisson of pleasure slunk down her spine. His voice had a unique timbre that shook her very being. She inched a little closer. He watched her, and there was nothing better in the whole world than his attention. "I think it's time to retire, Melisande." Hope flared in her. "Hopson will return you to the bedroom you were in."
"No," she said, her heart crashing. "I can't bear a cold night all alone. I can't bear it."
Adaeus smiled and she hoped he would change his mind. Why must he put her through these trials? Her love for him was complete. "I don't want to leave you."
"Do you believe yourself my protector?" he said with a raised eyebrow.
"No one would dare challenge you. You are too magnificent."
He laughed now, making his face softer. "If only others saw me the way you do," he said, still smiling. "Your perspective, Melisande, is quite unique."
She rose up on her knees, daring to place a hand on his knee.
"Time for you to retire, you need your rest, my dear." The endearment made her hope soar.
"Please let me stay with you. I would worry endlessly."
He considered her for a moment. "I am not used to having anything other than lone silence in my room, and that is how I prefer it."
She was dying to know what his inner sanctum was like. "At least let me see where you are. I will feel better if I knew where you are."
He considered her for a moment, his eyes traveling down to her wrists. "Fine, but then you return to your room and you stay there until morning."
Being away from him was a hor
rendous thought, but so was displeasing him. She would suffer, for it was what he wanted. She nodded, mirroring him as he stood. He walked past her and Melisande stood by, receiving his glorious scent in his wake. Her eyes closed as she drew it in, leather and whiskey, and pure male—Adaeus. Women must fall at his feet. Jealous rage coursed through her.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, standing by the door.
Should she lie? She didn't want to lie to him. Honesty was the only worthy pursuit here. "How others must adore you as well."
A slight smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. "Would that bother you?"
"Yes."
"You are jealous?" His eyes bored into hers and she was mesmerized by their beauty.
"Yes."
"I suspect no one adores me quite the way you do," he said and Melisande beamed with the affirmation. She was the one who loved him the most and he knew it. A bright smile broke across her lips.
Turning, he headed to the marble staircase, covered in the central walkway with a rich, red carpet. His steps were silent, a wisp of his hair floating with the movement and air. She followed, trying to find his wake again, where his scent seeped into her very being. He kept walking until he reached a set of doors—dark, mahogany. "You may never enter here without my express permission."
Hurt crept through her very soul. He was limiting her, but she could never defy him, even if she wanted to. "Come in," he said and opened the door. The room was large. Dark carpet covered the entire space. A fireplace was lit and the walls were dark wood. This was a masculine space. There was no softness, no femininity in here. On one level she was glad—she wanted to be the only woman in his life. The bed was black with four posts. That was where he slept, where he was the most open and intimate. Dark, erotic thoughts flowed through her mind. "Not for you," he said, close to her ear.
Walking into the space, he sat down in a chair, high-backed and brocaded. Everything in this room was rich and sumptuous, but closed off and secretive, just like the man. It only showed the surface of him and she wanted the go inside, as deep as she could get.
"Do you wish for something to drink?"
She nodded as a drink would serve to extend her stay with him. He rose and walked over to the bar in the corner, pouring her a drink, a quart in a crystal tumbler. His fingers touched hers and unrestrained heat flared up her hand. Touching him was electric, every part of her tightened. She wished the touch would continue, but he pulled his hand away and she looked down at the drink. It was special because it was his drink, served in a glass he gave her. She wished she could keep it and treasure it, but took a sip of the brown, burning liquid. "Please let me stay."
"No," he said and returned to the chair. He was still watching her.
"What are you thinking?"
"I want to sleep in your bed." If the statement shocked him, he didn't show it. He took another sip of his drink.
"Tell me about the man you went to the opera with," he said.
Melisande had to harness her thoughts. For a moment she couldn't remember. "Uhm, he… his name is Philipe. He is an accountant for the Ministry of Culture."
"Do you like him?" Adaeus extended his legs and crossed them onto a small footrest. Melisande's eyes followed the movement. He moved so smoothly, so beautifully. Did she like him, this Philipe? She tried to think, finding it hard to think about him. It was like there was a haze over him in her mind's eye.
"I can't quite recall," she said. "I have known him for some while, I think."
"Is he attractive?"
Was this a test of her loyalty? No one was as attractive as Adaeus was, surely he knew that? "In an objective sense, then yes."
"In an objective sense," Adaeus repeated. "What do you like about him?"
It was a difficult question. She could answer what she didn't like about him—he wasn't Adaeus. "He is kind. He is from a good family." It was all she could think of. Truly, nothing came to mind.
"Is that important to you?"
"I don't know," she answered honestly. Probably not. She had only been really interested in him because he'd shown an interest. She wasn't ugly, but she didn't have the most welcoming countenance. People saw her as cold and aloof. In some ways it was true; she didn't readily invite intimacy will colleagues and acquaintances. She didn't have many friends—had never needed them.
Adaeus inhaled and exhaled again. "Time for you to retire, Miss Samra."
"No," she pleaded, throwing another look at Adaeus' bed. That was where she wanted to be, not exiled into the cold darkness. "Please let me stay."
He rose and walked over to her, placing his large, warm palm on her upper arm. "Be a good girl, and return to your room," he said calmly as if talking to a child. With crushing disappointment she complied, turning to watch as he closed the door to his inner sanctum. She stood on the other side, in the darkness, hoping she would hear him, but the doors and the walls were too thick.
Chapter 32:
* * *
Melisande's delicate fingers picked up the puzzle piece, placing it on the small table next to her chair. He'd suggested it as a way of distracting her and she had allowed herself to be distracted. The light of the fire shone off her bare legs. Hopson had procured clothes for her, a skirt and a blouse. They had been in his study since dinner, her in her assigned seat, charged with completing the puzzle.
She looked over at him, a piece forgotten in her hand. She smiled. "Have you finished working?"
"No," he said. Her gaze turned longing and Adaeus returned his attention to the documents in front of him. Routine kept this manageable, but he'd had enough sitting at his desk for one day. "Actually, yes. I might go for a walk."
"May I join you?"
"You may," he said as he rose. She followed as he walked to the entrance, where Hopson appeared before long. Adaeus donned his long, black coat, and Hopson brought a cloak for Miss Samra. They wouldn't exactly blend in on the streets, but Adaeus couldn't bring himself to match the human fashions. It lacked a certain elegance.
The street was dark and slick with rain. Melisande's steps clicked on the cobblestones, her hand lying in the crook of his elbow. It had been a long time since he'd walked with a woman like this. Women were a complicated topic. The ones who sought to be near him did so when their ambition outweighed their wariness. Often they were even times when they were directed by their families, hoping to secure favor, elevation and status in demonic society.
Melisande wanted nothing but to be near him. There were no hidden agendas, pointed words dropping here and there trying to set up whatever scenario they were trying to enact. But she was a human and he normally saw the exclusion of human women as a source of pride. Mixing of the races wasn't something generally approved, although he knew many had human mistresses. Melisande would never agree to be a mistress, however. He knew that much about her.
"I like the rain," she said. "Officially I'm called a pluviophile. Everything feels so cozy when it's raining. Problems are kept at a distance and it's just the here and now."
This was not something his research of her had uncovered. She smiled brightly up at him, then put her cheek to his shoulder, her body soft against his.
"I like the privacy it affords me," he said in return. It was true. Humans tended to stay away in the rain, which meant he could clearly see an attacker coming. Would he defend her if one did, beyond the sheer benefit of keeping the opposition's chief negotiator alive? This potion made her so vulnerable. She would probably even try to defend him, which would most likely be a nuisance more than helpful.
They walked down to the Seine, which flowed black as ink. He stopped at the edge, a chain barrier keeping them from the actual edge. Spring was slowly creeping up, but not yet noticeable when night fell.
Melisande turned to him and picked up his gloved hand, kissing his knuckle. Her attention was inescapable, prying itself into his sensory being. Blinking slowly, she looked up at him like a lover, her eyes traveling to his lips. She wanted a kiss. Her skin was p
ale and perfect, ivory with the slightest pink tint on her cheeks.
"You know this is not really what you want," he said. "When things are back to normal, you will not appreciate anything you wish for right now."
"Yes, I will," she said adamantly, stepping a little closer, like a predator honing in on its prey. Adaeus exhaled and snorted slightly. Out of the two of them, the true predator wasn't the one doing the pushing. "I want you with everything in me. That will never change." Her hands placed gently at his sides. Rising up on her toes, she leaned in closer, slow enough that he could evade if he wanted to. A gentleman would, but Adaeus had never been one to concern himself over the interest of others to his own detriment. Everything he did served the family, with ruthless disregard to others. This didn't serve the family, but it served him—the sweet, gentle offer. She would yield so softly, quell the desire she was constantly coaxing.
"I'm afraid you've had the misfortune to be directed at someone who is ultimately self-serving," he said, looking down at her clear, eager eyes. "I serve as a poor guardian for your authentic inclinations."
"I only want you," she said, her hand clasping his coat.
"A false desire."
"Never."
Putting his hand along her jaw, he claimed the kiss she sought so eagerly. Her lips were soft and sweet, the front of her body pressing to his. An honorable man wouldn't do this, but this didn't fit into his code. It neither harmed nor served—but it was tempting.
Tentatively, her tongue sought entrance into his mouth and he relinquished. Everything was so sweet with her, simple exploration because he was the object of every one of her desires.
Gently, he forced the kiss to break and resumed walking. Her head returned to his shoulder. What responsibility did a predator have if the prey was inviting him in? Predators by their nature took advantage irrespective of how the opportunity was presented. Maybe not an advantage he'd targeted specifically, but now that it was offered, he found himself succumbing to it.
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