Page 43 of A Taste for the Peculiar

She turns her head to brush Pye’s thumb with her lips. It’s a soft touch, barely there, but she doesn’t look away. She forces her eyes to remain on his, refusing to be unnerved by the horns in her periphery. If Pye wants to “focus” on other things, then it’s only fair she reminds him that he will suffer right along with her.

His lashes flutter in surprise, a reaction so delicious she wants to bring it out of him again and again. If Pye didn’t expect her to rise to their challenge, they underestimated her. Perhaps she’s been underestimating herself.

She presses a lingering kiss to the pad of their thumb, and then, she steps away. “Sleep well…my lord.”

TWENTY-THREE

Avirin

Within a day, Avirin’s horns and eyes fade. It’s almost as if fretting over them was the very thing keeping them around, and when she wakes up without their extra weight, relief washes over her. For the first time since she arrived at Mothry Cottage, she enters the dining room in her morning gown.

Pye glances up once, and then again. “Lady Avirin!” They rise, as do the corners of their mouth, before they pull out the chair beside them. “What a pleasant surprise.”

She takes her seat. Pye does not comment on her appearance, but that alone makes her squirm with trepidation. “Are you disappointed the horns have receded?”

She expects they will say no, but now that she has spoken, the thought of that answer tightens uncomfortably in her chest. It shouldn’t bother her. She was the one who wanted the horns gone, but over the past few days, she’d started to wonder if she’d be stuck like that. If she would ever return to herself. If someone could find any beauty in —

A fork topples to the floor. Avirin hadn’t realized her fingers were rearranging the dishware without her knowledge. She begins to reach for it, but Pye curls their hand around hers. “I could never be disappointed at the sight of you,”

Avirin’s entire body flushes. She tries to tamp it down, but the heat seeps through her like the sun is shining directly through the roof. “I see you’ve been studying those poetry books.”

Pye picks up a napkin to dab at their smile.

Selbie enters with a tray of food and gapes at the sight of Avirin. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d run off!” She sits on Pye’s other side and gives Avirin a meaningful look. “I am very happy you are in high spirits, my lady.”

Sheepishly, Avirin ducks her head. “Thank you.”

Pye and Selbie fall into a discussion about the garden while Avirin basks in the pleasant conversation. She’s never seen household staff dine with a lord, but she’s also never seen a camaraderie like Pye and Selbie’s. It’s clear she works for him, but they interact more like friends than lord and servant, like their bond was formed long before Pye inherited his title.

“And what flowers do you like, Avirin?”

She blinks out of her musing. Pye and Selbie both watch her expectantly, and it takes a moment for her to consider the question. “I enjoy Columbine. Their spurs remind me of dragonflies or —”

Moths.

She stops herself, but Pye’s insufferable smile remains in place throughout the rest of breakfast.

Afterward, she and Pye take a stroll through the gardens. They’re more impressive up close. Boxwoods grow lush and full, plumes of greenery between sweet William and peonies. Syringa shiver amongst the evergreens while laburnum blossoms dance in the wind. For every plant that Avirin can name, there are two more she’s never seen.

“They’re so…unrestrained,” Avirin breathes before she considers how her words might sound. “What I mean to say is, everything grows so freely here. It looks less like a garden and more like we’ve stumbled upon a glorious patch of wildflowers. So natural and beautiful.”

“It’s Selbie’s true passion,” Pye explains. “She enjoys digging her hands in the dirt, shaping the bushes, watching seedlings sprout. I hate to tear her away from it to accompany me into the city, but I don’t have the funds to hire anyone else, and she’s a dab hand with horses. Not to mention the visits she enjoys with a particular dryad.”

Avirin’s brow lifts, but she can’t help the coy little smile that tickles her lips. Perhaps she should feel strange that she and Selbie have both been intimate with Cascade, but there’s a fellowship in it that Avirin isn’t sure how to explain. “I noticed the cottage seemed rather empty,” she admits. “And those in your employ seem more like companions than anything.”

“That is what I would like,” Pye sighs. “When I was granted this title, I hired as many other courtesans as I could. Anyone who wanted to pursue a life that they couldn’t before. But I could not take on many of them; the late Lord Kyrven did not manage his land or money well.”

“How do you mean?” Avirin asks. This isn’t the type of conversation she’s ever been privy to. Her father would have never discussed such intricacies with her, and the other titled men spoke like the words hung far above her head.

Pye ducks beneath a low branch. “He allowed the cider mill to fall into disrepair, and I admittedly don’t have the mind for organizing it. Keeping schedules, balancing rotations, tracking orders…it’s difficult for me. I much prefer to spend my time growing the fruits, breeding new strains, developing flavors. I’ve created a new one —” He cuts himself off with a wave of his hand. “It’s of no consequence.”

“I should like to hear it!”

A warm smile lounges across Pye’s face. “Then I will tell you all about it over dinner. But the point I was trying to make is that I want to take care of the tenants of this land. They have gone far too long with a careless lord soaking up their money. I don’t want to take from them. With this title thrust upon me, I want to be able to provide, but I must make money to do so.” He stares out across the countryside of rolling hills and copses. “The ton may not love me, but they have always loved my work — and not just in the pleasure houses. My cider sells out every night at the theater.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

“I can only produce small batches. At least until I get a better understanding of how the mill works, and I fear that will not come to fruition any time soon.” He runs fingers back through his hair, then settles his hands behind his back. “All this to say, my lady, I am sorry for dragging you into this charade just as it crumbles.”