Page 66 of Noble Charms

He didn't say that there was no such thing, because he knew she'd laugh again, and he didn't like the sound.

He was being mean. To apologize—not that she even understood—Noble leaned in to place a kiss upon her cheek.

Terra smiled happily. “You know, I expected you to be warm. That’s what they always say about the St. Clairs.”

Noble pretended to not know. “What do they say?”

Her hand slid up his arm. “That your lot is especially warm. And, well, you’re warm, but I suppose I thought you’d be…hot to the touch.”

Noble looked at where her hand lingered upon him and wondered. He was always warm. It was a remark everyone made when they embraced—even if he simply shook someone’s hand. But he supposed he hadn’t been quite as hot as usual in recent days. Never before had his Sun God gifts waned in the winter, but he was getting older. He asked, “Have I disappointed you?”

“No, but if you want to make it up to me anyway…” She gave him a charming wink. “Flattery works every time.”

He glanced down at her floor-length black velvet gown and said, “You look nice tonight.”

Terra blinked at him. Her eyes were green. He tried to make himself appreciate the color. Rich and cool-toned and rare. Any man would be lucky to have such beautiful eyes gaze upon him like this. “If you like this,” she said, and leaned in to whisper, “You should see what's going on underneath.”

Noble did like panties. He loved them, in fact. Objectively, using every facet of his rational mind, he reasoned: if he'd ended up with Aria, he wouldn't get to press his fingers against the moist lace or satin between a woman's legs after she'd been thoroughly teased all night. That was one of his favorite things. Noble let a smile pull at his face. “Would you like to show me?”

Terra placed her half-drunk glass of wine on another waiter's passing tray, and tugged Noble's hand in the direction of the bathrooms across the floor.

A series of gasps and scattered applause made them pause halfway. Noble, taller than most of the crowd, peered over to the commotion and was surprised to see Romy. Wait—not just Romy.

Kneeling before her, holding a small wooden box, was Morgan. Proposing.

“Oh, wow,” said Terra, releasing Noble's hand to clap with the rest of the crowd as Romy held out her hand. Morgan slid the ring onto her finger, and she jumped into his arms, kissing him as they crashed to the floor. The clapping continued, and laughter filled the air. “By the moon, how sweet.”

Morgan smiled, and Romy did too, and Noble had no doubt that it was true love between them both. You just know, Morgan said of her.

Terra reached for Noble's hand again, and wound their fingers together. She gave him another suggestive smile and tilted her head towards the toilets again. “If you do half of what Calinda shared, I'll be the one to propose to you.”

Noble smiled because he knew that he should. “You really believed her, huh.” But he wasn’t sure he would be able to deliver anyway: if his innate heat was missing, would his stamina have gone with it?

“You're modest for a royal,” Terra leaned close when Noble had not budged. “Really. You seem like a dream.” She tilted her head in thought. “Can I ask how long you plan to wait before you propose to the person you're courting? Not—” she giggled, “Not that I expect you to propose any time soon or—goodness. It's only our second outing. I've just wondered what men think about these things.”

Noble said, “Morgan's only known Romy for three weeks.”

“Who…?”

Noble looked over to the happy couple, now standing, adjusting their clothes, and laughing in joy. “Morgan and Romy.”

“Whirlwind romance, it would seem. A bit fast, though, don't you think?”

“Better that than ten years,” said Noble, mostly to himself. But Terra hugged his arm more tightly and laughed yet again. But it was no joke. “Terra, I have to apologize. I do not mean to see you again after this night.”

When her pretty green eyes flashed in confusion, he ducked his head in apology.

“Let me get you a carriage home. Again.”

Noble's mother finally wrote him another letter—the second one she'd sent since he'd been removed as earl. He’d crawled into his bed at the pitifully early hour of eight, reading the missive for a second time, and feeling the gravity of their world tugging him down, heavier with each passing word.

Should you choose to stay with His Majesty King Agolde during Winterend, I've a lovely young woman that you may reconnect with at his Winterend Gala. Surely you recall the Whiteheads? Duke Whitehead's daughter, Eve, will make some old woman a happy mother-in-law indeed. The Agolde Estate is beautiful at Winterend. Will you consider staying?

Please write soon with your intentions.

All my love, and your father's,

Marie