Page 59 of My Fae Lady

“Please don’t,” Giselle pleaded softly. “At some point I’d like to give him a more thorough talking to, but not today. He’s overstayed his welcome for sure.”

“By several years,” I added.

House pulled up the front door and flung it open. The legs of the sofa came alive next, and House trotted His Grace toward the door before flinging him out of it.

I chuckled. Finally, I’d been given the chance to put out a Barton intruder. It felt good.

But a whimper caught my ear. I turned to find my bride hiding her eyes from me in her hands.

I ran my thumb over her cheek, swiping away a tear. “I dislike it when you cry. Your sadness claws at my heart like a wolverine has gotten loose in there. I’d rather have my wings torn off all over again than see you brought to tears.”

She sniffled. “I can’t help it . . . You’re the lord of the house. I declared it so in all that panic. I suppose you could order me and every other Barton intruder out of it now. You win, Sylvan Rook. Your manor is yours once more.”

I cupped her cheek in my palm. “House,” I said softly, “your lady needs a handkerchief.”

Giselle coughed out a chortle that was more sob than laugh as the manor produced a handkerchief for its second owner. I felt the magic surge again, not just through me but through us, joining us together.

She took it in hand and dabbed at her nose. “But you won. You had exactly what you wanted. You’re a fool of a man.”

“A fool in love,” I said, and the words felt so right rolling off my tongue. “Helplessly. Deeply. Foolishly lost in love with you and that generous heart of yours.”

She smiled, and her eyes went lavender. Not the color of her thirst, I realized. Violet showcased her passion, but lavender was her heart.

Twenty-Three

Giselle

⊱❀⊰

“You love me?” Fresh tears streamed down my cheeks.

Sylvan plucked another handkerchief from the air and dabbed at my face in desperation. “Of course I love you, Giselle—though I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud if I had realized it would cause more tears. Why are you still crying?”

“I’m just so happy. I never expected to have this.” I gestured at Sylvan, the house, everything. “I hadn’t even let myself admit I wanted it.”

He reared back. “Happiness makes you cry?”

I chuckled, the sound still a little wet, but full of joy. “Only sometimes. Only when it is too much to keep inside.” And because it was too much to keep inside, I threw my arms around my husband. “I love you too, you know. Every feral inch of you.”

“I don’t know, cupcake, I think you might have tamed me.”

Running a hand down his arm, then lifting his fingers up, I smirked. “That would be a shame.” I tapped one nail, and it lengthened into a talon. “I do so like you a little wild.”

Sylvan’s eyes darkened. He traced his clawed finger over my lower lip. “Then I’ll remain a little wild.”

I shivered, and neither of us had to ask House for anything. The room shifted, and a doorway appeared next to us, our bedroom on the other side of the threshold. Before I could take a step toward it, Sylvan swept me into his arms and carried me cradled against his chest.

I trailed kisses over his throat. “Do you think House will always be this enthusiastic about getting us to bed?”

“I hope so.” He lowered me onto the bed. “For I will never tire of it.” He brushed a lock of hair out of my face, the smooth coolness of his talon making me shiver.

Finally, I could admit that there was no fear at all in my reaction. I grabbed his hand, twisting it this way and that as I studied his claws. “Did you know that in some of the books I’ve read, the lover literally rips the lady’s bodice in the heat of passion? I’ve always rolled my eyes, as so many layers of fabric are not so easily torn, and even if they did tear, how much would they dig into the lady as they are pulled at and how uncomfortable must the whole situation be?”

Sylvan smiled indulgently at me. “Yes, I imagine the humans and Seelie featured in your books would have difficulty with such a thing.”

I tapped one hard talon. “But with your claws, ripping a bodice would be quite easy, wouldn’t it?”

He smoothed the hand I wasn’t inspecting over my hip, then over my stomach. He pinched the fabric there and tugged lightly. “Are you saying you want me to rip your clothes off, cupcake?”