thigh. “I’m black and blue. He only let me go when I pleaded starvation. Want to break for lunch?” Her gaze lit upon the desk cluttered with papers, the brand-new ledger open at a pristine page. “Ah,” she said. “I see Erik delivered the Opera’s accounts.”
“No, he didn’t.” Where was the receipt that matched this invoice? Paint, timber, canvas. Must be for scenery. “He sent the oddest child. With an offworld accent and a foul mouth.” Oh, there it was! Pouncing, Prue unpeeled the page from its neighbor. She wrinkled her nose. Someone appeared to have used it for a tablecloth.
Rose said dryly, “At least he succeeded in getting your attention.”
“What?” Prue’s head jerked up. “Oh, love, I’m sorry. I’ve nearly finished this pile. Can you wait another five minutes?”
Rose gave a wry grin. “Never mind. I’ll nip down to the kitchen for a tray if you promise to eat with me when I get back.”
“Of course,” said Prue absently. “Thanks.” For the Sister’s sake, was that a four or a seven? She held the document up to the light, squinting.
She barely heard Rose’s chuckle, or her quiet curse as she rose and limped gracefully to the door.
Prue furrowed her brow, concentrating fiercely. Releasing a gusty sigh, she massaged the back of her neck with her non-inky hand. One more column of figures to total.
A man cleared his throat.
“Sweet Sister!” Prue lifted her head so fast, it spun. Erik was propped up against the door, watching. “What are you doing here?” Though why she was foolish enough to ask she didn’t know. The gods had created Erik the Golden for the sole purpose of tormenting her.
All sweet reason, he nodded at the heavily laden tray he carried. “I ran into Mistress Rose on her way to the kitchen.”
Prue bet he had. Every dish was piled high. Leaning back in the chair, she raised her brows. “I’m not that greedy, Master Thorensen. There’s enough there for a family of six.”
Erik opened his eyes wide. “Hmm. So there is.” He paused for a single beat. Then another.
Perfect timing, she couldn’t fault it.
“A lusty appetite—that’s what you need.” His eyes danced. “For lunch, that is.” Grinning like a boy, he heeled the door shut behind him. “And I’m your man.”
9
“No,” Prue meant to say, but what came out was an ungracious, “If you wish.” To the seven hells with ingrained courtesy and all the ridiculous habits that went with it.
Erik favored her with another sunny smile. “Why, thank you, Mistress Prue. I do wish.”
He strode past her and into the sitting room. By the time she caught up with him, he’d unloaded a delicate tisane pot and cups on the low table. Rose kept that set for only the most exalted clients. Prue gritted her teeth. Her so-called friend would be smiling with glee, undoubtedly surrounded by reliable witnesses. Boiling in oil was too slow.
Prue watched Erik lay out the dishes one by one. This was a gourmet picnic, everything of the very finest, nothing like the mundane lunch she and Rose would have shared. There were small, savory quiches, golden three-cornered spicepuffs, a plate of Katrin’s exquisite pastries, including a couple of individual curdle pies made to Meg’s recipe and piped with meanders of clotted cream. Even a bowl of summer fruits on ice, manda segments bursting with juice and a selection of fat, ripe berries, ranging from purple to crimson to blush pink, all dusted with powdered sugar.
“There.” Carefully, Erik placed a crystal bud vase in the center of the arrangement. It contained a single perfect dark rose, the satiny, near-black petals half-open.
Prue regarded it with misgiving. The Garden of Nocturnal Delights was a small, self-contained world, worse than a village for gossip. The rumor mill would have her bedded and Bonded with the singer before he’d brushed the crumbs from his stubborn chin.
Gods, what would Katrin be thinking?
She hadn’t realized her eyes
“No, he didn’t.” Where was the receipt that matched this invoice? Paint, timber, canvas. Must be for scenery. “He sent the oddest child. With an offworld accent and a foul mouth.” Oh, there it was! Pouncing, Prue unpeeled the page from its neighbor. She wrinkled her nose. Someone appeared to have used it for a tablecloth.
Rose said dryly, “At least he succeeded in getting your attention.”
“What?” Prue’s head jerked up. “Oh, love, I’m sorry. I’ve nearly finished this pile. Can you wait another five minutes?”
Rose gave a wry grin. “Never mind. I’ll nip down to the kitchen for a tray if you promise to eat with me when I get back.”
“Of course,” said Prue absently. “Thanks.” For the Sister’s sake, was that a four or a seven? She held the document up to the light, squinting.
She barely heard Rose’s chuckle, or her quiet curse as she rose and limped gracefully to the door.
Prue furrowed her brow, concentrating fiercely. Releasing a gusty sigh, she massaged the back of her neck with her non-inky hand. One more column of figures to total.
A man cleared his throat.
“Sweet Sister!” Prue lifted her head so fast, it spun. Erik was propped up against the door, watching. “What are you doing here?” Though why she was foolish enough to ask she didn’t know. The gods had created Erik the Golden for the sole purpose of tormenting her.
All sweet reason, he nodded at the heavily laden tray he carried. “I ran into Mistress Rose on her way to the kitchen.”
Prue bet he had. Every dish was piled high. Leaning back in the chair, she raised her brows. “I’m not that greedy, Master Thorensen. There’s enough there for a family of six.”
Erik opened his eyes wide. “Hmm. So there is.” He paused for a single beat. Then another.
Perfect timing, she couldn’t fault it.
“A lusty appetite—that’s what you need.” His eyes danced. “For lunch, that is.” Grinning like a boy, he heeled the door shut behind him. “And I’m your man.”
9
“No,” Prue meant to say, but what came out was an ungracious, “If you wish.” To the seven hells with ingrained courtesy and all the ridiculous habits that went with it.
Erik favored her with another sunny smile. “Why, thank you, Mistress Prue. I do wish.”
He strode past her and into the sitting room. By the time she caught up with him, he’d unloaded a delicate tisane pot and cups on the low table. Rose kept that set for only the most exalted clients. Prue gritted her teeth. Her so-called friend would be smiling with glee, undoubtedly surrounded by reliable witnesses. Boiling in oil was too slow.
Prue watched Erik lay out the dishes one by one. This was a gourmet picnic, everything of the very finest, nothing like the mundane lunch she and Rose would have shared. There were small, savory quiches, golden three-cornered spicepuffs, a plate of Katrin’s exquisite pastries, including a couple of individual curdle pies made to Meg’s recipe and piped with meanders of clotted cream. Even a bowl of summer fruits on ice, manda segments bursting with juice and a selection of fat, ripe berries, ranging from purple to crimson to blush pink, all dusted with powdered sugar.
“There.” Carefully, Erik placed a crystal bud vase in the center of the arrangement. It contained a single perfect dark rose, the satiny, near-black petals half-open.
Prue regarded it with misgiving. The Garden of Nocturnal Delights was a small, self-contained world, worse than a village for gossip. The rumor mill would have her bedded and Bonded with the singer before he’d brushed the crumbs from his stubborn chin.
Gods, what would Katrin be thinking?
She hadn’t realized her eyes
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