Strike at Midnight(10)

“What?” she asked. She was trying not to laugh and I wanted to kill her.

“He was a puppy dog. Playing fetch all the time.”

“Fetch?”

“Drinks. He got me a drink, then another when I thrust my glass at him as the duke arrived. He probably doesn’t understand how to use the word ‘no.’ He was so eager to please me. Idiot.”

“You really do like him,” she said, and then she wisely moved out of the path of my fist. She jumped off the bed and put my nail potion back. “That’s a first.”

“I date,” I snapped.

“You screw. That’s all you do, to scratch an itch. You don’t date. Or rarely let anything move on from the first one. This is the first time you’ve gone all gaga when talking about a guy.”

“I insulted him,” I said with exasperation. “How the hell is that going all gaga over a guy?”

“Duh,” she said, putting her hands out as if to try and prove a point. “You danced with him, you let him fetch your drinks, and you ran when he tried to rescue you so you could protect him. You’re in love, Rell.”

“I’m going to hurt you.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Go ahead, but you’ve fallen for a guy at a ball.” She grinned again. “Who would have thought it?”

My windup clock went sailing across the room in her direction.

“Slippery bastard fish,” I shouted as she ducked out of the way.

“Cupid’s bitch!” she shouted back from the hallway between our bedrooms.

“Ass,” I said under my breath, and I dared to look towards the window where the sun was shining in. I couldn’t see what time it was, as my clock was now halfway across the room, but I betted it was nearing the time when I had to go meet with Sir Raymond.

A row of small cups stared back at me from my bedside table and I added the one I was holding to it. Household tasks weren’t really a priority for me anymore, but it was getting close to the time when it would be a necessity. Fuck.

An image of Lemonade Guy’s face flashed in my head as I stretched out the tiredness, and it pushed me over the edge.

“Oh, go away,” I said to myself before stomping off to get ready for Sir Raymond. This was going to be one hell of a long day.

I could just tell.





CHAPTER FOUR

Show me the Money





Sir Raymond was waiting for me at the Inn of the Briar Rose.

It was a classy place for a traveling inn, and it was more high-end with it being about half a mile out from Lower City, where I lived. Many people of the nobility—like Sir Raymond—would choose this as a neutral meeting ground because of its reputation. It also helped that the food was second to none.

Rumors were that the owner, Briar Rose herself, was adept at using potions. But that was just a rumor. The MLO may not want people using anything that couldn’t be branded and put into a bottle, but that didn’t necessarily stop people from mixing their own potions together in their own homes for personal use. There was no law against that per se, but it was a gray area, so it wasn’t something that someone with an establishment tended to advertise if they didn’t want to be audited by the MLO. To me, it was irrelevant. If the good-tasting food was the result of either a potion or herbs and spices, it didn’t matter to me. As long as the food continued to taste like rainbows on a sunny day, then I was one happy woman.

The mahogany door at the inn’s entrance hadn’t been bombarded with etched graffiti like I was used to. It was a place that was suitable enough to meet clients here, and I had done so a few times in the past.

The signage of the Briar Rose had been carved out of wood and painted with the colors deep maroon and gold. I knew from experience that the two shades would continue into the inn and throughout the few rooms it had for overnight stayers.

It was a place that made you feel instantly at home, and the light chatter that met me as I walked through the doors was evidence of that. It was homely with an elegant undertone as if a duchess had pulled you in from a hard storm and offered you tea.

Vines and roses had been etched into the wooden beams and columns that held the place together, and the wall tapestries and crockery played host to a similar theme throughout the place. The seating was robust and looked expensive, and chairs and tables were scattered around the floor in such a way that gave the patrons enough privacy while making use of the large space. I liked it here, and their ale was strong enough to sink a ship.

Sir Raymond waved to me from a table in the corner of the room and I made my way over to him. A mixed reaction of interest and disgust followed me as I passed by the engaged tables, and I stared right back. People didn’t take lightly to women who preferred tunics and breeches to hindering gowns—or women who preferred to wear their hair pink—but I didn’t really give a shit.

Sir Raymond smiled at me and waited for me to take the seat opposite him. The red velvet cushions were so comfortable that they practically cupped my ass, and my posture behaved itself as I displayed a few good manners for Sir Raymond’s benefit.

“Thank you so much for coming, Miss Rosewood.”

Sir Raymond appeared to be a kind man with graying hair and a sweet countenance. He was sitting on his seat as if waiting to be called up for duty, with his Knight of Arms crest displayed grandly on his clothing. Yet he made me feel completely comfortable in his presence.