“Miss, if you’ll please wait in the sitting room, Mr. Stavish will be with you directly.” Mr. Tom gestured to the doorway.
“Mr. Stavish—”
“Damarion.” Ulric led me that way. “It’s lame to pick up a girl for a date in the hallway. He has to come to the door. That’s part of the whole process.”
“So he’s waiting out there on the sidewalk?”
“No.” He left me standing at one of the chairs, stepped around a random doily that Mr. Tom had clearly missed, and took a chair on the other side of a small table. He didn’t offer any more information.
“Okay, then.”
Mr. Tom entered with a tray holding two glasses of wine as I felt Damarion’s feet touch down on Ivy House’s property. Mr. Tom stopped, about-faced, and left the room with the tray.
“Wait, but…” It was useless calling after him.
“He’s an odd one, isn’t he?” Ulric whispered.
“You’re just now realizing that?”
Damarion used slow and purposeful steps up the walkway until he stopped at the front door. The knock was light and subtle, the knock of someone who’d clearly known I would feel him coming.
“That’s my cue.” I stood as Mr. Tom passed the sitting room, headed toward the front door. When he saw me, he stopped, back-pedaled, and pointed at me.
“You are to remain seated until I come for you.”
“This has gotten out of hand,” I muttered, doing as I was told. Only then did he continue to the door. “I’m a forty-year-old woman. The need for all the dramatics got old twenty years ago.”
Ulric whistled. “Jaded much?”
“I’m still newly divorced. Yes, jaded is a good term.”
He grimaced. “Probably should’ve given Damarion a heads-up.”
The door swung open, and I heard Mr. Tom’s grandiose tone but couldn’t make out his words.
“So…” Ulric rested an ankle over a knee and leaned back. “Why do you call him Mr. Tom, and the puca calls him Earl?”
They’d all apparently encountered pucas before, or at least knew of them. I still hadn’t had a spare moment to do any research on Niamh’s kind. Given I’d seen her in action, I had a good idea of what the description would say. I just wanted to see if being cranky and drinking like a fish were normal traits, or her specific flare.
“His name is actually Earl. When he met me, he…changed it—it’s a long story. Just roll with it. There is more weird to come.”
Mr. Tom filled the doorway, the wine gone and his posture indicating he was at his most pompous. “Miss Evens, if you please.” He put out his hand. “Your guest awaits.”
“Well…” I moved to stand but was beaten to it by Ulric, who then helped me up as though I were fragile. The last thing I needed was a younger guy, in his early thirties, helping me around like I was geriatric. “Thanks,” I murmured, hoping it was the dress and heels he was responding to instead of the age.
Once standing, I looked at my feet pointedly before putting out my hands. “Where’s my red carpet, Mr. Tom? All this hullabaloo and no red carpet?”
“Nice word choice.” Ulric laughed.
Mr. Tom sniffed. “I sure hope you liven up your jokes for tonight.” He led me out and then peeled away.
My chest tightened up, and I forgot to breathe for a moment.
Damarion stood just inside the door holding a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. A navy blazer showed off his broad shoulders and perfectly followed the contours of his body to his trim hips. A cream dress shirt peeked out, the first few buttons undone, hinting at the defined chest underneath it. Dark, distressed jeans hugged his legs, ending at his shiny black dress shoes. His tamed hair shone with product, perfectly framing his handsome face.
Upon seeing me, he took a hand from his pocket and offered a slight bow, his face tilting up to me as he straightened, his forehead lined and eyes a little squinted, and holy crap this guy was really, really attractive.
I blew out a low breath. Who needed a red carpet when you had this waiting for you? I’d take a pile of loose dirt or an obstacle course if this guy waited at the end, no problem.
“Hi,” I said, closing the distance.
He pushed forward the flowers, the gruffness of his—our—kind showing in the gesture. His wings draped down his back on the outside of the blazer, and I realized he’d had his jacket custom-made to work around his wings rather than wearing clothes over them. That was why it fit so perfectly, and probably the shirt beneath it as well.
How did he get them off, though?
Heat pooled in my core as I imagined it.
Down, girl, I thought.
“Thank you.” I took the flowers and did the customary smell and smile, pleased down to my toes to receive them. It had been a long time.