Chapter 11
“Attraction can strike at any moment.”
— A Seelie Guide to Matrimony
Anote arrived from Maddox this morning asking if I could meet him in the castle gardens. Apparently, he has some questions about the list I gave him yesterday. I’m not sure what there is to be confused about. Everything should’ve been self-explanatory.
Maybe the issue was with my handwriting. My penmanship had gotten quite sloppy by the end, which is entirely the wine’s fault. My mother would’ve been appalled if she’d seen it.
I venture through the castle gardens to find Maddox sitting on the back steps of the wagon he calls home, with Biscuits at his feet gnawing on a half-eaten boot like a dog with a bone.
Maddox’s pet chews louder than a grinder. He drools too, which doesn’t seem to worry my companion in the least, even when the goat lifts its head for a pat and dribbles all over his trousers.
When Maddox sees me, his face breaks into a smile, and he leaps to his feet like he’s been anxiously awaiting my arrival. I quickly tamp down the resulting butterflies; he’s only eager to win his fair Unseelie’s hand. That’s all. No sense getting all giddy over nothing.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. I had to wait for one of the public carriages.
” Most places in Rosehill are within walking distance of our cottage, so Father never saw the need to invest in one.
Called it a waste of money. To that, I say: try climbing the hill to the castle on foot.
That is a sure way to earn a few blisters on your heels and toes.
Maddox’s palm flies to his forehead. “I am sorry. I did not realize you had no mount. I should have come to you.”
“No, no. It feels good to get out of the house.” Especially with Cordelia in one of her infamous moods. She doesn’t just have a bee in her bonnet; she has the whole damn hive.
Our conversation this morning started with a string of questions about why Maddox was sending me notes, followed by an interrogation about why Nolan hasn’t shown his face in so long. Both topics I had no desire to discuss.
“Besides, my mother was wearing her favorite cornflower lace gown, and if she’d ripped it while fainting, she’d never forgive us.”
Although he nods, he doesn’t appear convinced.
No sense dwelling on it now. “Right. Your note said you had questions.”
“Wait right there.” He clambers up the steps to his wagon, reappearing a moment later lugging an ivory wingback chair with a half-rusted tin can clinging to the bottom corner. The door slams at his back as he descends the stairs once more and sets the chair beside me.
“You didn’t need to do that.” I didn’t plan on staying long enough to get comfortable, but since he went to all the trouble of bringing it out, I settle on the plush cushion.
“I do not want the grass to stain your lovely dress.” He says it so simply, so nonchalantly, as he plops back onto the wagon’s step.
He thinks my dress is lovely.
Am I that starved for compliments that a casual remark about my outfit would make my stomach flip? I really must get out more.
Perhaps I’ll visit the Black Rose later to find someone emotionally available who is willing to give me the praise I deserve. Then again, that would require acknowledging the fact that I am no longer part of a couple, which in turn would set Rosehill’s rumor mill ablaze.
I’m not in the mood to start any fires today.
A butterfly flits between us, its white-speckled wings quivering against the summer breeze. Maddox frowns, and I expect him to wave the insect away; instead, he holds out his hand, and it lands right on the tip of his finger.
When I was little, I used to try catching butterflies with a net but never succeeded. “I’ve never seen anyone able to do that.”
The butterfly’s antennae twitch as it crawls toward his knuckle. He turns his hand so carefully, letting the insect roam to its tiny heart’s content. “They think I am a bush.”
He might be green, but he definitely doesn’t look like a bush. Another one lands right on his head, followed by another on his knee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maddox as still.
Then the damn goat shudders, and they all take off at once, lifting into the sky like flakes of fluttering snow.
Who would’ve thought an Unseelie would be so at home in the middle of a garden? I can’t imagine Maddox anywhere else. If he marries his Unseelie, will they live here, or will he return to their lands across the canyon?
The thought of him going away makes me far sadder than it should.
I give myself a shake. No sense getting emotional over such a silly thing outside of my control. “So, what was wrong with the list? Did you have trouble reading my writing?”
The ends of his hair flutter like those butterfly wings when he shakes his head. “Your writing was not the problem. Your hands make beautiful letters.”
Another stomach flip. “What’s the matter, then?”
He takes out the list, unfolds the page, and scans the words as his brow slowly furrows. “Number three.” He taps the page. “Hold her hand. Why is this necessary?”
Is he serious? Has he never held a woman’s hand before? No wonder he’s not mated yet. This is probably the simplest task on the entire list.
“Do females find their hands heavy? Is that why some keep them in their pockets? I keep my flask in my pocket.”
“What? No! Look.” I reach for his free hand, taking it in mine. The rough callouses feel delicious against my skin. Heavens, do I love a man with calloused hands. Nolan’s hands were rough from his training regimen. There’s something so sensual about the way—
Nope. Not going down that route. I must stay the course and not get distracted by how large and rough his hands feel between mine.
“It’s about connection,” I say, lacing our fingers together.
“When a man holds your hand, it makes you feel safe and wanted. It’s a silent claim, letting everyone around know you’re together.
It’s comforting. A touch that doesn’t ask for more.
It just says, I’m here with you. Here for you. ”
So many touches feel like they’re only a precursor to the next one, which leads to the one after that.
When was the last time Nolan simply held my hand? I can’t even remember.
I drop Maddox’s hand and scrub my palm down my skirts.
“I will hold her hand,” Maddox says, his voice thick as he shifts on the step, the wood groaning beneath his weight.
Emotion lodges in my throat, and I have to clear it twice before speaking. Maybe I’m not as over this heartbreak as I previously thought. “Good. She will like it very much.”
Maddox’s goat lifts its head to stare at me with eyes so big, they look like they’re about to pop out of his skull.
He stumbles to his feet and then leaps toward me, all four spindly legs leaving the ground at once.
With a butt of his horns against my knee, he buries his head in the bottom of my skirts and—
Is he chewing on me?
“Biscuits, no.” The authority in Maddox’s tone snaps my spine straight. Who knew such a jovial person could sound so commanding? And why did that make my stomach flutter as well?
This is most inconvenient.
“We do not eat our guests,” he chides, tugging the goat back by its leather collar.
Biscuits blinks at him, then turns and does these silly little leap-kicks on his way to a bush instead.
Maddox appears too engrossed by the list in his large, calloused hands to notice my gawking.
Heavens above, am I actually attracted to Maddox Finch?
Surely not. It’s one thing to find him attractive, but another entirely to be attracted to him. I’m smarter than this; I will not fall for a man who is emotionally unavailable.
By the time he glances up, I’ve composed myself once more. “I need to ask about this one as well. Number eight.”
Eight? I could’ve sworn I only wrote seven items on the list. Perhaps I miscounted. Heaven knows there was enough alcohol in my system for that sort of mistake.
He drags his thick finger along the bottom of the page. “Make sure she finishes first.”
Oh no.
No. No. No.
Tell me I didn’t accidentally add one of Kerris’s ridiculous suggestions to the list I gave this man. The one about large hands would’ve been a hundred times more preferable to this one.
“Finishes what?” Maddox asks, his gaze imploring and head tilted, making his dark hair fall over his cheek. “Dinner? I am a very fast eater. What if she is very slow and I am very hungry?”
If only the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
“I think maybe you should ask Everett that question.” It is good advice but not the sort I had planned on handing out.
Maddox’s teeth scrape his lower lip. “The king is very busy with more important matters.”
That’s probably true. But how am I supposed to speak about something so intimate when he’s looking at me like that and my stomach won’t stop tripping and flipping and fluttering?
Come on, Nia. Get ahold of yourself.
We’re both adults, aren’t we? Mating is a natural act, nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll say it straight out, and then he can use the information how he pleases.
Or, more accurately, how his Unseelie woman pleases.
“It’s not about dinner, Maddox. It involves the act of mating,” I manage to say without bursting into flames. Barely. “When it’s . . . um . . . coming to a conclusion. When it finishes.”
I swear I can see the wheels of his mind turning and the exact moment when my words finally click.
His eyes widen. “You mean when the male spills his seed?”
Add that to the list of things I did not expect to hear Maddox Finch say today.
“Gryffin says to be sure not to spill inside the female unless you wish to become a father.”
It sounds like Gryffin is the one he should be speaking to about this. Not me.
Gripping my skirts, I force out a breath in an attempt to keep my response from giving away the tension coiling low in my belly.
If he can speak so plainly, then so can I. “Women can experience the same pleasure.” If I survive this conversation, I deserve extra dessert. “Have the women you’ve been with not mentioned this?”
The tips of his ears darken beneath his earrings, and he glances down at the grass beneath us, his sharp teeth dragging along his lower lip.
“Oh, yes. They have all spilled many seeds. I was only confused about the word you used. ‘Finish.’” He taps his temple with a quick nod.
“It did not translate into my own language.”
I don’t believe for a second that this is about the language barrier. He’s never had difficulty understanding me before.
There must be more to this story. “Maddox? Have you mated with anyone?”
His nod is more of a rapid bob of his head that makes Biscuits bolt into the boxwoods. “All the time. I do love mating. Sometimes I mate five times a day.”
Perhaps I should be offended by his choice to withhold the truth. Yet, for some reason, his inability to be even the least bit convincing makes him even more endearing.
What’s the point in saying that he’s as transparent as the air between us?
His inexperience is obviously a sore spot for him, and I would never push him to talk about any subject that makes him uncomfortable.
Although, I must admit that I’m a little shocked he hasn’t taken a lover.
Maddox slides his hands down his thighs, refusing to meet my gaze. I fold my hands in my lap to keep from reaching for him. A man who “mates five times a day” would need no comfort.
“Very impressive,” I say instead. “Your woman is sure to be very pleased when it is her turn to mate with you.”
His shoulders slump as he blows out a breath. “I do hope so.”
If he’s as devoted to her as he seems, he won’t have a problem making her happy. Making her smile or laugh.
I hope she does the same for him. That he’ll be happy with her.
A strange burning sensation spreads through my stomach. “Did you have any other questions?” Preferably ones that don’t involve the act of mating.
“Just one more. You say that I should give her gifts. Do you mean a gift of sustenance?”
According to the books on such matters, offering an unmated Unseelie food is the same as asking them to court you. If they reciprocate with a gift of their own, then you’re officially courting or engaged or whatever term they use for being together.
Seelie customs are very different, but I imagine any woman would be excited by a heartfelt gift.
“Not food—at least not until you’re certain she’s going to accept your proposal. Remember what I said the other day about coming on too strong?”
“You said I must pretend to care less.”
That wasn’t exactly what I meant. “You shouldn’t care less; you should just guard your feelings a little better. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is a sure way to have it ripped off.”
“Ah, but I do not wear sleeves.” He holds out his arms and turns them for full effect, even though it’s blatantly obvious that there is no shirt covering him—and have they always been so toned? Even the backs of his arms have muscles.
Stop staring, you devil.
He asked about gifts for his Unseelie woman.
Explain the gifts.
“‘Heart on your sleeve’ is just an expression. But we’re getting off topic.
Once you’re certain she returns your affections, you might give her something that lets her know you’re thinking of her when she’s not around.
Something that she likes.” I added this one when Kerris mentioned the flowers Everett gave her when they were courting.
“You don’t have to buy them, either. You could make them or find them. ”
He folds the list in half and then folds it again, pinching the creases between his fingers to flatten them. “Does your Nolan bring you gifts?”
“Yes. All the time.”
I don’t know why I say it. The words just pop out, like baby chicks from their eggs.
There’s still time to take it back, blame it on a slip of the tongue, but that would mean admitting that Nolan hasn’t given me a gift in years.
Which is completely fine. I don’t need a man to spend his money on me, but every so often, it would’ve been nice to know he was thinking of me when I wasn’t standing right in front of him.
Once, Nolan and I were walking by a field, and I remarked on how beautiful the flowers were. He said he didn’t understand the point of giving anyone flowers because flowers die.
Do you know what else died?
Our love.
If it was even love at all.
I bite my tongue and swallow the truth because it’s easier than admitting how disappointing the person who was supposed to be my person really was.
“What was your favorite gift?” Maddox asks.
Heavens, he looks so intrigued, and that makes this so much worse. He’s going through all this trouble to try to win this woman’s heart, and the man I was with for four years couldn’t even be bothered to rip a few flowers from the ground.
“Oh, I could hardly choose. Why don’t we go to town and see if there’s anything you think she’d like?” So you can stop looking at me like I have all the answers. Who even am I to give advice on love? I’m a bloody fraud.
“Right now?”
“Why not? I need to see Madame Ella to collect a new dress anyway. Let’s go.” Before I say something silly and out myself for the liar I am.