I could think of that might make you want to hide under a hood. Not because there’s anything wrong with it,” he went on, raising his voice over Lord Fiora’s angry protests, “but because you seem to think I’d think there was.” He stopped, a little lost. “Right. That’s what you think. But I don’t think that. Oh, buggering hell.”
One corner of that perfect mouth twitched, just a little. “You sound like an idiot.”
“Probably because I am one,” Deven said. “Seriously. Ask my aunt. Or my uncle. Or anyone who knows me. Look, I was just trying to say that — you aren’t human. So why would anyone be surprised that you look like a dragon? What the hell’s wrong with looking like a dragon? Who’s to say being pink or brown is any better than being light blue? Or lavender. You turn lavender when you’re flushed.”
“I know,” Lord Fiora said, as his cheeks gave a demonstration. He looked less like he was about to go for Deven’s throat with his teeth, too.
“If that’s all you were trying to hide, then you shouldn’t. Fuck anyone who doesn’t like the way you look. That’s my philosophy, anyway.”
“Easy for you to say,” Lord Fiora muttered. What now? Did that mean what Deven thought it meant? He’d been desperately trying to ignore his cock, but it thickened a little, showing its own gratitude for Lord Fiora’s compliment. Lord Fiora hurried on with, “But that’s — it doesn’t matter. I don’t like to be gawked at. I prefer the darkness anyway, and —”
“My lord! Mr. Clifton! What is this?” Deven spun around, and there behind him was Andrei, his bald head red and shiny from exertion, and his eyes snapping with a cold rage Deven hadn’t thought he’d be capable of.
Shit. He’d been so close. So much for his plan. He hadn’t nearly won Lord Fiora over yet, and he’d been hoping for at least another half hour to talk him round.
He’d be lucky if he didn’t get thrown down the hill tied up in the same filthy sack as the rabbits.
Chapter Nine
Fiora had to peek around Deven’s broad back to get a look at Andrei, and what he saw wasn’t encouraging. Andrei looked ready to commit murder.
Damn Andrei anyway. Damn him for turning up right at that moment, just as Fiora thought he might be able to graciously allow Deven to persuade him into forgiving him. More to the point, just as Fiora thought Deven might become even more complimentary in pursuit of that forgiveness.
“Andrei, calm down,” Fiora said, sidestepping around Deven. “Everything’s fine.”
“It is far from fine,” Andrei ground out. “My lord, I will send to the council at once telling them Mr. Clifton will be returning to Ridley this very night —”
Deven said hotly, “No, I damn well won’t —”
And that was enough. “I am the master of this castle,” Fiora said, lowering his voice to its most commanding pitch. “Both of you, shut up!”
Deven spun to stare at him, and Andrei gaped. Fiora drew himself up to his full height, making him only noticeably much shorter than the other two, rather than ridiculously so. It was better than nothing.
“Andrei, Deven and I have matters of importance to discuss,” Fiora went on, hoping to project lordly dignity. Deven looked skeptical, and Andrei gave an actual snort of disbelief. They could go to hell. He was a dragon and an aristocrat, damn it! “Please go and leave us to our conversation.”
“Someone set a passel of rabbits loose in the kitchen garden, my lord, in order to distract me,” Andrei said grimly. “Perhaps we ought to have a conversation about that.”
Bugger. “Rabbits are beneath me,” Fiora said loftily. Please, please, Andrei, just go away.
Andrei stood still, staring him down, his eyes like chips of ice. Fiora bit his tongue; Andrei had been his tutor for so long that Fiora still had the urge to babble apologies and beg not to be sent to his mother for punishment whenever Andrei looked at him like that.
“Very well, my lord,” Andrei said at last. “I will inform Mrs. Pittel of your opinion on the matter.” Fiora swallowed with a gulp. Oh, sodding fuck. Mrs. Pittel was almost worse than his mother. He’d be eating purposely-burned rabbit stew for weeks. His work with Fiora done, Andrei turned on Deven. “Why don’t you tell His Excellency how much you love old books, Mr. Clifton? Perhaps you could discuss some of your favorites with him, since I’m sure you’re