more of a ponce. He had to make up for it somehow. “You should call me Fiora,” he said impulsively.
Deven slowly rounded the desk, advancing on Fiora in a way he tried not to find wonderfully exciting. Deven prowled, and Fiora, though technically a very large and pointy predator himself, had the sudden urge to flee — and the even stronger urge to feel that spike of terrified delight as he was caught.
“Fiora,” Deven said, his voice a low rasp. Oh, fuck. “‘Born of darkness,’ you said it means? The name suits you.” Deven came closer, and Fiora stumbled back involuntarily and bumped into the sideboard, the edge of it digging into his back. “The meaning doesn’t, though.”
Deven set his hands on the sideboard to either side of Fiora’s body and leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. Oh, double fuck. Deven’s eyes held an intensity that pinned Fiora in place like a butterfly on a board, and his lips were slightly parted, like a man about to steal a kiss. Fiora didn’t dare glance down to see if any other part of Deven was showing similar interest.
Brisk footsteps pattered up the stairs, and Deven whirled away, taking up a casual pose propped against the edge of Fiora’s desk as if he’d never been close enough to share the warmth of their bodies between them — close enough to have Fiora’s breath coming fast and shallow and his cheeks burning.
Buggering bother. Fiora was going to kill all of his servants, starting with Andrei and moving on to…Fred, who popped in the door with a wide smile.
“My lord, you sent for me?”
“Yes,” Fiora said. Did he have a visible erection? Probably not; he was only half hard. “Thank you. Here.” He held out the note, and Fred took it with a bow. “Have Marius take this down to Mr. Clifton’s family’s inn, and give it to…”
“To my aunt, Mrs. Phina Clifton,” Deven put in smoothly. “She’ll have a trunk for him to carry back for me.”
“Yes, my lord, and yes, sir,” Fred said. “Should I take it to your room when he brings it back, Mr. Clifton?”
“Bring it here,” Fiora said. “Thank you. Go at once.”
Fred disappeared down the stairs, whistling as he went. God, what was wrong with Fiora’s servants? Would all the housemaids appear and break into song, perhaps, the next time Fiora was in the midst of a…conversation?
It was just as well. The curse hadn’t gone anywhere. But the loss of the first moment in years Fiora had felt truly alive wasn’t any less demoralizing for knowing he’d have had to break it himself.
“I suppose we should eat that cake,” Fiora said miserably. “And then sit here and wait.” Deven had been so unconcerned about sending the note that it seemed clear he was telling the truth, about that at least — so they’d be waiting for Fiora to feel like an ass.
Bother.
Chapter Ten
“Do you still want any cake?” Deven asked cautiously. A moment ago he’d been on the brink of kissing Fiora — Fiora, who now wanted to be called by his given name, and who had seemed very much like he wanted to be kissed, didn’t trust Deven in the slightest, and was now slumped against the sideboard looking like a kicked puppy.
He had definitely wanted to be kissed. Deven could have recognized that body language blindfolded: the slightly arched back, the parted lips, the quick rise and fall of Fiora’s chest, the wide eyes.
More than kissed, even. Which made two of them. Deven was damn sure he wouldn’t have been able to stop at kissing.
And now Fiora was as closed-off as it was possible to be, with his head hanging down and his arms folded across his chest.
“No, I don’t,” Fiora muttered. “Cake doesn’t suit me.”
“Well, it is chocolate,” Deven said, suppressing a laugh despite everything. God, but Fiora was — oh, if he called Fiora’s melodramatic melancholy cute the man would never speak to him again. “But if that still isn’t dark enough, we could always blow out the candles before we eat it. Might get a bit messy, but I don’t mind if you don’t.”
“Don’t mock me!” Fiora looked up, and Deven was horrified to see that his golden eyes were glassy, as if sheened with tears.
“I wasn’t.” Fiora’s lip curled, and Deven hurried to say, “All right, yes, it sounded like that, but Fiora, I was teasing you. Not mocking. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one.”
Oh, God, Fiora sounded so