Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

H ow could Aurie explain to her that his mere touch was deadly without revealing the truth about the golden touch—the truth of what he’d become? The truth his own mother, frozen forever in gold, confirmed.

He constantly messed things up where Miss Melora was concerned. Which was most disconcerting, since he had never wished to succeed more.

He simply needed to prove his admiration and how much he longed to get to know her better. Where had his legendary charm gone? How many times had the ladies at court proclaimed that he could turn even the hardest heart to gold with just a smile? He grimaced—well, that was ironic. His efforts were proving insufficient.

If only she would grant him another opportunity, but she had secluded herself in her room for hours. How could he get her to come out?

After stewing over the whole situation for some time, he finally spoke with the cook, Mrs. Calla, about making her a lavish meal. Melora had to eat sometime, and what better way to show her she wasn’t some social pariah? The irony! In his entire life he’d never wanted anything more than he now wished to touch her lovely skin!

Gathering his courage, he marched back up the stairs and knocked at her door, hoping to invite her to dinner. Silence answered his knock. She couldn’t possibly have left her room. He would have noticed, considering he’d watched her door like a lovesick schoolboy all afternoon. He knocked with more authority. “Miss Melora, it’s me, Aurelius. I’d like to invite you to dinner. Mrs. Calla is preparing a splendid array of foods for you even as we speak. It should be ready in about half an hour. I’d be happy to escort you if you’d like.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he winced. How was he to escort her without touching her? Forget the handkerchief! He could already hear her indignant fury at being kept at arm’s length… again.

The silence stretched out so long that he concluded she would never answer… and then she spoke. “Are you certain you want a mere peasant to dine with you?”

He blinked. How could he rid her of that ridiculous notion? “Of course, I wish to dine with you, Melora. Your station matters not to me.” Why must she make a simple invitation so difficult? “Indeed, I would quite enjoy your delightful company.” There, hopefully that would entice her and make up for whatever folly he had created. The accompanying silence extended. “Please.” He added, feeling almost desperate.

A shuffling sounded on the other side of the door. He held his breath. Would she finally agree?

“I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.” Her voice sounded closer. He grinned, his heart lifting in sudden hope. Pressing his hand against the door, he felt as if he’d made some kind of breakthrough.

“Whatever you are wearing will be perfectly adequate. I don’t stand on formality. Besides, you look quite beautiful as you are.” He longed to see her face and assess whether his words had heightened the color in her beautifully smooth coppery cheeks.

“Will Dragon be there too?”

“No,” he said a bit too hastily.

“Why not? Perhaps I ought to eat with him.”

“He, uh… he rarely eats in the dining hall. He is a dragon, after all. And his, uh, meal is sure to offend your sensibilities. I promise I’ll make a far better companion.” Closing his eyes, he felt quite ridiculous. Who would have thought he’d be competing with himself for a dinner companion… and losing?

Knuckles lightly tapped against the door as she came to a decision. “I suppose you’ll have to suffice, then.”

He just barely refrained from pumping his fist in victory. Who knew that a grudging reply could be such sweet music to his ears?

* * *

M elora had refused to let him escort her down to dinner—a fact that set relief and disappointment to war in Aurie’s chest. Relief won, if only because it spared him from igniting that glorious temper of hers by keeping his distance.

Now he sat at the head of a long and lavishly appointed table, drumming his fingers against its polished surface while stealing glances at the doorway. Where was she?

Waiting had never been his strong suit.

Would she find the dining room pleasing? The elaborate place settings gleamed in the candlelight, making the empty chair beside him seem even more conspicuous. He tugged at the collar of his tunic. Why was the blasted thing so high? Had the room always been this warm? He stood, thought better of it, then sat back down. Lyra would lead her here perfectly well.

The seconds dragged interminably, and he began to wonder if she wouldn’t show up after all. Had she chosen to have dinner served in her guest chambers instead of with him? He ran a hand over his tight curls as he rubbed the back of his head. Dragons were supposed to be the scary ones, yet here he was, unable to convince a girl to dine with him.

His foot bounced, and he rubbed the mark over his heart as he tried not to check the time. Perhaps dinner wasn’t such a good idea. But if she refused to interact with him while they ate, he didn’t know what else to try. Would she have dined with him as Dragon? But Dragon terrified her—or so he’d thought.

The door opened. He quickly stood and bowed, relief seeping into him and warming his heart. She came.

“Miss Melora, I’m so glad you could make it.”

She looked so small and vulnerable beside the door. When she turned her head, he noticed the glint of a flower tucked into the intricate braid crowning her head. The rest of her hair fell loose, framing her face.

He swallowed and hurried to her side, careful to keep his hands to himself—though he longed to run his fingers through her lovely locks. He gestured for her to follow him toward the dining room, then carefully pulled out her chair, moving his fingers before she sat.

Taking his place at the head of the table, he waited while Galen brought in their meal. The way her eyes lit up at the sight of roasted squash brimming with savory herbs and spices was priceless. Better than any delicacy he could have ordered.

She froze when she noticed him watching her, her lovely copper cheeks warming with that enchanting blush of hers. Looking away, she bit her full lower lip.

With excruciating effort, he pulled his gaze away and focused on eating his own meal, careful to touch nothing on his plate with his hands. Though initially awkward, his new eating habits had become second nature after months of practice. Utensils clanked against ceramic as Galen placed roast venison in front of each of them. They continued to eat in silence.

Sweat gathered on Aurie’s brow. How could he win her over when his usually eloquent words splattered across his mind in a chaos of color? He cast about for some topic of conversation. Never had he felt such pressure to impress anyone. As he meticulously diced a piece of meat, he cursed himself. Surely, he could manage better conversational topics than food and the weather! Talents? Yes, everyone had those, didn't they?

“Do you enjoy painting?” He inwardly cringed. Painting? What had made him bring that up? She was more likely accomplished at the piano. But there was nothing he could do. He was now committed to the topic.

“Painting?” Her brow furrowed. “I’m afraid I have little time for painting. But I admire the arts as much as the next person.”

Anticipation uncoiled within him. “You do?” He cleared his throat, thrilled at the first crack in the ice between them. Remembering the awe on her face as she entered the rich splendor of his home, he knew exactly what to do next. “Then you’ll be certain to love the gallery.” Why hadn’t he considered the masterpieces before? His father had curated his art collection for decades. It alone was likely worth more than his resplendent home—maybe.

“Oh, I suppose. I’ve never seen a gallery before.”

He grinned, settling into himself. “Perfect. I shall take you after dinner.” His delight at his own brilliance left no room to await her reply.

* * *

M elora knew little of art and artists, famous or otherwise, and honestly couldn’t see what was so great about a bunch of splatters.

“And this is an original Jason. It is one of his early paintings using this technique.”

She smiled and nodded, as if what he said made any sense. However, as she continued to watch him, she became far more interested in his passion over the subject than in the actual art.

“My father purchased it from Queen Amoreland herself.”

She made a sound of acknowledgment, turning to stare in awe at the riches surrounding her. The gallery was enormous, with three chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, lighting the burnished walls and making each gilded frame sparkle. Each painting was unique and exquisitely done. At least that’s what Melora gathered from Aurelius’s enthusiasm.

Her tour guide—adorably proud of his collection—beamed as he showed off a large canvas splashed with vibrant, seemingly chaotic strokes.

When they moved to a new section with a very different style of art, he came alive, his countenance radiating excitement, igniting an inner light that seemed to fill the entire room as he pontificated over an admittedly exquisite painting of some lilies by Claudius. She found herself drawn in— not just by the lovely color palette and loose, representative style, but by his infectious delight. She nodded and caught herself smiling at his animated gestures while he discussed the skill required in its creation and the emotion it evoked.

Far too soon, they came to another painting—one he seemed to prize more for its ownership than its artistry—so different from his sincere love of the Claudius. He spoke of the painting’s worth and how his father had acquired it rather than the details of the painting itself.

“This is a lesser-known artist, but my father always insisted that he would become the next big Pavlo.”

She nodded. At least, the large shapes seemed to form an interesting figure. However, her attention wandered as he expounded on its supposed value. A plain wooden frame caught her attention, almost hidden among the larger, more elaborate frames. She walked up to it as he talked, too caught up in his grand tour to notice he’d lost his audience.

The scene within the frame caught her attention more than any other. It was an image of a young boy dressed stiffly, looking out upon a rose garden with such longing… She leaned forward, the emotion on his face pulling her in, but she stopped herself from touching the painting.

Aurelius was still talking about the new artist, oblivious to the painting that had captivated her.

“Aurelius.” When he didn’t seem to hear her, she reached out to tap him on the shoulder, hoping to gain his attention and ask him about the rose garden. “Aurelius.”

“Don’t—”

Her hand hovered in the air above where his shoulder used to be as he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide and panicked.

She curled her fingers into themselves, retracting her hand. Her fingers twined themselves into the sturdy fabric of her dress. How could she have forgotten the way he found her very touch appalling? “I apologize. I shouldn’t have tried to disturb you. I didn’t think…” She dropped her gaze and flinched, waiting for a blow that never came.

Groaning, he ran a hand across his head. “No. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I shouldn’t have panicked. You startled me, is all. No one touches me anymore.”

“Oh.” She looked up at him and blinked in a bit of shock, not sure what to think. No other man had ever apologized to her for his poor behavior.

“Now please,” he said. “What was it you wanted?”

“I’m sorry. I just meant to get your attention.”

He chuckled. “Well, you do have my undivided attention. Indeed, I can’t seem to pay attention to anything else when you walk into the room.”

She should be irritated with him, yet she couldn’t help the blush that warmed her cheeks along with her insides. Obviously, he wouldn’t have been so startled if she had claimed his complete attention. And yet, what was it about this man? He irritated her yet made her blush in the next breath. Especially when he looked at her, like now, those blue eyes of his making her feel like she might melt right into the floor.

He stepped closer, and she nearly forgot to breathe. “Please, tell me,” he begged again. “What did you wish from me?”

Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip. “I just…” She hesitated. Would he think her silly? She was no connoisseur of art and yet… “That painting over there. It’s captivating! Who is the artist?”

He blinked at the painting in question. “That one?”

She nodded.

“With the roses?” His brow furrowed, then he straightened and adjusted his golden jerkin. “That is amateurish art,” he said flatly. “Now, if you look this way, you’ll see another piece by a true master and you’ll see a world of difference.”

“Oh.” Her voice came out small as she rubbed her fingers against her dress. “I may not know a lot about art, but I still like this piece best.” For some reason, she refused to be swayed in her preference despite his greater knowledge. “I mean, just look at the emotion on the boy’s face. He seems almost lonely despite the splendor of the rose garden and the way it radiates light…” She turned to drink in the painting, once again captivated.

She chanced a glance at him. Instead of disgust, he looked mesmerized… by her. “You really think so?”

She nodded, her teeth worrying her lip again.

His throat bobbed in a swallow. "If—if you find that painting lovely, then you must come watch the sunrise over the gardens with me tomorrow morning. The gold sparkles like you’ve never seen."

She blinked once, twice. The gold? Must? How did that even compare to such artwork? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of any fanciful notions about him. How dare he dictate what she should do! Papa had ordered her around her entire life, and she refused to be commanded by this man as well. He seemed bewitched by gold and ownership, blind to the soul within each piece—and blind to his own demands. “You may watch the sun rise over all of your wealth, but I am not interested.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed from the gallery, leaving him among his precious metals and hollow pride.

“Keep your cold splendor,” she muttered fiercely to herself as she tromped down the hall toward her room. “I’ll take the whispered truth of that single portrait over all your glittering wealth.”