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She helped him to his feet with a small smile that made his insides turn over. “I wouldn’t say anyone is necessarily enthusiastic about kidnapping. But I haven’t had this much fun in a while, so I suppose I deserve it.”

He turned toward her, their faces much closer than they ought to be; he needed to move away. Why was she so mesmerizing? Why couldn’t his mother have brought an old man or someone less…

Just that…someone less.

“Why?” He echoed the word aloud.

She scrunched her nose and tilted her head, a wave of hair falling over her shoulder. His hand itched at his side to brush it back. “I just told you—”

“No. Why haven’t you had fun in a while?” Fenmore wasn’t sure it mattered, but he watched emotion play in different parts of her face. First the twitch in her brow, then the shuttering of her eyes, and her pressed-together lips.

Which he should not be staring at.

She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter very much, does it? I’m selfish and lack all sense of kindness. You probably think I deserve to have no fun.”

He scoffed in indignation as she moved away from him to take a bite of one of the scones, making a humming sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “I didn’t say that.”

“But mortal kindness doesn’t exist. Does it?

” She blinked those innocent doe-eyes again, but this time they looked rather threatening.

This woman was lethal. But he’d be damned if he’d fall for it.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t go to the mortal realm for a whole year.

The estate would fall to shambles in a day and his mother would have the furniture talking to each other within the week.

His words had to be careful, lest he lose the bet when it still had many hours to go. “A good try, I’ll admit. But I won’t be defeated so easily. I’ve been resolved in this opinion for years; you won’t undo it in a matter of two days.”

The sun was setting rapidly. Excellent.

The light hitting the window, landing squarely on Elizabeth, made her skin flush and her hair glow around her like a crown made of sunlight.

Less excellent.

She smiled again, but this time it looked sad, and it made his heart clench in his chest. He didn’t want to upset her; he didn’t want to care either. A horrible little circle his mind was forming. “I don’t need to change your opinion. I just need to prove that you’re wrong.”

“And you think that’s achievable?”

“I know it is,” she said, a certainty in her voice that set him on edge.

“What are you planning?” There was warning in his words as he grabbed a scone himself, taking a large, angry bite.

That little glimmer had returned to her expression, and he felt an alarming sense of relief. Relief that turned to heat shocking his limbs as she reached her hand up and used her thumb to brush bits of crumbs from his mouth.

“I…I’m planning to show you how kind us mortals can be.” A ragged breath escaped his lips, and a red flush climbed her neck as her own breath hitched.

He could hardly believe his mind could form full sentences while also imagining how good it would feel to close the distance between them and lay his lips on hers.

“How?” he asked, unable to hide the shakiness.

“You’ve seen mortals at their worst. I’m going to show you them at their best,” she said, looking confident and beautiful.

And all magic help him…

He almost believed her.

CHAPTER 5

S o, you’re a servant, essentially?”

Bette laughed into her hand, staring up at the ceiling.

Her feet up on the couch, her head propped on the pillow.

They’d talked through the night, exchanging stories of their lives.

She told him about her job, her life in New York City, where she went to school, how she used to want to be a teacher before she realized that college courses were about as palatable as pulling teeth.

She’d learned that he hadn’t attended university due to his responsibilities on the estate; that he loved his mother, despite all the ways he complained about her antics; that he’d never been in love, even with the girl he courted through autumn and winter three years ago.

He was playful when he let his guard down and that was beginning to feel dangerous.

It was just as well he called her a servant; it would end her ridiculous infatuation.

Except, bizarrely, it made her like him even more.

“I’m a serv- er.” The lord was sitting on the floor, back to the couch across from the one she was laying on. “It’s entirely different.”

“Ha!” He pointed, the sudden movement making his auburn locks fall into his eyes. He ran a hand through them as she raised a brow at the outburst. “Point proven again. You are working for an establishment that has tricked you into believing that you’re not serving the public.”

She chuckled again, something she’d done an increasing number of times since arriving there.

“They haven’t tricked me. I’m aware I’m serving the public, but servant implies that I’m lesser than the people I’m bringing the food to.

In the mortal world, your job doesn’t define your standing in life.

” Bette rubbed a hand over her tired eyes; sleep had evaded her all night.

She hadn’t wanted to miss any of his stories.

She liked talking to him. “Or at least…it shouldn’t. ”

He was staring at her in that contemplative way again, his sleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong forearms smattered with hair. His perfect attire when she’d met him was wrinkled, his pristine white shirt knocked askew to reveal part of his chest. “That’s—I agree with you.”

Bette gasped, clutching her chest. “And the world didn’t end?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a smile playing on his lips. “Funny.”

She’d made a joke. When was the last time she’d joked about anything? Perhaps the magic in this world was doing something to her. Perhaps – like the cloth over his eyes earlier – it was healing her heart at a rapid rate.

“Anyways, it’s a good job. Good enough to help me make enough money to eventually move out of the city and somewhere quieter.”

He frowned, shadows from the late night appearing under his eyes as light from the rising sun flooded the room. “I thought you enjoyed the city.”

Her stories would indicate that, as she’d decided to omit the one that made her hate it.

She shrugged, trying to appear unbothered, but she could tell she hadn’t convinced him.

He straightened, looking at her sharply.

“I need a change. The Randalls of the world can be tolerated, if it ensures I get it.”

His attention had been rapt on her before, but now it was so intensely burning against her skin she had to sit up to rub her hands down her arms, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

“Who is Randall?” His voice sounded dismissive, but when she peeked over at him he was rigid.

She licked her lips. “A guy I work with. A total pig, to be honest. My shift before your mother hijacked me—It ended with a joke he made about me being on my knees for him.” She shivered at the memory, disgust twisting her features, unsure of why she was confiding her frustrations about the sexist remarks she experienced in her workplace.

It’s his detachment , she told herself. His ability to remain calm and unfeeling.

When Bette looked to where he’d been sitting, however, he was gone. “Where did you—Fender! What are you doing?”

Fenmore was making grunting, growling sounds, almost like an animal as he pulled and tugged at the door with all his strength. “Open it, Mother! Open the door now !”

What a humbling response to her vulnerability. She gaped. “My goodness, I wouldn’t have told you if I thought you’d be so offended!”

He whipped around and she nearly fell at the fury in his expression. His chiseled jaw was locked, his fists clenched at his sides, nostrils flared as he breathed heavily. “What is the name of the dining establishment?”

She nearly choked on her own spit. “Madame Rose’s. Why – why do you want to know?”

“I’m going to eviscerate the little weasel.” His arms were flailing in angry gestures, one fist pounding against the door once more. “Open up, Mother! I must commit a murder!”

Bette was almost too shocked to move. Was he outraged…on her behalf? “You can’t!”

“I assure you, I can,” he said, a sort of mad light in his eyes. He pounded on the door again, so hard she thought the wood might splinter off into his fist. She bolted forward and clutched it between both hands.

“No one should treat you in such a disgusting, appalling, disrespectful manner and have it dismissed so lightly,” he said, with such anger in his expression. Anger for her because he…cared.

It was why she stood on the tips of her toes, releasing his fist to clasp her hands over his face.

And kissed him.

CHAPTER 6

F enmore felt a rage like no other, quickly followed by heart-stopping shock.

Elizabeth’s lips were warm, as were her hands as she clutched his cheeks. He was too stunned to move, to do anything but stare as she slowly pulled away, only inches. “No one has cared for me like that in a long time. I haven’t known how to let them,” she whispered.

She gave a shaky half-smile, and it was like he hadn’t known what it was to live before now. Didn’t understand the sounds or the smells. The patterns of the world had been so unclear before her lips touched his and he hadn’t even known.

And he wanted more.

With a low groan he gripped her hair in a hand, clutching the back of her head as she brought her honey lips back to his.

She made a small squeak of surprise but quickly responded in kind as she slid her hands along his shoulders, hands traveling underneath his shirt.

They were cold against his skin, making him shiver as she moved them over the muscles in his stomach and chest.