“Thank you for saving me,” I say.
He blinks.
“I’m not sure I’m worth the world, but I’m so very happy that you think I am.”
Luci sniffs. An unsure expression creeps across his face.
“I take it you are quite popular with the fey?”
He nods. “Any boons I want. For the rest of my natural life.”
Well, that’s quite something. I’m sure that will come in very useful. Having powerful friends is a good thing. Especially when the rest of the world is now your enemy.
“And the house is protected? They’ll keep you safe?”
Luci nods.
“Will they fix the blasted chandelier?”
A surprised laugh hiccups out of Luci and he clamps his hand over his mouth as if he can somehow catch it and shove it back in. But it’s too late for that. His laugh escaped and I got to hear it. Just like I hope to hear many, many more.
We stare at one another for several heartbeats. Slowly, ever so slowly, the fear and trepidation drain from his face.
“You’re not mad?” he whispers.
I smile and shake my head, carefully this time. “How can I be mad with the love of my life?” I say and I’ve never said anything more true in my entire life.
Luci’s green eyes grow enormous, and then all of a sudden he is in my arms. Wrapped around me and clinging to me with a fierce embrace.
I laugh and hug him back tightly. I can’t wait until my face is healed and I can kiss him. Kiss him and never, ever stop.
My Luci. My light. My love.
The only part of the world that I need.
Chapter thirty
Luci
Scrubbing fireplaces clean is actually quite enjoyable. My muscles feel warm, my mind occupied just enough to keep my thoughts from spiraling. I could get used to this. And I’m going to have to, unless I take the fey up on their offer of servants. Because I don’t think I’d feel safe around any humans. My guilt is too enormous.
But fey in the house would also be unnerving. So scrubbing fireplaces and a never ending list of chores it is. Good thing it seems as if I’m not afraid of hard work. I haven’t balked at anything so far.
Drew’s footsteps sound in the hallway. A smile stretches across my lips and I get to my feet. Goodness, I’m in a state. Sooty apron and a scarf over my hair.
Drew walks in. The last of his bruises have gone and he looks wonderful. But he is carrying a cardboard box. Unease claws at my stomach. I’m being ridiculous. Drew is grinning like an excited toddler. It’s not going to be anything bad.
“I’ve got you a present,” he says, confirming my conclusion.
Hastily, I wipe my hands clean on a soot free patch of my apron. Drew places the cardboard box down on the table. The familiar Amazon logo fills me with warmth. Drew really has got into online shopping.
“Open it!” he says excitedly.
I rip open the cardboard and pull out the packaging to find a pink glittery box inside. It’s very pretty. I lift it out carefully and place it on the table. I open the lid and a sea of nail polish bottles greets me. One of every single color imaginable.
Oh, my goodness. I haven’t got the hang of the make-up set he bought me yet. But I’m getting there slowly with the help of YouTube videos. Now I’m going to be watching nail polish ones too.
“Thank you,” I say, and then run out of words.
My brain still wants to add, ‘my lord husband’, especially on occasions where I’m floundering. Like now. I was trained how to politely receive gifts. I have no idea how to do it informally.
I look up at Drew. He is smiling. There is nothing but warmth in his eyes. He understands. He knows I am truly grateful.
“I’ve made lunch and set it up in the sunroom,” he says.
My heart does a little flip. My husband, the count. Making lunch with his own hands and not complaining about it one bit.
“Sounds wonderful,” I say. “I’ll just wash my hands and I’ll be right there.”
He grins again and walks away. The urge to run after him is strong, but I can wait five minutes.
I throw off my apron and scarf and hurry across the hall to one of the guest rooms. It has a washbasin in it and a bar of soap. I quickly wash my hands and tidy my hair in the mirror. Then I scurry to the sunroom.
Drew has made a Ploughman’s Lunch. Thick slices of buttered bread served next to chunks of cheese and pickled onions. He has even made a salad. Bless him.
His gaze drops to my very short skirt as I walk in, and it’s hard not to squirm. I’m wearing thigh high socks, but actually I think the flash of skin between the skirt and the socks looks more indecent than if I’d left my legs bare. I’ll remember that in the future.
Though, the way my husband is looking at me, is making me think that perhaps I will wear this again.
