Sighing, Venette relaxed her fingers. Crossed the distance between them and laid her palm to his cheek. “Of course we can. What you have and what you offer aren’t always the same thing. Did you think we don’t know it?”

“How should I know what women know?”

She let her hand fall to her side. “You realise, of course, that once you’ve settled terms with Lord Garrick, you must find somewhere else for Mage Lindin to serve her penance.”

Barl. He felt his blood leap, swiftly heating. Felt pleasure, and pain. Since leaving home he’d managed to banish all thought of his bound prisoner… but with one mention of her name she was summoned instantly to mind. No matter who she was, what she’d done, how disastrous his feelings, those feelings, it seemed, were not to be denied.

With an effort he kept his confusion secret from Venette. Showed her in its place a cool, familiar haughtiness. “Indeed. Must I?”

“With Greve so uncertain, you won’t delay your marriage. You can’t think to take Maris home with that dangerously misguided mage still under your roof!”

“Refresh my memory, Venette,” he said, insincerely pleasant. “When exactly was it I invited you to pass judgement on me?”

Hissing with frustration, Venette took a step back. “Don’t be a fool, Morgan. There are limits.”

“To everything, I know,” he said. “And you should know, Venette, that you have just found mine.”

Brushing past her, ignoring her exclamation of regret, he left her adrift in the library. With no thought but the need for solitude he turned left along the corridor, intending to seek it in the Garrick mansion’s formal gardens—but instead found himself roughly tugged into a closet.

Maris.

“Why do you let her rail at you like that?” the girl demanded, shoving the door shut and calling a teardrop of glimfire to show him her face. “Venette might mean well, but she’s insufferable. I swear she thinks she knows what’s best for the whole world.”

In the soft light Maris was luminous, her eyes wide and full of fire. She slid her palms beneath his correct velvet tunic, pressing them hard to his silk-clad chest. Her scent was intoxicating. His head swam, his vision blurred. It had been a long time since he’d let himself feel passion.

“She rails at me over you,” he said, almost whispering. “She says I must wed you before some other mage notices your charms and attempts to steal you from me. Do you say she’s mistaken?”

Maris’s fingers moved, lightly caressing. “Who is Mage Lindin?”

“You were listening?” He pulled back. “That was impertinent.”

“I didn’t hear much,” she said quickly. “I swear it. Morgan, who is she?”