I harrumphed loudly and spun round, adding a wobble for good measure. Then I stalked out.

My grand exit wasn’t as dramatic as my entrance. Mainly because I’d barely gone three steps before Byron caught up with me and grabbed my elbow. ‘Are you okay?’ he demanded.

‘Do I look okay?’ I snarled back. ‘I’m amazed I have any eyebrows left after that fiery demonstration.’

He gazed at me, his face impassive. ‘How did you get out of the grove without anyone noticing?’

A slightly crazy Macquarrie woman. I sniffed. ‘It’s not my fault if you weren’t paying attention.’

Something sparked in his eyes but he sensibly held his tongue. ‘You should take up the offer of the guards,’ he said instead. ‘Whatever you might think, the Moncrieffes are not trying to hurt you.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

He ran a hand through his bronzed hair. Damn that stupid curl for still being there. ‘I know you think that it was me because my second Gift is pyrokinesis. It wasn’t me, though, Integrity. I promise you that. I wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of bringing you here simply to try and kill you. I could have done that when you were sleeping in my arms.’

I stiffened. This time it wasn’t an act. Why did he have to bring that up again? ‘I know it wasn’t you,’ I said with an air of affected insouciance. ‘You’re not the type.’

‘You didn’t suspect me?’ He was watching my reaction very carefully.

‘No,’ I lied. ‘I’m good at reading people.’

Byron looked relieved. ‘I’m pleased.’

‘Now I really do have to go and lie down.’

‘I’ll escort you.’

I looked him over. It would take a brave evil mastermind to try and kill me when the Steward’s son was around. He could easily get caught in the crossfire. ‘Fine,’ I snapped. ‘Lead the way.’

Byron took my arm. I must have been doing a better job of acting sick than I’d realised. He leaned in towards me and sniffed. ‘You smell … interesting.’

Shite. I’d forgotten that I’d thrown his aftershave all over my skin. ‘What can I say?’ I shrugged. ‘I meant it before when I said you smelled delicious so I bought some of that aftershave to use myself.’

Something flitted across his face and he dropped his voice. ‘I like that you want to smell like me. It’s as if you’ve been rubbing yourself all over my body like a cat.’

I pushed away the image of me doing just that. It certainly hadn’t taken him long to get over the trauma of my ‘death’. ‘It’s the smell of the aftershave I like. Not you.’

He grinned. ‘And here was me thinking you were a girly girl with all of your hot pink attire.’