I covered my eyes as he flashed back in. Relieved that he was doing as he was told, I rummaged around for my lipstick and quickly unscrewed the bottom of the tube. Two small white tablets fell out. I palmed them quickly. Byron might be Sidhe but these babies were enough to knock out an ox. They were harmless enough, though. He’d wake up in the morning with a sore head – by which time I’d be well away.

After flushing the toilet and checking my make-up, I left the bathroom. Byron was gazing out over the night sky, his back turned. Timothy had sent up the champagne and two chilled glasses were sitting on the table top. Perfect. With one fluid movement, I dropped the tablets into the one that was furthest away. The tablets fizzed slightly but dissolved to nothing within moments. I gave myself a mental high five.

I cleared my throat. ‘You’re switching to champagne?’

He turned. ‘Like I said, whisky makes me frisky. And I promised you one drink and one drink alone.’ He reached behind me and grabbed the nearest glass by its stem, handing it to me before taking the other – the spiked one ‒ for himself.

‘You’re a true gentleman,’ I murmured, raising my glass up to his then taking a sip. ‘Slainte.’

‘Slainte,’ he replied. Then he drained his glass in one gulp. Hurray!

I smiled and took a sip from mine. ‘This really is good.’

‘I’m glad you approve.’ He leaned towards me and I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach, sure that he was making a move. Instead, he reached around me again and returned his glass to the table top. Then he pulled back. ‘So, Integrity. I know you like hot pink and you hate violence but I don’t know much else. What do you do for a living?’

‘I’m in security. It’s pretty boring.’

‘Security?’ He glanced up and down my body until I was forced to repress a shiver. ‘Forgive me, but you don’t seem built for that kind of position.’

I needed to get him sitting down. The last thing I wanted was the current Steward’s son keeling over in mid-conversation and banging his head. I didn’t need to be accused of attempted regicide, whether Byron claimed he held no actual title or not.

I put down my own glass and met his eyes. ‘What kind of position do you think I’m built for?’ I asked. There was no mistaking my meaning.

He ran his tongue across his top lip. ‘Well, I can tell from your attitude that you enjoy being on top. Being in control.’