‘‘I guess.’’ I stood for a moment in the hallway, noting absently that Cyrene’s assessment of quality was, as ever, dead on. The house mightn’t be a huge mansion, but it was located in Marylebone, right in the center of London, and it appeared to be furnished simply but elegantly. I touched a finger to the halfpaneled wall before slowly following Cyrene. She explored the house, scattering excited little oohs and ahs of pleasure behind her as she ran from room to room. I paused to look in the sitting room, decorated with antiques of cream, rose, and gold, admired the kitchen with its huge marble-topped center block, and finally stopped at the back of the house, in a parquet-floored conservatory sporting tall palms and a beautiful blue-gray granite fireplace that had to be at least three hundred years old.

It was all lovely, perfectly charming . . . and utterly lifeless. It was as if Gabriel had never even been there at all, as if his presence hadn’t touched the house in any way.

‘‘The master bathtub is divine!’’ Cyrene announced, coming down from the second floor. ‘‘Would you mind . . . ?’’

‘‘Go ahead,’’ I said, sitting gingerly on the edge of a spindly legged chair.

‘‘You know how a bath always makes me feel better.’’ She started to go, but paused, looking back at where I sat. ‘‘Is something wrong, Mayling? You have the oddest look on your face. Don’t you like the house?’’

‘‘The house is beautiful. It’s just . . .’’ I hesitated, finding it difficult to put my strange mood into words. ‘‘It just seems so bare, as if it was just here for show and no one has ever really lived in it.’’

‘‘Well, Gabriel did say he wasn’t in London much. Maybe he hasn’t had time to make it feel like a home yet. Besides, that’s what you’re for, isn’t it?’’

Her words brought to the surface all the feelings of doubt that I’d successfully pinned down during the last twelve hours.

‘‘Mayling?’’ Cyrene took a couple of steps into the room, her brow furrowed. ‘‘You are going to be happy with Gabriel, aren’t you?’’

Her concern touched me, making me forget my earlier annoyance with her. That had always been the pattern of our relationship . . . she got into trouble, and, exasperated, I ran to her aid, forgiving her when faced with her genuine affection and gratitude. ‘‘Of course I’ll be happy. How could I be otherwise? I have a man so sexy he literally burns down a hotel room, a gorgeous house in a prime spot in London, and carte blanche to do with it what I want. I’d have to be insane not to be happy.’’

‘‘Yes,’’ she said, touching my cheek lightly. ‘‘You would. Those dragons are incredibly sexy, don’t you think?’’