I laughed and rose on my toes to drop another, much quicker kiss on his lips. The desire I could taste on them only made me want him more. “What are you doing here?”

“I was right in my suspicions that Sgott’s presence was the reason we weren’t getting answers. Jalvi is here, in Liverpool. You?”

She was here at the same time as our historian? That was interesting timing—especially given the waitress’s description. “We were supposed to meet someone in The Duke, but he was murdered before we got there.”

He studied the café across the road for a second. “I take it this person was connected to the search for the Claws?”

I nodded, swung around, and offered him the crook of my arm. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Or do you need to resume your hunt for Jalvi?”

He smiled. “Jalvi wasn’t at her hotel when I checked. I have my people watching the foyer while I head down to the docks to talk to our team down there. But that matter isn’t urgent, and I’d much rather spend time with you.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “Good answer.”

“Truthful answer.” He hooked his arm through mine, his big body radiating heat and desire as we walked back to the café. “I take it Lugh is also here?”

“Grabbing a table as we speak.”

He pushed open the door, then ushered me through. The café was more homely and inviting than its competition across the road, the chairs a retro sixties style and the matching tables covered by cheery red-and-white checkerboard tablecloths.

Lugh had found a table next to the front windows and flashed Cynwrig a welcoming smile. “I’ve ordered drinks and croissants all round.”

“Excellent,” I said as Cynwrig pulled out a chair for me, then sat beside me. His knees brushed mine, and his smokey silver eyes gleamed wickedly. He knew exactly what that oh-so-light connection was doing to my pulse rate. “What did the notebook say?”

Lugh gave me the look. The one that said I needed to be patient. The same one he knew I’d ignore. “Unfortunately, Jules wasn’t only using shorthand, but his writing is minute and verging on unreadable. It’s going to take a little time to transcribe the whole thing.”

“A historian with unreadable writing? Unimaginable,” I said dryly.

“If people can’t read it, people can’t steal it,” Cynwrig said, amusement evident. “It’s a motto my people have lived by forever.”

And one that had obviously stood them in good stead, given how successful they’d been in black market trading for absolute eons.

The waitress arrived with our pastries and said cheerily, “The coffee will be here shortly.”

“Thanks,” Lugh said. Once she’d left, he added, “From the little I’ve read, Rostin De Clari was female, not male—”

“Ha!” I cut in. “Told you the goddess wouldn’t work through a male.”

“In this particular case, it would seem you’re right.” It was said in the tone a teacher would use on an irritating student. “Though there are plenty of examples through time where gender didn’t seem to matter.”