“You were on that boat.… The one that blew up …” It was softer, but there wasn’t a hint of apology in her sudden concern.

In the silence, I fumbled at my hair, grimacing. Maybe if I had half an hour I could do something with it. Besides, there was no way to recover from the first stellar impression I’d made. Taking a steadying breath, I squared my shoulders and padded in my sock feet to the common room. Coffee. I could smell coffee. Coffee would make everything better.

“You can understand my confusion,” Ellasbeth was saying as I hesitated by the door, unnoticed but able to see them. Ellasbeth stood beside the round table in the breakfast nook, looking meek in the way a tiger looks when it realizes it can’t eat the man with the whip. Trent was seated, wearing a green robe edged in maroon. There was a professional-looking bandage on his forehead. He looked bothered—as he should with his fiancée accusing him of cheating.

“That’s the closest to an apology I’m going to get, isn’t it?” Trent said.

Ellasbeth dropped the department store bag and put a hand on her hip. “I want her out of my rooms. I don’t care who she is.”

Trent’s eyes fell on mine as if drawn to them, and I winced apologetically. “Quen is taking her home after a light dinner,” he said to her. “You’re welcome to join us. As I said, I thought you had left.”

“I changed to a vamp flight so I could shop longer.”

Trent glanced back at me again to tell Ellasbeth that they weren’t alone. “You spent six hours in the stores and have only one bag?” he said, the faintest accusation in his voice.

Ellasbeth followed his gaze to me, quickly masking her anger with a pleasant expression. But I could see her frustration. It remained to be seen how it would show itself. I was betting on hidden barbs and slights disguised as compliments. But I would be nice as long as she was.

Smiling, I came out in my jeans and Howlers sweatshirt. “Hey, uh, thanks for the pain amulet and letting me get cleaned up, Mr. Kalamack.” I stopped beside the table, the awkwardness as thick and choking as bad cheesecake. “No need to bother Quen. I’ll call my partner to come and get me. She’s probably banging on your gatehouse already.”

Trent made a visible effort to purge the anger from his posture. Elbows on the table so the sleeves of his robe fell to show the fair hair upon his arms, he said, “I’d rather have Quen take you home, Ms. Morgan. I don’t particularly want to talk to Ms. Tamwood.” He glanced at Ellasbeth. “Do you want me to call the airport for you, or are you staying another night?”

It was entirely devoid of any invitation. “I’ll be staying,” she said tightly. Bending at the waist, she picked up her bag and walked to her door. I watched her quick stilted steps, seeing in them a dangerous combination of callous disregard and ego.