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been better spent in the common room back in the main part of the inn.
    Finally she stood at the right shoulder of the esteemed gentleman, reaching past him once to snag the drinking bowl, then again to put it back. She thought he was ignoring her until, as she pulled her hand away from the replaced bowl, he seized her arm with his right hand, the nails of which were long and gilded. The sight of them startled her as much as the fact that he’d seized her, and she froze in sudden alarm. He held her gently, though, as he turned her hand and lifted her wrist to his nose, then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
    The light flashed upon the fine gold scaling that had indeed been painted—or glued—across his cheekbones, and the delicate skin immediately surrounding his eyes had been stained a pale, cool blue, enhancing their depth and just now the dark length of his lashes. Her heart pounding wildly, she fought the urge to jerk away, and focused on the amber and obsidian signet he wore on his clawed right forefinger. She recognized the jackal as belonging to one of the older, more respected houses on Torneki, but . . . no matter. If he moved his nose upward along her bared arm so much as a hair, she would twist herself free of him and walk away. She was queen of Kiriath and First Daughter of Chesedh, after all. She didn’t have to put up with this sort of thing, and if it destroyed her little charade as “Molly,” so be it.
    He did no more than sniff deeply at her wrist, however. Then his fine lips quirked as he opened his eyes and turned to look up at her. “When will your child be born, miss?”
    His grip tightened an instant before her reactive jerk backward, and he held her fast, staring up into her eyes. Chills rushed over her as he smiled disarmingly, perfect white teeth flashing in his swarthy and startlingly handsome countenance. “I can smell it, you see. Smelled it the moment you entered.”
    She gaped at him.
    He rubbed his thumb gently across her wrist. “How much would you take for it? When the time comes, of course.”
    “Take for it?” Maddie’s voice came out high-pitched and tiny.
    “You are wed, with a father to care for it? That is why you work nights at this difficult and demeaning job—one that is surely beneath a flower so lovely as yourself?”
    “I—” Her voice choked off as blood rushed hotly into her face. Flower? No one had ever called her a flower. Not even Abramm. And though everything about this man set her back up, she could not deny the warm pleasure his words and dark gaze provoked in her. She jerked up her chin. “I don’t see that’s any business of yours, sir.” Which of course was the last thing a serving maid should be saying to an esteemed guest. Penchott would have a heart seizure when he heard about it, as he surely would in about half a minute. Mace was already heading toward the door.
    The dark brows lifted and the gentleman laughed softly, a marvelous sound that stirred her as she had not been stirred for nearly six months now. “My, but you are high spirited for a serving wench.” He turned to his tablemate. “You’d think she was the queen herself. Serr Penchott must really have his hands full with this one.”
    The others laughed as Maddie’s face burned again, her discomfiture so convoluted she couldn’t begin to sort out all its sources. And why did she have the feeling that everything he said had a double meaning?
    The dark gaze returned to hers. “I mean you no insult, girl. I but offer a solution that will benefit us both. The child would have a good home, far better than what you could provide for him, and I will—”
    The meaning in his words slammed into her like a windblown door, and this time when she jerked backward, he let her go.
    “My child is not for sale, sir!” she declared.
    “Oh, come now. Even here in Chesedh such things are done all the time. Particularly by those in your profession.”
    “In my profession— ?” And suddenly she