The Dragon's Match

IV

IV

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"If you are looking for your sister," Miss Tiffany Cotton said and effectively startled Lillian so much that she feared she may have wet herself just a tiny bit, "she will be in her husband's study."

Lillian eyed the mouse-ish woman warily as she closed the door to her private chambers. Freshly bathed and changed, she couldn't help but wonder if the odd thing had been waiting for her emergence all this time. "I would ask where the devil you came from, but I fear the answer may be obvious," she said flatly.

"Dorset, of course."

Wiping a hand over her cheek and allowing a shaky breath through her lips, Lillian managed to compose her wrecked nerves and silently lamented the day she was given a younger sister who harboured fanciful notions of befriending all of God's creatures, no matter how peculiar. To Miss Cotton, she directed her next words, "Dare I ask how you came about this information?" Glancing either way down the hall outside her rooms, Lillian began to move in the direction of the aforementioned study.

"I overheard the two Draëllian males talking of it some moments ago," Miss Cotton intoned introspectively. "I contemplated asking whether I was permitted to join, but naturally I am averse to hard liquor. So I found myself seeking out the privacy of my chambers before our evening meal."

Unsure what to do with that diatribe of information, Lillian offered her a small smile in lieu of her words. Miss Cotton nattered on about something to do with the fermentation process of all liquor before suddenly spinning on her heel and disappearing with nary a greeting.

Perhaps Miss Tiffany Cotton needed the services of a matchmaker, Lillian thought to herself. Surely Mrs Holt would be able to acquire a man or creature willing to endure her peculiar brand of loquaciousness? Perhaps one with an outwardly patient demeanour, a quiet bookish sort...

Or a deaf sort.

A flight of stairs to the lower levels of the house brought Lillian to the study that Miss Cotton had mentioned, and she hesitated momentarily at the rumble of voices coming from within. They were male yet indistinguishable to even her trained ear, and she became aware of the constant tremor of her fingers once more. Her jaw clenched in self-annoyance and Lillian set her shoulders resolutely.

She simply could not continue to avoid the males and the creatures her sister associated with because of her past experiences. She had stood her ground against more terrifying beasts and foes than gentrified men with tails, for goodness's sake.

She was the Ravensfield heir returned and survived ordeals that most would not, endured trials that would buckle the sturdiest of individuals. Years of grooming had ensured she knew how to manage her dukedom and its tenants, and do it well, and Lillian was damned if her sudden avoidance tendencies would afflict her composure if she could help it.

Swallowing, she forced her fingers to unclench and pushed open the door- perhaps a bit too harshly for the edge was met with a brutal resistance and rather organic obstacle that now barred her entry to the study.

A large, long-fingered hand caught the ridge of the door, holding it open in place, and Lillian's entire body froze- ensnared like a paltry piece of prey in the talons of predatory bird.

She knew immediately that the man before her was the one from earlier that had been loping with long-limbed grace along the gravel road. As far away from her as he had been then, she was able to discern that he was beautiful, but up close, with little more than a foot separating them- he was devastating.