Free Otherworld Challenger by Jane Godman Page B

Vashti’s appreciative nostrils. Big, dark and dangerous, he invaded her senses. Domesticated was about the last word she would have applied to him.
    â€œYou can’t see me in a flowered apron?”
    She pretended to consider the matter, tilting her head to one side. “Not flowered, no.”
    He quirked an eyebrow. “But you do see me in an apron? Now that’s an interesting fantasy, princess.”
    Vashti, who had taken a bite of bread and butter, choked as his meaning dawned on her. At least dealing with the coughing and the streaming eyes gave her time to consider how to respond. She decided the best plan was not to respond. To pretend she hadn’t heard or she didn’t understand what he meant. That sort of banter was probably like breathing to Jethro. All that thrumming masculinity needed an outlet and any woman, even one he disliked as intensely as Vashti, would do. At least the redness of her face could be ascribed to her mild choking fit and not extreme embarrassment at the image—vivid and suddenly very tempting—of Jethro in an apron and nothing else.
    â€œWhat’s the plan for today?” Vashti asked when she had gained control over her voice.
    â€œYours should be to rest.” Jethro’s gaze skimmed the bruises on her face.
    â€œCan we skip the bit where we pretend that might happen?”
    He paused in the act of gathering the empty coffee cups. “Have you ever listened to advice from another person?”
    â€œOnly one.”
    â€œMoncoya?”
    Vashti shook her head. “I used to do as he asked if it was also what I wanted. But my father and I are equally stubborn.” A slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “Our fights were legendary. No, when we were children, Tanzi and I had a nurse who cared for us. She was probably the only person I listened to.”
    Jethro’s expression was inscrutable. “It sounds like you were fond of her.”
    She gazed out across the dark blue water. The memories—or rather the recollections of which they’d been deprived...the mother they’d never known—didn’t get any easier. “We both were. Our mother wasn’t around, you see. At the time we believed she’d left our father when we were babies. Now we know he murdered her when she tried to leave and take us with her. Rina was the closest thing we had to a mother.”
    â€œRina?”
    Vashti turned back to look at him. There was a slight frown in Jethro’s eyes, as though he was searching for something just out of reach. “Our nurse. Her name was Rina.” The frown persisted. “What is it?”
    â€œThat name. It seems familiar, but I can’t place why.”
    â€œIt is unusual, but not unique.”
    He nodded, the frown clearing. “If it’s important, I suppose it’ll come back to me. Now, back to your question about plans for today. If you insist on coming with me, we’re going visiting.”
    * * *
    When they reached the sleepy mainland town of Darwen, Jethro left the motorbike close to the town square, complete with its decorative bandstand, and led Vashti along the main street. He carried a small, flat box made of polished wood, but didn’t reveal its contents. The street boasted a handful of shops and a few bars and restaurants. A sign outside one invited them to a cider tasting evening. Another boasted it served the best lobster in town.
    Vashti was conscious of a few stares directed her way and tugged her knitted cap farther down over her ears. It won’t be far enough to cover what they’re looking at , she thought glumly. I’d have to wear a mask to do that. As a fae, she would heal quickly, but not fast enough for her liking. Perhaps those watching them thought Jethro was guilty of inflicting her bruises? He seemed unaware of the interested looks. Oblivious, in fact, that there were other people around at all.
    Once they were away from the