“Of course not. But things are what they are.”

“Things are what they are,” he agreed. “But Balthasar will not stand between us.” Silence fell. “We could be married.”

My heart galloped. “What?”

“Like Catcher and Mallory. We could be married. Now. Quickly. For the practicality.”

My heart sank at the phrase. “For the practicality.”

Oblivious to my tone, Ethan nodded. “He is an old vampire with old values, however fresh his memories. As it stands, he’ll see you as a Consort.” He frowned, as if choosing his words carefully. “You declined the position quickly enough that we didn’t discuss it, but it is—was—not entirely dishonorable. A Consort has power, prestige, the ear of his or her Master. She can choose those with whom she consorts; the power is hers. If he believes you stand as Consort now, he may believe you can be swayed.”

“Even while I sleep,” I suggested, and Ethan nodded.

“Giving you my name, securing our relationship, would give you security. Safety. Day or night.”

I knew Ethan had planned to propose; he’d made that clear enough. That proposal would have been for love, for companionship, for me. But tonight, he looked so earnest. So practical. And that was too much a reminder of Mallory’s situation.

I appreciated the sentiment, and his obvious concern for my welfare. But his offering a marriage of convenience wasn’t my ideal proposal. I’d been imagining him on his knees in a tux with a book of Byron’s poetry and a ring box, reciting the first stanza of “She Walks in Beauty” while his green eyes glinted in the moonlight.

It might have been fantasy, but it was my fantasy, and I preferred it to cold practicalities.

I shook my head, glanced up at Ethan. “As flattered as I am that you’d offer me your name to protect me, I don’t want our lifetime together to start like this.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “At least you appear to acknowledge we will have a lifetime together.”

“One step at a time,” I said in a warning tone.

“All right, Sentinel. I’m not going anywhere. Nor, I believe, are you. And if you need a proposal with candlelight and poetry, probably one of the Romantics, so be it.”

When my eyes widened at the reference, he smiled.

“I told you that I pay attention, Merit. I always have.”

Chapter Thirteen

SUIVRE L’ARGENT

We’d reached a personal accord, but Ethan was still silent as Brody drove us north to Gold Coast and Navarre House, where another round of drama awaited us.

The silence wasn’t all because of me, or Balthasar. Ethan had left a cadre of unhappy supplicants in the Cadogan lobby, men and women whose problems he once again wouldn’t have time to address because we had other vampires to protect. Most of those waiting had accepted his apologies with grim resignation. A few had grumbled under their breath about his obligations, how he’d forgotten the vampires who got him where he was. (Since he hadn’t been elected, and he didn’t actually know these non-Cadogan vampires, I questioned the logic.) One had made a move toward him, tried to step toe-to-toe and blame Ethan for making things worse, for bringing new CPD attention to vampires, and causing them to constantly harass him.

He hadn’t looked stable, and he certainly hadn’t appreciated my stepping between him and Ethan. But we’d had to leave, so we’d dispatched Luc to make sure he was escorted off Cadogan property.

Nicole had warned me that dissolving the GP wouldn’t solve our problems, but create new ones. Put a new and different kind of target on Ethan’s back. As much as I hated to admit it, she’d been right. But we still had to try, and that meant handling one problem at a time.

Sometimes triage wasn’t just the best you could do—it was the only thing you could do.

As if Ethan could sense my worrying, he reached out to touch me, to put his hand on my knee, and I hated that I flinched. It was instinct, a reaction to my attack, to the personal barriers that Balthasar had so obviously violated.

Ethan froze.

I’m sorry, I said silently. I just . . . I need time.

I could feel the wall rising between us. It was a wall Balthasar had prompted, and it was wholly unfair to both of us. But there it was. I needed time to regain my control, to feel that I was the one in charge of me, and not that someone else was running rampant inside my head.

He nodded sharply, seemed to battle between fury and hurt. I’ll give you time, as I always have. But he will not stand between us.

I hoped he was right.

*   *   *

Despite the drama, we found Navarre House unchanged. It was still a beautiful dame of a building with a turret on the corner, pale stone on the exterior, and a view of Lake Michigan that even my father would have admired. Perfectly manicured boxwoods in terra-cotta pots were placed at intervals in the small strip of (also perfectly manicured) grass in front of the building, while hydrangeas that hadn’t yet bloomed marked each corner of the building. Celina had undeniably good taste. But then, that was part of the problem.

“Katanas?” I asked, with a hand on the door.

Ethan looked at my scabbard, then his. “You’ve got your dagger?”

“In my boot.”

He likely compared politics to risk. “I’ve got mine as well. Let’s leave them in the car for now. Brody, stay close.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured him.