“Ugh!” She growled, shoved into his shoulder, and stomped up the steps.
Lips twitching, Rumpel rubbed his shoulder as if she’d wounded him. “When a man tries to be gallant, women cry foul and call us misogynistic; when we make you open your own door, you scream that chivalry is dead. I confess I do not understand the opposite sex sometimes.”
Betty slammed the door behind her, shutting both him and Gerard out. Turning to him, the burly Frenchman shook his head. “Leave her out of this,” he said. “I do not know what you’re about, but spare her the humiliation at the very least.”
Holding up his hands, Rumpel shrugged. “I had no intentions of dragging her into it, though I doubt she’ll be content to let you have the ultimate choice in the matter as the situation is a rather sensitive one.”
Hand on the knob, Gerard looked as though he wished to say more, but with a hard jerk of his head, he opened his home to him.
The inside of the house was as handsomely appointed as the exterior and filled with blond, burnished wood floors and furniture that was designed to be comfortable as opposed to opulent. A crackling fire burned in the hearth, and lavender and other flowers hung drying upside down from the rafters above them. In short, it was a home built with love and made to be lived in.
“I’m in the kitchen, Gerard,” Betty cried out from the next room in a voice that still bore a tinge of exasperation.
Gerard led the way and gave his wife a chaste peck on the cheek before sitting at the carved wooden eating table. He gestured at the seat in front of him. “Sit,” he said with lifted brow, never taking his eyes off Rumpel.
Taking a seat, Rumpel watched as Betty busied herself pouring steaming water from a black iron kettle into three mugs. No one said anything as she added a spoonful of sugar and a squeeze of lemon to each cup. The aromatic fragrance of Earl Gray tea filled the quaint space. The kitchen, just as the rest of what he’d seen, had a homey, lived-in feel to it.
The cabinets were whitewashed and distressed, and a black baker’s rack was full of bowls brimming over with apples and large loaves of bread. A thick wedge of yellow cheese, still partly dipped in wax, sat on the counter. Clearly he’d interrupted lunch.
A mug was shoved into his hands. He looked up.
“Here,” Betty said without any attempt at civility, a fact he was oddly grateful for. Usually he was greeted either with fear or extreme obeisance, both of which disgusted him. He preferred truth every time.
“Thank you.” Inclining his head, he used the silver-handled spoon on the table to stir the sugar. “Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time.”
Betty sat on Gerard’s lap, eyeing him over the rim of her mug as she sipped at it.
“So speak.” Gerard tapped his fingers on the table, ignoring the tea Betty had set before him.
Even knowing this wasn’t a social call, Rumpel took a sip of tea and moaned in appreciation of the robust and citrusy quality of it. After a moment, he shrugged. “I’m here for your daughter.”
“I’m just sure you are, you sonofabitch.” Betty slammed her mug down, sloshing the contents onto the tabletop. Patting her knee softly, Gerard took the mug from her clenched hand and took a swallow from it himself.
“Mm. Yes.” Rumpel thinned his lips. “I know this is messy and probably not at all what you expected, but I’m here to collect.”
Now it was Gerard’s turn to lean forward. “I’m no fool, imp. I understood what I signed years ago would someday be called due, I get that. But how could you possibly believe I’d be willing to give you my daughter? My contract stated—”
“Yes, yes.” Rumpel waved his hand. “That in exchange for my causing several highly influential and powerful patrons of a one Madam Flurry to forget you’d ever bedded her, you’d swear a single day of fealty to me. Semantics.”
“Semantics!” Betty pounded her fists on the table. “Okay, one, I was pissed at Gerard for not telling me about that deal.” She gave her mate a withering glare before inhaling deeply and patting her chest. “But considering the fact that he did that with you fifty-two years before he met me, I can hardly hold it against him. However, the contract’s terms are explicit; he is the one who owes you a day of fealty, not Shayera.”
Gerard’s nostrils flared as he jerked his head emphatically at his wife’s proclamation. “Correct, mon ange.” He stroked her back, which seemed to have an instant and calming effect on his wife. “I will not fight my fate. An oath taken with you is sealed in blood. I’ll do as you bid for one day and one day only, and my daughter stays out of this.”
Narrowing his eyes, Rumpel sensed rather than saw that an entirely different set of eyes was watching him. Betty’s head jerked up at the same moment, and just as he was about to turn in his seat to look for who it was, she hissed out, “Get back upstairs!”