At Any Cost by Kate Sparkes Page B

the grumbling dressmaker to disrobe her friend. She suspected it would take a while, given the slow pace and the frequent squeaks as pins punctured skin. As much as Maggie wished her friend all the best, she found she could only take so much rapturous joy at any one time.
    “Don’t bleed on that fabric!” the dressmaker ordered, and Maggie leaned over to close the door tight. She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the window.
    Don’t think about him.
    This was why she needed constant motion and distraction. Giving herself orders never made a difference.
    No, he’d never declared love. He hardly knew her, and had even said he didn’t believe in it. But he was the one man she’d found, even now that she had broadened her search, who seemed to understand her, to like her in spite of her background, and to enjoy the fact that she wasn’t magical or noble. His eyes had burned twin holes in her memory, unforgettable no matter what else she packed her mind with.
    She opened her eyes and imagined for a moment that he stood across the street. She couldn’t guess why she’d be imagining him dressed in a heavy sweater and sporting a beard, or why she’d added the detail of a few streaks of gray in his facial hair.
    Or why the image didn’t disappear when she blinked. Her heart leapt, and she stood straighter, taking in the sight.
    He lifted his chin and pulled his hat lower over his eyes. Maggie’s hand crept upward, pulling the lapels of her jacket tight against the chill in the air and the intensity of his stare.
    Go back into the shop. Walk away now. This will end badly.
    She opened the door. “Shel? I’m going to head home. You okay on your own?”
    “Sure. Ouch!”
    Maggie raced across the street and followed Ulric as he turned away and walked around the corner. She kept her distance, and he didn’t look back. Though her rational mind continued its warnings, something deeper pulled her toward him.
    I just want to see whether I was wrong about him. That’s all. Then we’ll be finished. She knew it was a lie the moment she’d thought it, but it made her feel less foolish.
    He turned when he reached the old inn, cut down the alley behind it, and climbed the outside steps to a room on the third floor.
    Maggie’s pulse raced before she reached the top, and not from the climb. He held the door open, and closed it after she’d passed into the warmth of a well-appointed room with a crackling fire in the hearth.
    He stood with arms folded, still not speaking. The silence stretched until she thought the tension might break her.
    “Fetching hat,” she said. “You look like a fisherman.”
    He didn’t smile. “Tell me you’re going through hell.”
    “Define hell.” She set her bag on the table by the door, ready to grab if she chose to storm out, and stepped closer to the hearth. The fire warmed her hands, but did nothing to calm her as she felt him watching every movement. “I’m not lying in bed pining for a man I never had, if that’s what you’re asking. My life hasn’t fallen apart. It’s gone on, as I assume yours has in your palace and your city and your country.” She shook her head and turned her back to the flames. “Your country. The one you basically own.”
    He sank onto the bed and bent to remove his boots, which didn’t fit his disguise. Heavy dragon leather, probably worth more than the inn itself. Still, the rest of the costume was convincing. Had she not dreamed of those eyes every night, she wouldn’t have recognized him.
    “That’s good,” he said. “I’m glad to hear you aren’t suffering. Do you want tea?”
    “I want to know what you’re doing here. I don’t believe the governor is aware of this visit.”
    He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I came for answers. And to make an offer.”
    “I’m listening.”
    He motioned toward an armchair, but she didn’t sit. He stood and stepped toward her, graceful as a predator, but this time she felt no