I was already dressed for sleep; I climbed beneath my covers, sinking into the plush feather mattress. The light, I remembered a shallow breath later, and whispered a charm. The candles extinguished, one by one, leaving me in the cloying darkness of an unfamiliar room in my rival’s house. Slowly, I slid down beneath the coverlet, my hair pooling beneath me on the pillow.

I heard Phelan’s heavy footsteps as he ascended the stairs. He paused at the top, as if he sensed me in the guest room. I remembered belatedly that I had promised my father I would cast a ward on my door, on the windows.

Phelan retreated to his bedroom across the hall from mine, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

The house fell eerily silent.

My heart would not cease its strange, uneven beat. Was it becoming more stone, or cracking into more flesh? I couldn’t tell, but it hurt to breathe deeply. I burned cold with fear and fury, and when I closed my eyes, all I could see was my name, bending to his handwriting in dark, bold ink.

18

“Someone arrived home late,” I said, stepping into the dining room the following morning. Phelan was there, sitting in his customary seat. His dark hair was freshly washed and slicked back, and he sipped tea without making a sound, reading the morning paper while methodically cutting into a wedge of quiche. He was dressed formally, as he always seemed to be.

“And someone decided to sleep in my guest room last night,” he countered with an arched brow, looking up from his paper.

His eyes traced my body. My hair was braided into a crown, and I was wearing one of the dresses he had had tailored, a simple yet elegant forest-green dress with flora and fauna embroidered on the bodice in golden thread. I waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, I sighed and relented to sit, reaching for the teapot.

“I won’t take advantage of your hospitality again, Mr. Vesper,” I said, filling my cup. “It was a one-night-only arrangement.”

“Were you taking advantage of it, if I offered it to you?” he said, returning his gaze to his paper. But his attention was still preoccupied by me, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a very bad thing. “You should stay here, Miss Neven. It would be easier for both of us, I think.”

“For both of us?” I echoed, cutting a huge slice of quiche.

“Yes. I worry about you, since you refuse to tell me the neighborhood you live in or let me pay for you to take a horse and cab home every evening,” he said in a flat tone, as if he didn’t care that I kept secrets from him. Which made me think he did, rather deeply. “And there is that other matter.”