And she knew that there was more, here in this world she thought she knew, than she had ever dreamed of.

Sebastian sat in the center of the room, in the center of a silver pentagram inlaid in the wooden floor. His back was to her, and he was very still. Her curiosity had always been strong, but she discovered something stronger—her need to give him his privacy.

But, even as she stepped back from the doorway, he spoke to her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” She toyed with one of the few buttons left on his shirt. “The music did. Or I woke up and heard it, and wondered …” She looked around, baffled. She could see no recording device, no stereo. “I wondered where it was coming from.”

“The night.” He rose. Though she’d never considered herself a prude, she found herself flushing when he stood naked in the candlelight, holding a hand out for her.

“I’m naturally nosy, but I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t.” Her hesitation had him lifting a brow, then stepping forward to take her hand. “I needed to clear my mind. I couldn’t do it beside you.” He brought her palm to his lips, pressing them at the center. “Too many thoughts clouding the issue.”

“I guess I should’ve gone home.”

“No.” He leaned down to kiss her, lightly, sweetly. “No, indeed.”

“Well, the thing is …” She backed away a little, wishing she had something to do with her hands. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

She looked so young, he thought, and so frail, standing there in his shirt, with her hair mussed from love and sleep, and her eyes too wide.

“Should I say that, since you decided to make an exception with me, you do this sort of thing very well?”

“You don’t have to.” Then her lips turned up. She had done well. They had done incredibly well. “But I don’t guess it hurts. Do you usually sit naked on the floor in candlelight?”

“When the spirit moves me.”

More comfortable now, she began moving around the room, picking up objects. Lips pursed, she examined a centuries-old scrying mirror. “Is this supposed to be magic stuff?”

In that moment, watching her peer suspiciously at the priceless antiques, he adored her. “That was said to belong to Ninian.”

“Who?”

“Ah, Sutherland, your education is sadly lacking. Ninian was a sorceress, reputed to have imprisoned Merlin in his cave of crystal.”

“Yeah?” She took a closer look, found it a pretty piece, then set it down to study a globe of smoky quartz. “So what do you use this stuff for?”