“Henry?” he echoed. But his eyelids twitched, tightening from their relaxed state.

“Surely you remember. He came six months ago. And he wrote that he had found you. But then I never heard from him—or you—again. That is why we came. I was so worried about you without anyone to look after you.”

“I was working every day for us. For you. I never wrote because I had nothing to report. Surely you did not doubt that what I was doing was important.”

I wanted to pinch him, to pull on his hair until he cried out in pain. I also wanted to press my mouth against his and devour him. Consume him. Instead, I smoothed his hair back from his forehead, playing with the silky curls. “I know. And I knew you would have been lost in your studies and forgotten how desperately I would want to hear from you. But Henry left you all alone. And that is not like him. Your condition when I arrived proved I was right to be worried. Henry should not have gone.”

Victor opened his eyes and studied me shrewdly. “We did not part on good terms. You know why.”

I feigned innocence. “I assure you, I do not.”

“Do you know why Henry came here?”

“To learn Eastern languages so he and his father could open up trade with merchants from the Far East. I thought it was an excellent idea. He was unhappy, working as his father did, and this allowed him the freedom to pursue something he loved while remaining loyal to his father.”

Victor’s dark lashes swooped low as he narrowed his eyes. “It turns out that loyalty is not something Henry values highly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Henry tracked me down when he arrived. I am not certain how he found me. Or how you did.” He paused, curious.

“Mary Delgado.”

“Who?” Victor’s genuine confusion was a balm to my competitive spirit. She might have remembered him, but he had no use for her. All my initial regard for her settled back into place now that I had nothing to fear from her as far as Victor’s affections.

“The bookseller’s niece. She had a receipt from her uncle at the bookshop.”