He smiles too, evidently satisfied with how the evening has gone. “Now, I will be up reading for a few hours,” he says, getting off the bed. “But please don’t let that disturb you. Feel free to sleep while I work.”

“Where would you like me to . . . sleep?”

“On the bed, of course,” Pliny says, exasperation creeping into his voice. He sits at his desk. It’s angled so that he can still see her. Amara makes a show of getting under the covers and half closes her eyes, watching him from under lowered eyelashes. Pleased to see her settled, Pliny turns back to his scrolls and ignores her. She fully intends to stay awake, but the rustle of parchment, the sound of the fountain and the smell of jasmine are all so soothing, she has soon drifted off.

She is still half asleep when she feels his fingers run through her hair. “You’ve not left me much room,” he whispers.

Instantly, she is alert. “Oh!” she exclaims, realizing she must have sprawled across the entire bed in her sleep. “Sorry,” she scrambles to the other side.

Pliny slips in beside her. “It’s a gift, to sleep well,” is all he says.

They lie next to each other in the dark. Amara has no idea what time of night, or perhaps morning, it is. She can sense from his extreme stillness and shallow breathing that Pliny is also fully awake. It is difficult to know what he might want, but Amara feels she had better suspect the obvious rather than offend him. She shuffles over, placing her hand gently on his arm. “I’m so grateful you invited me,” she says.

“You are a delightful girl,” he replies. Amara knows he is looking at her, but his face is obscured in the darkness. She leans over and kisses him. He has dry, papery lips. Pliny doesn’t respond to her kiss, but he doesn’t shove her off either. She relaxes, letting her body rest on his, while her hand travels across his thigh. Immediately, he stops her, catching her by the wrist. “There’s . . . no need.”

“I only want to please you,” she says, moving away, so she is no longer lying against him. “I didn’t mean to presume.”

“I understand,” he says, kissing her hand with his dry lips and releasing her wrist. “But there’s no need. It’s a pleasure for me simply to have you here.” He stretches out his own hand and rests it on her waist. It’s the only part of their bodies that is touching, though he is so close she can see the dark of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath. “What lovely soft skin you have,” he says.