“I can’t swim,” I blurt out.
Wait, why did I say that?
Because he’s standing there all naked and wet and perfect, that’s why.
“You cannot swim?” He looks confused. “Everyone should learn to swim. It’s a basic survival skill.”
“I don’t disagree. But at my school, you needed a parent to sign a consent form before you could have swimming lessons. My mother said she’d sign it, but then the permission slip disappeared somewhere and?—”
I snap my mouth shut. I can’t believe I saidall that. I’ve never, ever spoken about my mother to anyone except Claire. I barely know Alaric and here I am starting to spill one of my most horrific secrets.
“I understand, Ms Preston,” he says. “I too have a difficult mother, as you may discover if you are still here when she arrives.”
“Winnie,” I say. “Please, call me Winnie.”
“I’ll call you Winnie if you call me Alaric.”
“But you have a fancy title. If I had a fancy title, I’d make everyone use it.”
“Would you like a fancy title?” The corner of his mouth quirks again. “I believe I have the power to bestow them. Would you like to be ‘Empress Winifred, Lady of Light and Laughter and Terrible Music’, or perhaps ‘Her Royal Highness Winifred, Grand Poobah of the Clutter Castle’.”
I giggle despite myself. “You are ridiculous.”
“The Very Very Reverend Winifred, Mistress of the Storage Containers.”
“Stop!”
“Galactic Czarina Winifred? Witchfinder General Winnie?” He taps his chin. “I’m certain there is a title that will convey all of your beauty and brilliance …”
“Just Winnie! Please!” My stomach hurts from laughing. “Alaric.”
At the sound of his name on my lips, both corners of his mouth crick up into an unmistakable grin. I catch a flash of perfect white teeth before he wipes the smile off his face and strides towards me, all seriousness. “Winnie, I hope you haven’t been waiting for me too long. I’m eager to begin our work.”
The way he says this, his eyes locked on mine with the same raw intensity he usually reserves for his art, makes me self-consciously check that I definitely,absolutelyremembered to put clothes on this morning.
I swallow, running my fingers over my shirt buttons and totally,definitelynot thinking about what his long fingers would feel like unbuttoning them. “You’ll be working by yourself tonight. Reginald is taking me into the villagefor a book club.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Are you certain it’s wise to go out by yourself? With a murderer still on the loose?”
I swallow. “You don’t need to worry about me. I won’t be by myself. I’ll be in a room with several other women armed with books.”
“Books may be wonderful, magical receptacles of knowledge, but they can’t protect you from a killer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I grin. “If that killer dares to crash our book club, they’ll suffer death by a thousand paper cuts. I’d like you to sort out these crucifixes.”
“Done. They can all go. They’re Gideon’s idea of a joke. He likes to hide them around the castle for me to find.”
“Gideon?”
Alaric doesn’t elaborate. I wave my hands at the pile of swords.
“Can these go, too? You have a whole gallery of stabbing in the entrance hall. You can get rid of these imperfect ones. Maybe there’s a local museum or re-enactment group who’d like them.”
Alaric glares at the pile of broken, warped and bent swords as though he only just noticed it.
His body stiffens. The warmth in his eyes flickers out.
“I …” He swallows. His shoulders slump. He looks solost.
