Alex did not touch the page. He listened as she spoke, his jaw tight.
“They are still searching. Nay discovery. He will write when he has more. He hopes I am safe.” She let out a breath. “He sent it here.”
Alex’s mouth turned hard. “He is trying to cover himself,” he said. “He thinks if he writes to ye while ye’re under me roof, I will think he is being careful. He is making sure I daenae kill him.”
Erica nodded once. “That’s what I thought too.”
Alex looked at the seal, broken and neat, then looked at her face. He did not ask why she had hidden it. She did not offer the fear that had put it there.
The air between them thickened. The library listened the only way a room can, with stillness and corners that held what was said.
Silence returned, even heavier now than before. That brief moment of vulnerability had come and gone, and something told her she wouldn’t get it again even if she tried.
“How long do we have to keep doing this?” she asked a while later, voice low.
“Until the children are certain there is nay resentment between us,” Alex said.
He did not take time to think. He gave the line like he gave orders, plain and steady.
“There isnae,” she said.
He tilted his head. One brow lifted, as if he could weigh a word. “Are ye sure?”
She kept her chin level. “Aye.”
“What about the other night after dinner?” he said. “What happened in the passageway.”
She waved it off. “That was a mistake. I was angry.”
His mouth curved. “Do ye always kiss men when ye’re angry?”
She stood up so quickly that the chair leg thudded against the stone. “Ye just had to ruin it, did ye nae?”
Alex rose too, slow on purpose. “Ruin what?”
“The moment,” she said. Heat climbed her neck. She hated that he could see it. “Ye do it on purpose. Ye make a jest, so I willnae dwell on what ye said a breath ago.”
“What did I say a breath ago?” he asked, mild as milk.
“Do ye really want to play this game, Alex?” she snapped. “Right now? In this moment, when we are both in a locked room because yer twins thought this would be a fun game for us to play?”
“I ken I cannae speak for ye, but who says this isnae a fun game for me?”
Banter snapped, then sharpened. She heard her own words and knew she was pushing him. She could not stop.
“Do ye do this so I daenae feel sorry for ye?” she demanded.
He stepped closer. The table stayed between them, but the space was gone. “Lass,” he murmured, “the last thing I want is yer pity.”
His voice stayed even, but the evenness felt like hands on her shoulders.
Her breathing quickened, but he did not reach for her. He did not need to. Heat from him found her anyway. She could feel it on her forearms, thin as breath.
He had leaned close enough that she could see the small pale line at the corner of his mouth where a blade had caught him once. She had not noticed it before.
“Good,” she said, trying to make it sound dry. “Because ye willnae get it.”
“Ye are a cruel woman,” he said, but the words held no bite.
