“Yes.”
“And why you do not wish me to ask where you go,” she continued.
“Yes.”
He met her gaze. “What I am doing matters. More than my comfort. More than my reputation.”
“And more than your marriage,” she asked softly.
James did not answer immediately. He stepped closer instead, closing the space between them.
“No,” he said at last. “But it endangers it.”
Her expression softened. “That is not the same thing.”
“I asked you not to disturb me when I am working,” he said. “Because I cannot afford distraction.”
Her eyes searched his face. “And am I a distraction?”
His voice dropped. “You are the only one.”
Her breath caught.
“Am I forgiven yet?” he asked quietly.
She laughed under her breath. “You are getting warmer.”
He took another step, close enough now that he could feel the warmth of her skin, smell the faint trace of tea and lavender.
“Then perhaps,” he said, “I should make a more persuasive case.”
She did not answer him at once.
Instead, Eleanor held his gaze, her expression unreadable, her breathing just slightly uneven. The kitchen felt suddenly too small, the air thick with heat and unsaid things. James became acutely aware of every inch between them, of how easily he could close it, and how dangerous that knowledge was.
“You always choose your words carefully,” she said at last. “Until you decide not to.”
“And you always notice,” he replied.
Her fingers curled lightly at her side, as if resisting the urge to reach for him. “If you do this,” she said, voice quiet but steady, “do not do it to distract me. Do not do it to win.”
His jaw tightened. “I would never use you that way.”
“Then tell me,” Eleanor said. “Tell me this is because you want me.”
The honesty of the moment struck him harder than any accusation. He stepped closer, slow enough that she could stop him. She did not.
“I want you,” James said simply.
Her breath left her in a soft, involuntary sound. The last of her teasing faded, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable.
Her eyes darkened with understanding. “James.”
He brushed his thumb lightly along her wrist. Nothing improper. Everything intentional.
He leaned in, his voice low. “Tell me if I should stop.”
She did not answer.
