She had begun to clear her throat during those moments of unforgiving quiet. Sometimes she would shift in her chair, causing the legs to creak. Other times, she would sneeze. Or tap her fingers. Anything to fill the silence that Mr. St. Silas was enforcing.
During the short break that morning, Leena kept her gaze on the dark liquid sloshing in her cup. She never took milk in her coffee, preferring it the way Algaraans made it, thick and slightly caramelized.
“Have you been counting?” Mr. St. Silas asked mildly, forcing her gaze to meet his. The smile he wore erased the callous lines of his face, forcing his handsomeness to be acknowledged—even by Leena, who often felt herself in the presence of a being more monster than human.
His fingers tapped on his timepiece, mimicking the way hers had done on her knee during the last consultation.
She knew instinctively that his smile was a prelude to some sort of savagery. Mr. St. Silas always hid his worst forms of barbarity beneath a veneer of civility.
Wearily, she asked him, “Counting what?”
He looked surprised by her question. “Why, counting the number of pages you’ve burned from your botany book?”
Leena’s heart sank. “Only three.” She barely mouthed the words.
“Come, Miss Al-Sayer, there is no denying your cleverness. I think with your most recent dedication to interrupting my sessions, you must have known it would be a little more than that.”
“You are mistaken. I’ve not been interrupt—”
“Your face,” he cut in, “is terribly honest. It reveals even the smallest emotion.” Regarding her measured look, his tone was derisive. “I fear that I have not worked youhardenough if you have the time to pine over a book about weeds.”
“Well, it is a pityyouthink so, for it would mean that I have successfully cheated the Saint of Silence.”
His brows rose slightly. His hard frame leaned back against the chair, his long legs outstretched before him in a careless gesture. “Oh, how so?”
“If I am indeed not meeting your standards, as you say, and still had six new silk and velvet dresses commissioned for me, three full meals daily, lodgings fully paid, my house rent in New Algaraa District also fully paid for, and”—her smile widened to mirror his—“a smart new hat with ribbonandfeather trimmings, then I am surprised, sir, that you have allowed my negligence to go on for so long and have not taken me to task much sooner.”
They both stared at each other hard, each with a smile on their face that was more a snarl than any sentiment of enjoyment.
“How many pages,” he murmured, “do you think your reply has cost you?”
“I should think”—she spoke between her teeth—“that it was worth my entire book.”
He barked out a laugh. “That is a relief. I was growing weary of spending my evenings feeding the flames.”
Leena tried not to jerk, crossing her fingers behind her back, praying that his threat was not in earnest. “I am glad to be of service.”
“And how long will you be in my service, I wonder?” Guardedly, she waited for him to continue. His dark eyes had turned coldly watchful. “I confess to being disappointed by yourabilitiesthusfar—especially as you have not yet found a single trace of Lord Avon.”
Mr. St. Silas might as well have been a carousel lamp. One minute he was all but disinterested in the search for the elusive Avon ghost, and the next he was all churlish impatience, suddenly filling her schedule with post-confession visits to just about any location Lord Avon might have owned, lived in, or visited. Already they had been to several places that Lord Avon had been known to frequent: the gentlemen’s club, the House of Lords, even His Lordship’s old tailor. It had stirred up nothing but dust and Mr. St. Silas’s displeasure.
Yet he spoke now as if Leena had been purposely remiss, or lying about her ability to bring forth phantoms, although she desperately searched for the ghost everywhere they went. Even now, to her own mind, she shied away from a real and growing fear. What if Lord Avon had long left this world, never to be found? What then? She could not possibly recall ghosts, nor could she stay imprisoned like this forever.
“I have been looking tirelessly,” Leena gritted out.
“Yet without any results to show for it.”
“You have given me startlingly little to go on.”
“I have given youenough.” He held out his gloved hands in a faintly contemptuous manner. “Have you been enjoying my company so much that you are loath to break the contract? Perhaps you require some motivation?”
Leena stiffened. “I am motivated well enough, thank you.”
“Clearly, it has had little effect on you.” He reached for the bell on his desk to alert whichever bruiser was outside to bring in the next confessor, but paused before ringing it. “By the by,” he said in the same moderate tone, “your brother. Does he know you work for me?”
Leena stilled.
Suddenly, all her subtle acts of defiance felt at best fruitless, and at worst sinister. Mr. St. Silas knew exactly what Rami meant to her,how she would turn the earth upside down to protect him; she herself had delivered that information to him.
