It did not come.
Instead, he said, “If you return to your chamber, will the phantom you saw tonight be waiting for you there?”
She narrowed her eyes, trying to find hidden meaning behind the sudden change of subject. Suspiciously, she said, “No. He disappeared once he saw that the boy would live.”
St. Silas nodded. “I’ll escort you there, then.”
He walked past her toward the door, terminating the conversation.
Leena’s voice stopped him. The words seemed to be pulled out of her throat by some foreign power beyond her control. “I think, Mr. St. Silas, that a part of you wishes you had never made this deal with me.”
He halted, then slowly turned back to face her. “Is that so, madam?”
“I think you may even regret it.”
His smile was indulgent. “You claim to know my regrets?”
The outside world dimmed to Leena. It was near morning, the night a wash of blue in the sky. Carriages had begun to line the main walkways, the sounds of rattling reins and scattered hoofbeats broke the silence, but this went unnoticed by both of them, hidden away as they were in the enclosed courtyard.
“How long has it been since you allowed someone to be as close to you as I am? To see you day in and day out?” she continued when he did not reply. “Can you not guess what I’ve learned about you?”
His smile dropped into a snarl. “Enlighten me.”
This hearkened back to the conversation they’d had on the day Leena had touched the ledgers. Except, instead of circling each other, bloodthirsty for signs of weakness, now she was shying away from the things that were causing him pain. And what a stark difference that was.
“You do not document in your black ledgers every confession.” She tightened her arms around herself. “For some—the vulnerable, the infirm, the mad—you let them leave with compensation but without the pain.”
“It is to save space in my ledgers.”
“You never recordedmyconfession,” Leena persisted.
“Because your secret is mine to do with as I please.” His answer was just as reticent.
“Your servants are loyal to you. Mrs. Van would likely lay down her life for you.”
His nostrils flared. “I pay them well.”
Leena continued. “Yet there are many secrets about you, Mr. St. Silas, that are still unclear to me. I do not understand why you collect confessions, where you get the money to trade for them, or even how you can cause such misery to your customers without ever touching them.” She did not miss the way he inclined his head closer to her to catch her words. “But there is one undeniable truth about you.”
“Pray tell.” Although he tried to keep his gaze steady, the intensity of it still bled through.
That you, despite all the indifference you pretend, are just as affected by these confessions as Iam.
That realization struck her so hard she was sure the force of the blow would leave a physical ache. How had she not seen it? Had she been focusing so much on her own inclinations, on what shewantedto see of him?
Leena ran a hand through the loose strands of her hair that had escaped her pins. St. Silas followed the movement with his eyes.
This interaction had turned to wildfire; it scalded her skin. Leena was a fool for allowing it to ignite—not when she was still determined to break her contract, not when Rami was now also at the mercy of St. Silas, and not when her father remained imprisoned.
This had all gone far enough.
Leena smiled up at him suddenly, her voice teasing. “One undeniable truth I have learned about you, Mr. St. Silas, is that you always take two spoonfuls of sugar in your coffee. Which is surprising.”
St. Silas stared at her for a moment longer.
“Why”—his voice had still not lost its gravel—“is that surprising?”
Leena could’ve walked back to her chamber now and severed this current between them, hoping to save whatever control over herself she still held. Yet she could not leave this rare and unguarded look on his face—not when she felt just as unraveled. “Because I never see you eat or rest. Because you have endless and brutal energy. Because you almost never give in to sweetness.”
