“Well,” I murmured under my breath. “This should be fun.”
He glanced at me—half exasperated, half amused—and the smallest, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You have a remarkable gift for understatement.”
But before I could think of something clever to say in return, another thought seized me. I gasped softly, pressing a hand to my chest.
“Oh! I nearly forgot Poe!”
Sylum blinked, clearly thrown. “I beg your pardon?”
“The raven,” I said hurriedly, scooping the edge of his sheet around me as I moved toward the adjoining door. “He was here last night… or rather, this morning. He was on my bedside table when I woke.”
A muscle ticked in Sylum’s jaw. “You’ve… befriended Poe?”
“Yes,” I laughed, already stepping into my room. “I rather think he likes me.”
He followed me, watching with that bemused, slightly wary expression men often wear when they’ve lost all control of a situation. “He doesn’t like anyone.”
“That’s not true,” I answered over my shoulder. “He called me his Lenore.”
That earned me a startled laugh. “His what?”
“Lenore,” I repeated, crouching beside the small table where the bird had perched only hours before. The wood was bare now. There were no feathers, not even a stray claw mark to prove he’d ever been there. “He must have flown out the window…”
“Or,” Sylum offered dryly, leaning against the doorframe, “you were dreaming.”
I stiffened, his words calling back the dream I’d had of him coming to my room. “Perhaps.”
“He’s probably in the garden,” he assured, more gently this time. “He’s free to roam the grounds, but he’s never gone long if he does.”
I turned to him, frowning. “Should I be worried for him… you know… with your aunt?”
He smiled faintly, coming to stand closer to me. His eyes raked down my body, barely concealed by his rumpled sheet.
“Poe can take care of himself,” he replied softly, pressing his lips to mine. “It’s me you should be concerned about.”
“Is that so?” I asked, arching a brow.
“Mmm. My aunt is going to burn me at the stake for marrying you,” he murmured, his eyes softening.
I laughed, shaking my head, though a small unease coiled quietly in my stomach. “I could send her away. I am the lady of the manor.”
Sylum reached up to tuck a curl behind my ear. “Ignore my aunt,” he said softly. “She thrives on anger. I’ll have Mrs. Ashby send breakfast to your rooms. And after that—”
“You’re leaving,” I finished for him, smiling despite myself.
He sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. But I’ll be back before supper.”
He leaned down then, his lips brushing the top of my head with tender reassurance. “Try not to befriend any more ravens while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” I replied sweetly.
He chuckled, the sound warm in the chill morning air, before slipping from the room.
I lingered a while at the hearth, thenwith a sigh, I rang for Nelly.
She arrived promptly, rosy-cheeked and breathless, as though she’d run the length of the corridor. Her cheeks flushed as she took in my appearance—wrapped in nothing but a sheet—but she made no comment.
“Your Grace,” she curtsied, “Mrs. Ashby said you might wish to bathe.”
