Lucius kept gripping his knees.
“I’m sure it’s not at the top of their list, but yes, I would love some tea.”
“Great.”
She took a match and lit the stove, remembering where Lucius had heated it the day before. She filled the kettle with water, placed it on the top, and found two mugs and a jar of tea.
It had the scent of cinnamon and orange peels. She placed a pinch of the tea in the little strainer holders and put one in each cup.
She rested against the cabinet, watching Lucius. His chest moved in and out as if he were struggling with an unseen battle.
Tavia hadn’t asked him to drain all that blood. In fact, she would have been fine if he had locked it up and given her the key so she could throw it away. But she sensed that Lucius loved theatrics—a bit of drama.
The kettle whistled, and she poured the hot liquid into the mugs.
“Do you think you can make it to the table?”
He nodded and stood, his shoulders squared, his back straight, moving with an effortless grace that Tavia had come to associate with him.
He walked over to the table and sat there. The faint scrape of the chair against the wooden floor broke the quiet tension of the room. She placed the teabefore him, the delicate porcelain clinking softly against the table. The warm aroma of cinnamon and orange wafted upward, mingling with the faint, earthy scent of the room. She wondered if it would settle his nerves at all.
“Did you find anything useful today?” she asked, her voice breaking the lingering silence. “Any idea how we're going to find your lost artifact?”
She took the mug, the ceramic warmed against her fingers and she blew on the steaming liquid.
“I have an idea,” he said, taking the mug into his own hands, his long fingers curling around it. “But I’m not sure if you’re going to agree.”
“Me? Why? If we're robbing something, I believe that's my specialty.”
Lucius smiled, a faint flicker of amusement lighting his features. He sipped the tea, his lips briefly brushing the rim, then winced as the heat caught him off guard. He placed it back on the table with a quiet clink.
“Darling . . . how good are you at seduction?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with a playful edge.
Tavia knew what the word meant, but why was he asking? She was a thief, not one of those pleasurewomen.
Oh no . . .
Her heart raced at the teasing way Lucius eyed her.
He couldn’t possibly be thinking of asking her to dothat!
And what would she do if he was?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Slumping back into her chair, Tavia shook her head, the shock of the question running through her panicked mind.
“I still need to teach you to dance, too,” he mused, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.
“Wait,” Tavia said, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean by seduction?”
“Part of my plan involves getting one of the Brotherhood guards alone. And you, my pretty dove, will be the one to do that.”
“But aren’t we supposed to be married?” she asked, the heat rising in her cheeks as her fingers tightened around the warm mug.
“Yes, and the guard I have in mind will absolutely fall for your little charms.”
Lucius leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as he settled into the seat. A faint smile curved his lips, and the red in his eyes softened, shifting toward that striking emerald green she found hard to look away from.
