She hesitated.
Then, with a small lift of her chin that carried more determination than sense, she said, “Yes.”
Alexander poured her a measure, watching with open interest as she took the glass, lifted it cautiously to her lips, and then?—
Coughed. Violently.
He huffed a quiet laugh, unable to stop it as she set the glass down with a soft thud, her eyes watering.
“That is vile,” she declared, pressing the back of her hand briefly to her lips, her nose wrinkling in undisguised displeasure as she pushed the glass a fraction away from her.
“It is not meant to be consumed like lemonade,” Alexander replied, one brow lifting as he leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her over the rim of his own glass with quiet amusement that he did not bother to conceal.
“Well, I am not accustomed to drinking something that feels as though it intends to set me ablaze from the inside,” she said, her voice still faintly hoarse from the burn, her fingers curling lightly around the stem of the glass as though she did not quite trust it not to attack her again.
“You grow accustomed to it,” he murmured, swirling the whiskey idly before taking another measured sip, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than necessary.
“I should hope not,” she returned, lifting her chin with a small huff, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her, threatening to curve despite her best efforts.
He smiled.
It came without calculation or restraint, settling across his features with a natural ease that caught him off guard even as it lingered, and the realization of it carried a strange kind of weight.
“You are laughing at me,” she accused, narrowing her eyes at him, though there was no real heat in it, only a flicker of reluctant amusement as she shifted slightly in her seat.
“I am,” he admitted easily, his tone unrepentant as he set his glass down and regarded her more directly.
“How unkind,” she said, though her lips curved now, the protest lacking conviction as she folded her hands loosely in her lap.
“And yet you persist in staying,” he replied, his voice lowering just slightly, his gaze holding hers with quiet intent as he leaned forward a fraction, as though drawn in despite himself.
She met his gaze then, and for a moment neither of them spoke, the air between them shifting in a way that felt… intimate.
“You were very unlikeable before,” she said suddenly.
Alexander stilled. “Oh?”
“Yes,” she continued, settling more fully into the chair opposite him, the movement unhurried though her fingers tightened briefly at the edge of her robe as she drew it closer around herself. “Cold. Distant. Entirely insufferable.”
“That is quite the assessment,” Alexander replied, one brow lifting as he leaned back slightly, though his gaze remained fixed on her, intent and searching.
“It is an accurate one,” she returned, lifting her chin a fraction, her tone steady despite the faint tension that lingered in the set of her shoulders.
“And now?” he asked, the question softer, as he tilted his head just slightly, watching her with an attentiveness that left little room for evasion.
She hesitated.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he saw it in the way her gaze dropped briefly to her hands, in the way her fingers loosened their grip on the fabric of her robe before curling again.
Then, more quietly, without looking at him, “Now… I find that I may have been mistaken.”
His chest tightened at that, the sensation catching him off guard as his jaw shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on her face.
“Careful, Duchess,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter, as he leaned forward just a fraction, his forearms resting against the desk as he held her gaze when she finally lifted it. “You risk disappointing yourself.”
She gave a small, humorless laugh, the sound soft but lacking any real mirth as her shoulders lifted in a faint, almost dismissive shrug.
“I am rather accustomed to disappointment,” she said, her eyes flickering away again, though not before he caught the brief shadow that passed through them, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
