“He’s nude.” Aaron didn’t look at her, just kept his eyes on the man’s body, hands on his hips.
“He’s a statue. He doesn’t get cold.” She shrugged and moved a bit closer despite herself. Now he turned. Raising his brow, his lip curved.
“No, he clearly does not. Impressive.” He sat himself on the stone edge surrounding the sculpture, legs apart, as he studied her face.
“Yes, I suppose he is,” she said.
Aaron snickered and drummed his hands against the side of the fountain. “So.”
“So.” She folded her arms tight across her chest. “What do you need to tell me about Mr. Weiss?” Because that was the only reason he was here—for what she’d hired him to do—something she could not forget again, lest she humiliate herself even more.
“It’s about Frederick, not Solomon. The older brother. Well, half brother.” Aaron gave a quick, sharp nod. “Impressive man. Their father nearly killed their bank, and through sheer will he pulled it back from the brink. Until now, he was careful, almost conservative with funds. However, as of late he’s been spending. A lot.”
“They’re in debt?” She kicked a pebble with her big toe.
“Not that I’ve heard. At least not yet.” Aaron adjusted his trousers. “But he can’t keep this pace forever. And while no one has heard of a debt in itself, something requiring funds is certainly afoot. Frederick is pushing his brother towards you with a rather strong arm. So strong that he was inquiring about Solomon’s efforts regarding your hand in front of staff.” He added, a sharp edge to his voice, “Including errand boys.”
Not a surprise. Her dowry was chief among her charms. It was, and would be, part of the bargain, so suitors having designs on it shouldn’t concern her—or, well, shouldn’t sting. Except . . . She frowned as a fact tickled the back of her brain. “Where does it go? Into the bank?”
“No. By all accounts, the business is quite robust.” He shrugged, his voice near bored, which was fine.Shewas fine. He would be dismissed soon enough. “What Frederick spends the money on, that’s anyone’s guess. There are rumors both about a gentile woman he’s courting, as well as a hobby. He’s allegedly a collector of some sort. Old-fashioned glass? Vases? Mirrors? Figurines? Something like that.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She fiddled with the ribbon at her neckline. “Just . . . poor Weiss.”
“Poor Weiss?” Aaron sniffed, planting his legs together firmly on the ground. “You’re joking, right?” He raised a hand. “I’m telling you he is conspiring with his brother to drain your funds, and you call him ‘poor.’” His voice was incredulous.
“First, it would be quite difficult to drain our funds. Second, he is pursuing it and me on behalf of someone other than himself.” She twisted the end of her braid, tugging it over her shoulder. “He’s being called upon to serve the whole instead of his own interests.” And this was the sort of information she’d wanted, was it not? Something that could be used to negotiate a bargain between them, to get them each what they wanted from the marriage—bind them to each other and make their goals one.
“There are more ways to make money than marry, as you well know.” Aaron gave her a long stare. “But I’ll admit, from what I’ve seen, you’re probably more than a dowry to him.”
“Oh?” She drew closer. That was a nice thought—to be wanted for something more than money and power for once.
Aaron stood and cracked his back with his palms. “Yes. The two seem keen on making a return to the community, at least partially. They want to expand and need political power. Your connections would be perfect.” His voice was still so distant.
Well, she deserved that. And there truly were worse things.
“Despite not being from my part, he could be good for the community as a whole. With his charm and tenacity and knowledge of the gentile world.” Isabelle rubbed her side, so the sheathed steel pressed against her palm.
“He could.” Aaron moved next to her, peering at her through the moonlight. A light breeze played with his jacket, pulling it back, revealing his ever-half-unbuttoned shirt. And heat began to prickle at her skin again, despite the night air.
“And he clearly has no connection to the Berabs.” She ducked her head, forcing herself to not contemplate this man who didn’t want her and to think of the one who did. “At least not yet. His needs and desires do leave him vulnerable to a counteroffer from them, I suppose, but if I cut the first deal . . .” She wet her lips, turning the information over in her mind, working to make it more, well, appealing.
“Do you like him?” Aaron’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he paced away from her, back toward the fountain.
“What?” She jumped a little before wrinkling her nose. “I don’t know him.”
“Then why are you defending him to me?” He scowled at her.
“Perhaps because I can understand his motivations. And I like people who understand that leaders aren’t entitled to their positions, that they must continually earn them, by serving the whole.” She gritted her teeth. “And perhaps because I like the fact he appeared to actually enjoy touching me. Unlike some people.”
Aaron halted, his mouth agape. “What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Flames shot through her cheeks. She hid her face, already moving back to the house, ready to flee. Or more, calmly retire, as Liras did not run.
“Not nothing.” He scampered around to block her path, holding up a hand. “Wait—were you implying that I didn’t enjoy touching you?”
God. He actually wanted to talk about it? Confirm his disgust? Isabelle closed her eyes. If the ground could just open and swallow her whole.
She hugged her body for fortification. “I’m not a fool. I saw your face after the kiss. You were horrified.” She choked on the word as all the stinging hurt, which shouldn’t exist, rushed back.
