Page 47 of The Betrothal

It had been a good half an hour, and I’d managed a handful of squares of chocolate. The candles were wearing down, and I considered making an exit again, but no sooner had the thought arrived than I convinced myself that Seb would be back soon. I wasn’t ashamed to admit how the way he called me ‘good girl’ had my thighs clenching on nothing.

Maybe I wanted to be his good girl. Isabelle!

I felt my cheeks warming, and I blamed it on the fire and not the images being painted inside my head.

A large shape approached, propping itself on the back of the sofa. Alex’s huge form looked down at me. The anger from earlier was still evident in the press of his lips, but it didn’t extend to his eyes. There, I thought I could see something closer to concern.

“Hi, Alex.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. A prickle raced over my body, brought on by his observation. My fingers twitched with the need to move.

“Who are you?”

I swallowed. “Isabelle.”

He squinted at me.

“Are you asking my surname? Or about my family?” I asked.

His shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, then dropped.

I slid the chocolate along the back of the sofa towards him. He glowered at it and then took a square, chewing on it while evaluating me.

“Well, which is it? You are asking for more information, are you not?”

The muscles in his shoulders tightened, and he forcibly rolled them.

“I am sorry for invading your space, Alex. I can see your privacy and solitude mean a lot to you.”

He huffed, taking more chocolate. He did like it!

“I will be gone with the snow, and I’ll pay for anything I use, anything that you have to replace.”

He huffed again. “The police called.”

My attempt at making amends with him ceased.

“A girl is missing. And given the house calls they said they hoped to make, I assume the heightened concern means she is something to someone important? Powerful?” He pushed the snack back to me while he spoke, a peace offering?

“Important to some,” I conceded. The way he phrased it sounded as if it were a blessing to be something to someone.

“Power by blood, or office?” He’d correctly assumed there was money or political assertion behind the police’s interest.

“Office. But that runs in the blood.”

His scoff didn’t carry judgement.

“I’ll be gone, there won’t be trouble at your door,” I repeated.

His next scoff did seem more dismissive.

“That’s what worries me.” He stood, expanding when he saw my confusion. “Not the trouble at my door. The power of office is no stranger to this household; we are above that kind of trouble.”

“Oh?” I didn’t hide the surprise.

“Tell me, Isabelle.” Alex’s voice turned ice cold, and a sense of dread skittered over me. “If I were to call the police back, tell them I’d found their missing young woman.”

I gulped.