“When necessary.”
“And you’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on me?”
A brief pause. “No, I have not.”
“Then I must remind you, again, that I am busy. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a deadline. So please say or do what you will and then allow me to work.”
When still, he offered nothing, Alora huffed a breath in disbelief.Good god, what a dense clod!She’d ignore him, she decided. Let him stand there and watch her wallpaper the room until he grew bored enough to leave. Served him right.
Though, as she bent to retrieve the paper abandoned by the groundskeeper, she couldn’t help wishing she could see beneath his hood.Just a peek.
She brushed glue with practiced strokes before taking the paper in her hands, reaching as tall as she could. She landed back on her heels. It was no use. She needed that stool. She needed more height. Alora spun back to the man. If he lacked his own work, perhaps he could fetch her one. But instead of finding him at the door, she turned fully into an unfamiliar chest.
Swathed in black leather, he pressed up against her, and Alora’s lips parted as she looked up and up, to his handsstretched above her, dark gloves against ivory paper. He pressed it firm, before sliding them along the edges and down.
She caught the outline of his covered nose, his mouth, the strong shape of his jaw, and her eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”
“No,” he said, stepping back.
Alora felt the loss of his heat like a fever come and gone, which was unsettling. She turned the brush over in her hand. Perhaps it was only the glue making her feel this way.
“But this isn’t our first meeting,” he added. Plucking the brush from her fingers, he dipped it, applying a thin layer of glue. “The gold is a nice touch. It will please Merridon, which I assume was your intention.”
Alora studied the paper as he applied it, appreciating the carefulness he took in aligning the edges. She wondered why he didn’t refer to Master Merridon as simply ‘Master’ with all the rest. “I favor gold in small touches rather than—” She nudged her discarded cloak with her toe.
“It’s true, the green suits you better.”
Alora canted her head. It was a compliment, maybe. Albeit a poorly delivered one. “As black suits you?”
“All variations of darkness suit me. Enchantments, chocolate, midnights. Hair the color of chestnuts. Hand me more paper, Miss Pennigrim.”
Hair the color of—
“It’s Alora,” she grumbled. Then wondered why she’d told him.
“As you wish. Alora.” Her name was a rasp behind the mask. He grabbed ahold of the paper she offered, his gloved hands meeting hers beneath.
“And you are?”
Their hands touched still, the paper partway between, and Alora felt transfixed, dying to know. She waited and wondered,curious why he debated, when he said, “We don’t divulge our names, us lowly messengers.”
She stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the diversion. “I don’t believe there is anything considered ‘lowly’ about you.”
“Don’t you, really?”
She could recognize that tone a thousand times over, obvious in every line of his posture. The only thing that might have voided her thinking were his fingers touching hers, seemingly unhurried to move. She huffed, “You’re arrogant, aren’t you? It wasn’t any sort of compliment. But fine, keep your identity secret as I’m sure it works well enough for you.” She tipped her head and made a show of examining him, boots to head, and smirked at his hidden mouth. “Or perhaps not. The black on black on black is a bit bland. Almost uninteresting.”
“Such barbs, Miss. Are youquite sureyou are uninterested?”
She could feel the triumph roll off him when she gasped, his fingers enclosing over her own.
“Quite,” she ground from between her teeth. She forced herself unaffected. Forced her breaths normal. But he was everywhere, eclipsing everything. Even her breath was shared with his they stood so close.
“It is considered impolite to lie.”
“You should know best of all.”
“It isn’t a lie to withhold information.”
