“Beg pardon?” she managed to ask, unsure of what the desired answer to her internal question was.
“You’ve been in one location for over a week. My late wife wasinstructed to rest after Fannie’s birth and ended up bursting her stitches in a day,” he explained. “She had a great deal of energy.” His eyes looked sad for a moment.
There was an odd tugging at her heart. Metaphorically, not literally. A rather silly notion, as many awful people were still capable of some genuine, even laudable emotions. Such did not transform their character.
“While I find my predicament frustrating, I recognize the science behind the same. Not to mention, I respect the advice of those with expertise, like Dr. Maduro,” she declared.
“Do you?” he asked, having the nerve to sound surprised.
“It would be hypocritical if I didn’t, as I ask others to respect mine,” she countered. “Besides, I find this rest useful. I’ve been able to recall some new techniques I’ve been studying that I could deploy once I return to work,” she said, folding her good arm over her chest.
“Your commitment to your profession is admirable,” he said, his tone seemingly sincere, but given who he was and how little he thought of her, it was likely all fluff.
“I receive updates regarding your home each day, and I understand progress is being made despite the weather, albeit slower than is ideal,” he continued, before taking a sip of his drink, drawing her eye to his chest and the fact his shirt was half-unbuttoned, showing a swath of golden skin, covered with dark gold hair.
Her mouth went dry for a moment.
“What is it?” he asked, snapping her attention back to his face. Her cheeks heated as she searched for a non-humiliating response.
“I, um, see your struggles have been unsuccessful,” she commented, recalling their last conversation. He gave her a confused expression, and she pointed to the glass in reference to the prior night.
He raised his drink to her then took yet another swig. “Yes, but there’s always tomorrow.” He set the goblet down next to the book.
“Before or after you verify proper progress on my home?” she asked.
His eyes grew wide for a moment, then sparkled as his lip curled. “I’ll see how I feel.”
“Is there anything wrong?” she asked.
“No.” He waved a hand toward the fire. “It’s just very cold.”
Exactly how many of those small glasses did he have before she arrived, and how much more interesting did they makeDebrett’s? Not that she should stay to find out. She—and he—should go to bed.
Except she found herself moving farther into the room. “And that makes you warmer?”
“Most certainly.” Berab indicated the chair next to him.
“Interfering with my observance is a more serious violation of the mitzvah.” She moved behind the settee, placing her hands on its back.
“A way to get one swallowed up by the ground?” he suggested, with a small smile and no small amount of pride. One that demonstrated a dimple on his right cheek.
A very, very attractive dimple.
If one were merely attracted to physical attributes.
Which she was not. And thus that was not what stunned her. No. The reference was. The same one both she and Isabelle had made the first day she awoke from her injuries.
“I’d not go that far,” she managed. “I don’t think you’d actually risk your family, let alone your possessions, if you believed that was possible,” she added, surprised at the truth in her words.
“My possessions are spectacular,” he quipped. He almost certainly was not on his first glass of whatever that was.
Though his diction was clear and his eyes were anything but unfocused. Especially when locked on her form.
“My family is nothing to sneeze at, despite what some might say,”he added, his face searching hers, daring her to disagree. Not that she would. Not because she had any love for the Berabs, but it was clear the criticisms to which he was referring came from people she almost certainly found even more insufferable.
She squeezed the polished wood of the chairback with her good hand. “It’s clear that you love them.”
His smile fell a touch. “There’s most certainly a ‘but,’ in that statement.” His eyes were focused now, sharp as they inspected her body, her face heating even as she refused to look away, refused to be cowed. “You need not be concerned with my brother.”
