“‘Candies’?” came Rhys’s voice, pulling him in from the halls like some sort of magic word. He was grinning, hand already outstretched for one of the treats, when he stopped short, his eyes falling on the telltale blue-and-white-striped parcel with a gasp of outrage. “Libba! You didn’t!”
Libba, oddly, flushed a little. “No, I didn’t betray our bargain,” she said quickly. “I swear I didn’t. Twenty quid would’ve bought much more than this, anyway. I only wanted to get some treats for Hattie that they don’t have in the market. It wasn’t to spite you. Honest.”
“Fromher,” Rhys repeated, retracting his hand like he no longer trusted the sweets weren’t poisoned. “My own sister, giving custom to my worst enemy. It hurts the heart.”
“I’m not your sister,” she replied flatly.
He gasped again, gripping his throat. “Oh! The wounds never cease.”
And then he flounced back out, muttering to himself while the remaining three watched him go, impassive and without comment.
“Well,” said Hattie after a moment, “I require a nap. And I suppose the two of you need some privacy to converse. I will take the parcel, if you please.”
“Yes, of course,” said Libba immediately, far more agreeable than Jasper was accustomed to seeing her. She pulled out a single tube-shaped item for herself and handed over the whole kit to Hattie, who tucked it under her arm, smiled softly, and floated off toward her slumber.
“What’s that?” Jasper asked, after the baroness had gone and it was clear Libba didn’t intend to speak first.
“Hm? Oh,” she said, glancing down at the item in her hands. “An hourglass. For seven minutes.”
“Naturally,” he replied with a sigh. “May I sit?”
She threw him an impatient, flat-mouthed look, which made him nod and find his way to an overstuffed armchair. He deliberately avoided the chaise. He’d spent quite enough time on that thing for the time being. He slumped into the embrace of the stuffing and released a little sound of relief.
“I brought the shirt and waistcoat to be laundered,” he told her. “Maybe don’t mention their current state to Elias and Errol for now?”
“I wouldn’t,” she returned, frowning. “Is that all you have to say? I thought your mind would be firmly elsewhere right now.”
“Oh?” He was surprised. “Whereabouts?”
Libba rolled her eyes, turning the hourglass upside down and clicking it onto the table next to her. The sand in it was black. Volcanic. “What did you think of her?” she said impatiently. “The heiress?”
He paused, that fishhook giving another tug at his ribs. “I don’t know,” he said, giving a jerky shrug. “She was fine? She looked like a woman.”
“‘She looked,’” Libba repeated, enunciating each consonant slowly, “‘like a woman’? Is that all it takes for you?”
He screwed up his features, ignoring the rapid-fire sparking of pain that erupted along his jaw and cheekbone. “She likes cats,” he added. “And she has brown hair. What do you want me to say? We didn’t have a chance to converse.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?” she replied, though she sounded spiky about it rather than like she actually agreed. “What would you have said, given you’d had a moment?”
“I don’t know!” he snapped. “I would have introduced myself, I suppose. Asked about the cats, I think. Wasn’t I supposed to be fixated onyou, Xandine?”
“No!” she hissed. “No, you were not. And even if you were, you failed at that too. You were fixated on fish heads, Jasper. Fish heads!”
“I got us an invitation to dinner, didn’t I?” He pointed out. “I did my bit! Everything is fine. Moving along nicely. They know my name now.”
“Oh, well, then I suppose it was a success,” she said, sarcasm in full bloom. “What am I grousing about?”
“God only knows,” he returned, annoyance flaring in him despite the insistent tug of hook around his ribs. “Do you think Iwantedto get mauled by a she-cat? Do you think Ifancieda dip in cold water? What happened happened.”
“Yes, on that, we can agree.” She crossed her arms, giving her head a little shake. “What happened happened.”
“And why were you acting like a doe-eyed ninny, since we’re on the subject?” he added, certain the cut on his lip was bleeding again now. “Xandine was never so… so docile. Why the change?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she returned. “I can’t rightly be the pub princess in this scenario, can I? That would be wholly incorrect in tone. I need to be someone whom an upstanding young man would defend and potentially agree to marry. A properly bred, properlybehavedyoung woman. Much like your heiress is probably expected to be!”
“Well, I hate it!” he snapped back, loudly enough that she startled.
He clamped his lips shut, listening to the odd echo of his own words as she blinked at him in genuine surprise.
