Page 55 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

She chuckled. “I managed to worm my way into Cyril Harring’s life a century or so later.”

“Cyril Harring?” I echoed. “I’ve had the recent, er, pleasure of making his acquaintance.”

She snorted. “Trust me, that man knows nothing of pleasure. They say that vengeance is unbecoming of a lady, but I just can’t stop myself from making his life the teensiest bit more difficult lately.”

I grinned. “By bedding his wife, you mean?”

“What can I say?” she replied. “I relish the knowledge that she would much rather spend the night in my bed than his, especially since the viscount knows it too.”

She pulled a bottle from the folds of her cloak, easing its cork free with a hiss. Grinning, she unfurled her long fingers, beckoning for my empty glass.

“Now,” she said. “How about some tea?”

I massaged my temples as Enhart berated me for my inability to summon a single puff of smoke. Apparently, Vesper’s idea of tea was two bottles of Hendarian cherry wine and staying up until the early hours of the morning. What little moonlight there was seeped through the clouds above us and burned my irises.

“You’re not even trying,” he accused.

“I am!” An ember sparked and fizzled out with a hiss between my palms. Heat throbbed beneath my skin like a warning. I had absolutely no intention of performing anything more advanced than that, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him.

“You’re clearly holding back, so you might as well tell me what’s going on before I have to force you to.”

Godsdamnit. “Force me?” I seethed, my cheeks reddening. A flame sizzled between my cupped hands. “Happy?”

He stepped back, eyeing me suspiciously. “No.”

“I thought you said that fire should be born from calm, not chaos,” I protested as the flame disappeared in a whiff of smoke. “And yet you seem intent on provoking me.”

“I find that anger motivates you.”

I cursed him under my breath.

“Are you going to tell me what this is really about?” he asked.

I swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “I just feel like fire should be used sparingly. It’s unpredictable.”

“You’re lying.”

“I told you to stop—”

He held up a hand, silencing me. “I don’t have to, in your words, poke around in your mind to know that you’re lying to me. Remember, I have a lifetime of experience in the King’s court, and you’re not nearly as practiced at deception as the nobility.”

“Perhaps I’d be better at it if you hadn’t abandoned me in the middle of our session last night,” I protested.

The look on his face straddled the line between amused and perplexed. “Last night? Weren’t we already retiring for the evening?”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

He cocked his head. “I apologize that my masculine wiles got the better of me. I promise to stay out with you all night if that’s what it takes.”

“That’s not what I—”

“No, I insist. All night, and into the day. I’ll beat Mordric off with a stick if I have to.”

I rolled my eyes.

“What are you hiding?” he asked, his face suddenly serious.

“Nothing,” I insisted. “I just think there are better things we could be doing with our time together.”