Page 46 of Song of the Dark Wood

She held his gaze a moment too long. Her awkward attempt at flirting was disarming.

“Which is your favorite?” she asked.

He moved toward her and she jumped when he caged her in, reaching for a book on the shelf just over her head. It was stupid and unnecessary. His chest brushed against hers, and the scratch of his velvet tunic against the silk of her dress wasdeafening. The heat of her skin emanating from beneath the fabric was too much. He was a reckless idiot.

He stepped back and placed the book in her hands, hoping she didn’t notice the way his hands shook.

“Pyrrha and the Wolf. It’s a bit narcissistic, no?” she laughed, flipping through the pages featuring pictures of a redheaded girl and a monstrous-looking wolf.

“Who doesn’t love an origin story?” Conor countered.

Rowan’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this a true story?”

“Based on one, I suppose. Certainly, it seems there’s some artistic license taken,” Conor said.

“Can I take it to my room?” she asked, as if it was a massive imposition. “I’d like to read before bed. I promise I’ll be really careful with it.”

“Relax, lass, it’s just a book. Of course you can read it before bed.”

She grinned at him, her smile like the dawn cresting the mountains to the north. He was surprised something so simple could bring her such delight.

“Come on. I’ll show you your room,” Conor said, holding out his arm for her to thread her hand through.

He led her up the stairs and down the candlelit corridor to her room. She stepped inside and took in the space tentatively. Her gaze lingered on the intricately carved bed. They both stood suspended just inside the doorway.

He could envision her there, pinned beneath him on the white linens, her thighs hooked around his hips, her wide green eyes peering up at him.

Conor shook his head, forcing his gaze from the bed. “There are spare clothes in the closet. You can take whatever you need for sleep, and the servants will draw you a bath in the morning and then bring you breakfast in here. I’m busy during the day,but you’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Don’t go outside without myself or Charlie.”

Her eyes brightened with interest at that information. He’d have to keep an eye on her to see what she did.

“Good night, Conor. Thank you for letting me stay, and thank you—” She looked down at the floor. “Thank you for not asking why.” She met his eyes again, and the vulnerability in them made his stomach plummet.

He nodded and turned away before he could do something more foolish than let her stay.

Conor expectedto find Rowan prowling the mansion the following day, but she spent most of her time in the library before returning to her room. Finally, in the evening, after she’d taken dinner alone in her room, his curiosity got the better of him and he went to check on her.

Finding the door cracked open, he crept inside. The sloshing of water in the bathroom drew him up short, though he figured it would be strange for her to be bathing with the door wide open. Instead, he found her bent over her white silk dress in the large metal bathtub.

Rowan scrubbed at the fabric with meticulous gentleness. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and her teeth pressed into her lower lip. She huffed and threw the dress at the side of the tub.

“What did that dress ever do to you?” Conor teased.

She jumped as she whipped her head up to look at him. “Nothing…it’s just—I need to get the soot stains out, and they’re so stubborn. I accidentally touched the dress after I stoked thefire in the library. If I was back in the tower with my laundry supplies, it would be easier.”

“You do your own laundry?” Conor asked.

Her cheeks pinked as she brushed a stray hair back from her forehead. “Well, technically, we have servants for that, but I have a tendency to get very muddy when gardening. I feel bad giving the maid my dresses when they’re so badly stained, so I usually launder them myself first so that most of the stains are gone.”

“Why are you blushing?” Conor asked.

“Because I’m embarrassed to be such a mess.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. Her white linen nightgown clung to her skin, transparent in all the places the water had splashed. Conor shifted his gaze to her red, pruned hands. “I just don’t want the next girl to have a stained dress. I try to leave everything how I found it or better.”

She wrung her hands. He didn’t understand her frenzied nervousness.

“I want the dresses to be nice when—” Rowan cleared her throat. “I want the dresses to be as nice as possible when Aeoife inherits them. It’s not fair for her to get a bunch of stained dresses all because I’m so careless.”

She began furiously attacking the stain again, and Conor was struck speechless. Despite her explanation, her nervousness suggested that she’d be punished for the stain, and that realization spread fury through his body like a fever. Anger was a catalyst for bad behavior, and he could not lose himself to her when he didn’t trust her at all. She was probably just playing on his sympathies.

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