Claire's fingers trailed along Charles's forearm, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridges of muscle hidden beneath his sleeve.
"You're awfully tense for someone who just secured a fortune in blueprints," she murmured, tilting her head up at him with a coy smile.
Arlott didn't move away.
He could have. It would've taken nothing at all, just a single step back, but he let her fingers linger, let her believe she was in control.
'Let her think she's winning.'
Claire's smile widened, mistaking his stillness for weakness. Her palm flattened against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath.
"My, my, is Sir Charles finally warming up to me?" she teased, leaning closer, her perfume thick in the air between them.
"I'm simply tired, my lady." Arlott's voice was flat, unreadable. "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of napping through the afternoon."
