Carcel walked back to the table and took a glass of water to sip. The conversation was, bafflingly, about other people.
"They've moved in," Carcel said, his voice still noncommittal.
"You should have mentioned it," Rowan said, his voice holding a note of friendly accusation.
"Why are you so interested?" Carcel asked.
Rowan leaned forward, his exhaustion and guilt suddenly replaced by a new, manic, plotting energy. His eyes were bright.
"Isn't Earl Montclair unmarried?"
Carcel went still. The glass in his hand stopped halfway to his lips. He didn't respond. He just... processed this.
Rowan, now excited by his own "brilliant" plan, rushed on, not noticing his friend's sudden, terrifying stillness.
"I heard he's a calm and patient man. I heard he's young, too. And... Rowan leaned in, as if imparting a great, secret, wonderful truth... "he loves books."
He sat back, his face a picture of pure, smug, self-satisfied triumph.
"My Ines," he said, "also loves books."
