CHAPTER 85: EMMA’S NAUGHTY PLAN

Emma jumped, nearly dropping the linens. "Heavens above, Elias! You can’t just... appear like that! What if I screamed? The whole house would~"

"You wouldn’t scream," he cut in flatly, stepping into the golden light. "You’d glare at me."

And glare she did... half to prove him right, half to mask the way his sudden presence always scrambled her thoughts. She was still getting flowers from him, now delivered in person instead of in secret, and it did something to her she refused to name. And his eyes... Heavens help her—those eyes lit her cheeks for no reason at all.

"You’re supposed to be watching Prince Leroy, not lurking in hallways."

"I am," he said without missing a beat. "This hallway leads to his chambers."

Before she could fire back, he reached into his coat and held out a small, neatly folded square of fine silk.

Emma blinked. "What’s this?"

"For your hair," he said, stepping close enough for her to catch the faint, warm scent of leather and steel. "The wind tangles it when you’re running errands. I can’t see your eyes."

Her pulse jumped. That wasn’t just an observation; it was possession dressed as courtesy.

"You can’t just... say things like that," she murmured, the words softer than she meant, her voice catching.

"I can."

The way he said it made her think he wasn’t talking about words anymore.

And then, just like that, he brushed past her, the faintest whisper of his sleeve grazing her arm, footsteps melting into the silence of the hall.

Emma stood there, clutching the silk, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. The scent of him lingered, just like the heat he’d left behind, curling low in her stomach.

Emma pressed the silk to her chest, forcing her pulse to slow. Heavens, get a hold of yourself. She drew in a breath, smoothed her expression, and quickened her steps down the corridor. She needed to ask him something.

Elias was already halfway to the stairwell, his stride unhurried, silent as a shadow.

"Wait," she called.

He didn’t.

So she matched his pace, linens still in her arms. "Did Prince Leroy leave the mansion last night?"

"No."

The flatness of the word made her narrow her eyes. "That was too quick. You didn’t even think about it."

"I didn’t need to," he replied, gaze fixed ahead.

"You didn’t answer it properly," she said, shifting to walk in step with him. "Where was he, exactly?"

"In the mansion."

"That’s not an answer, Elias. That’s geography."

He glanced at her then, just briefly, but long enough for her breath to hitch. "You wanted to know if he left. I told you."

Emma’s patience thinned, but the faint curve at the corner of his mouth told her he knew exactly what he was doing. "Fine. What was he doing?"

"Breathing. Existing. Sleeping, probably."

She stopped dead in her tracks. "You’re insufferable."

He stopped, too, turning just enough to look at her over his shoulder. "You’re persistent."

There was no heat in his voice, but there was something else... something that made her stomach tighten.

She stepped forward until they stood only a breath apart, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "You could just tell me what you know. Save us both the trouble."

"I could," he said evenly. "But then you wouldn’t be chasing me down hallways, would you?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, the quiet between them was louder than words, charged, almost humming.

Then he turned away, resuming his slow, measured walk as though the moment hadn’t happened at all.

Emma stood frozen for half a heartbeat before following, muttering under her breath, "One day, Elias..."

From ahead of her came his reply, perfectly steady, "I’ll look forward to it."

Emma stomped her foot and spun on her heel, only to nearly collide with Cedric.

He opened his mouth, probably to say something annoying, but she was in no mood. "Not today, Cedric..." she said flatly, brushing past him. She didn’t even spare him a glance. She didn’t want to ruin her good mood.

Cedric’s jaw tightened. He had only wanted to talk, but apparently, she wouldn’t even give him the crumbs of a conversation. His eyes dropped to the neatly folded silk she cradled like a holy relic, and something sharp flared in his chest. He swallowed it down.

-----

Night draped itself over the mansion, and Emma worked quickly. She told Sylvia to rest early, then fussed over getting Lorraine to bed with a devotion that bordered on suspicious.

Lorraine felt it. The brush moved through her hair with an almost ceremonial reverence, Emma coaxing soft curls into the strands. Curls. For bedtime.

"Why curls?" Lorraine asked lazily. "I’m sleeping, not attending a ball."

Emma only hummed, not meeting her eyes. She didn’t braid it either, for some reason.

Lorraine shrugged it off. She just wanted to sleep. Emma left without so much as a goodnight, head bowed in a way that might have been guilt... or plotting. Lorraine didn’t think much of it.

Lorraine had just begun to drift when the faint creak of her door pulled her back.

Her eyes snapped open. The candle by the door still burned, even though she was sure Emma had snuffed it earlier.

Sighing, she slipped out from behind the room divider. She didn’t think anyone would have slipped inside her room, but the chances weren’t nil either.

She froze when she saw that the door was ajar, and through the narrow gap... she saw a figure, standing like a statue. Him. Her husband. Leroy.

Her surprise mirrored in his eyes. He looked at her with wide eyes... but then his gaze... dipped.

Lingering. Hovering where it absolutely should not linger. Unable to look at her face even though he obviously tried.

Lorraine’s brows drew together. What on earth?

She followed his line of sight down... and her stomach dropped.

Oh no.

Not this gown.

The scandalous gown, the one buried at the back of her dresser under sworn secrecy, shimmered under the candlelight like poured gold. It clung in ways that made modesty a laughable concept. In the dim glow, it gave the dangerous illusion that she was wearing... almost nothing, like she was wrapped in suggestion, in invitation.

As if she had planned it. As if she were luring him inside.

Her pulse stuttered. His jaw flexed.

For one maddening moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thickened, part shock, part something else.

Then she clenched her teeth so tightly her temple ached.

That...darn Emma.