“I dine at eight when I cannot avoid it,” he said. “Nine.”
“Nine,” she agreed. “Here. Or in my sitting room. Or the library if you want to feel superior.”
“I never feel superior in the library,” he said. “Only repaired.”
“That is almost charming,” she said.
“Strike it from the record,” he said.
She smiled, small and quick. “Nine, then.”
“Tonight?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night,” she said. “You can tell me whatever you like, or fear for your health because of the cold.”
“I do not fear for mine,” he said. “Only for yours.”
She looked at him.
“You’re very direct when you are tired.”
“I am always tired around you,” he said before he could catch it, then amended, “That is not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” she said, and did not make sport of it. “Thank you for telling me about Mr. Rondell.”
He stared at her hands again as if convinced that staring could heat them. “You’re warm enough?”
“I will be,” she said.
He looked at the coat around her shoulders and made no move to take it back.
“Keep that.”
She considered him.
“Half and half,” she said.
“That seems fair,” he said. He glanced again at the clock. “You should eat something hot. I’ll get Mrs. Walsh to decide what to feed you.”
“She already decided that,” Maria said. “She has decided many things on my behalf this week.”
“She’s been doing it to me for years,” he said. “I survive.”
“I noticed,” she said. She stood, and he didn’t reach for her.
“At nine,” he said.
“At nine.”
She moved to the door. His coat slipped, and he stepped forward and lifted the collar back over her shoulder. His hands were warm from the fire. She felt the heat through wool and discipline.
“Thank you,” she said, because anything else would be dangerous and dishonorable to the good the moment had done.
He nodded.
“If you go back out, use boards.”
“I’m not going back out,” she said. “Even I can learn in one lesson when the teacher is rude enough.”