Eve fell silent for longer than a minute.
Was it so obvious?
She rubbed her sweaty palms against her bodice in an unladylike and childish gesture and huffed through her nose.
“What sort of ludicrous comparison is that?” But, by all the laws, she was a few seconds away from throwing her sanity and morals into the deepest ditch and placing those beautiful hands on her… Gods… Did she even have any sanity left?
He stood as well, reminding her instantly how much he towered over her.
“Sit down and rest.” She said automatically.
He grabbed the bottle of brandy between his two wrists and handed it to her.
“What should I do with it?” He gave her a caustic look – the type one would give to a child who had a habit of asking very stupid questions.
“Place the lid over it.” She looked around for the lid.
Not finding it on the table or on the surrounding floor, she went down on her hands and knees to look under the table.
“Can you see it?” “No.
It is much too dark…” She responded.
She heard a chair scrape on the ground behind her and looked back.
Her mouth dropped open when she saw him drop to his knees to also look under the table.
“What are you doing?” “What does it look like?” “I am handling it already…” “Move aside lest you strain your precious eyes.” Her gaze drifted down to his chest that was revealed through the narrow opening as he leaned down.
She could even catch glimpses of his well-muscled abdomen.
Everetta licked her lips and immediately looked away… at anything that was not him.
“Please move aside.” Sighing, she crawled away and sat on the ground a few feet away from where he was.
He peered underneath the table.
“I see it.” He muttered, struggling to dip his bandaged hands beneath the surface.
“Let me.” She inched closer, instinctively waiting for his reproach.
But surprisingly, there was none.
“Can you see it?” He shifted away slightly so she could peer under the table as well.
She could not see a single thing but she nodded.
Their heads brushed slightly.
Hoping to feel the object, she slipped her hand underneath and began patting the ground to no avail.
“I had a feeling you could not see it.
Let me guide you.” Her head snapped up at his words, bumping into his jaw in the process.
“My pardon… I-“.
Just then, Bartwick stepped into the room.
“Sir Theodore-” His voice trailed off.
Both of them glanced at him simultaneously.
The old man’s eyes were wide with unfiltered shock.
“My wonders.” He mumbled as he laid a hand on his broad chest.
“Whatever are you doing on the floor?” Everetta turned crimson while Theodore sat back on his hunches.
“Bartwick will find it for us.” He said.
Then, he patted her head gently and rose to his feet with a subdued groan.
The urge to touch her own head was hard to ignore.
Why did he pat her head?
What did it even mean?
He was already leaving the room before she could ask.
Bartwick followed him with his gaze until he was completely out of sight.
“Do get up from the floor, my lady.
You could catch a-” “I’m fine, Bartwick.” She brushed off his complaint.
Where had he even gone?
She left the room as well.
There were duties to be tended to.
For the remainder of the day, she did not so much as run into him.
The souvenirs had arrived in the evening and she had managed to arrange the flowers in the ballroom.
The ballroom looked breathtaking even when it was barely half-finished.
But her joy was short-lived when he did not come in to see her progress.
The dining wares and cutleries had been stacked away in the pantry under her guidance and the wine was stocked in the cellar.
“What a lovely job you have done here, Lady Whitmore.” Bartwick said, coming up behind her.
She jerked, startled by his presence.
A glance at the magnificent floor-to-ceiling windows told her that it was dark outside.
And she was famished.
Aside from a few samples served to her by the cook, she had eaten nothing all day.
Her breakfast with him couldn’t even be considered a meal as her appetite had been massacred until she gave up on the food completely.
“Why, thank you.” He moved to stand beside her.
“Is there anything you would like me to see to for you?” She gave him a sideward glance before returning to admiring her work.
“Perhaps a warm bath?
Or dinner?” There was a long pause after his question.
“Where is Sir Theodore?” The man cleared his throat.
“The last I saw of him, he was responding to the large pile of letters that his brother left behind in the study… since his hands are unfit for any manual labour.” She nodded.
“Is he alone?” There was another pause.
Then he said, “Yes, I have reason to believe so.
Why do you ask, my lady?” She shrugged.
“No reason at all.
I will be retiring for the night, Bartwick.
You should do the same as well.” His eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded and backed away.
She waited until she heard his footsteps disappear down the hall before she went in the opposite direction.
Food would have to wait.
The hallway sconces were brightly lit with dancing flames.
When she reached the door to the study, she found it closed.
Suppressing the urge to knock, she quietly pushed the door open and slipped inside, praying that he would not have a knife lying in wait.
There was a candle burning on the table.
The said pile of letters was gone.
There was no sign of him on the desk.
She stepped further into the room and glanced around in search of him.
“Theo?” She whispered.
Still no sign of him.
“Sir Theodore.” Her voice grew slightly louder.
“This is strike three.” She spun around to see him standing behind her, holding up a few strands of… her hair?