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A smile tugged at her lips as she felt comfort stretch between them, and she eventually turned her eyes back to her book. Try as she might though, she could no longer focus on its words. Instead, she began to think of her time thus far at Merrivale, and the small changes that had taken place.

Hugo was trusting her more. Not just with the ins and outs of the Merrivale workings, but with himself. Somethingwas forming between them. Even if at times it was still more physical than emotional. Her body warmed as she thought what had happened between them just the night before, and before she could help herself, her eyes were leaving her book to look up in his direction.

She blushed when she found him looking back at her, and at the same time, they dipped their heads back to their previous focus. As if unable to help themselves, though, her eyes gravitated upward again a short time later, and she became transfixed on what she saw.

Hugo’s face was etched with concentration as he attended to his work, but the shards of light coming in through the windows were highlighting the sharp, angular planes of his features. The sun cast golden flecks from his green eyes, almost making them glow as he looked down at his pages, even though they were framed by black, defined eyebrows and thick, black lashes. Cheekbones, sharp but not overly prominent, accentuated his well-defined lips and his chiseled jawline.

Yes, scars marred that otherwise perfection, and yet as she stared at him, she could not picture him without them. In fact,they only seemed to highlight the masculine beauty that was Hugo’s face.

Her eyes dipped lower, tracing over the corded column of his barely exposed neck. He looked so different dressed in the finery of theton’slatest fashions but no less handsome. The memory of him in the simple peasant’s shirt flashed in her mind, and she pictured the slow rise and fall of his sculpted pectoral muscles swathed with curly black hair.

Heat laced through her veins as she remembered touching it. How surprised she was to feel the alluring contrast of hardened muscle and soft hair. The image of herself sinking her teeth into that muscle suddenly flashed in her mind, and her cheeks burned red.

“How is your book?”

Seraphina jolted in her seat, so intensely that her book slipped from her fingers and fell into her lap. Her blush deepened as she snapped her eyes up to his and saw a smirk twitching on his addicting lips.

“Good, good, it’s good,” she stuttered out, fumbling to pick it up. “And your work? How is it?”

“The longer you stare it me the harder it becomes,” he teased.

“Are we speaking of your work or…” her eyes dipped to his waist, hidden by the desk, as she smirked, “Something else?”

She expected him to chuckle, but grew self-conscious when he only stared back with an unreadable expression.

“Apologies,” she murmured, cheeks flushing as she held her book up to her face. “That was most untoward. I shall not speak again.”

Dropping his pen, Hugo put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

“Do my scars distract you?” He asked her.

Seraphina’s brows flew up in surprise as her lips dropped apart and her book dropped to her lap.

“You know they do not,” She stated.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” He asked.

“It is not your scars specifically I find distracting,” she replied. Drawing her courage, she added with a whisper, “In fact I find them quite alluring.”

Hugo’s brows perked.

“Alluring? Do tell.”

“They suit you somehow,” Seraphina confessed, then instantly felt a surge of guilt. “Though, I despise how you came to have them.”

The amused smirk on Hugo’s face dropped and he removed his hands from the back of his head.

“You are a strange woman, you know that?”

Seraphina blushed again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“It is not strange to admire you, husband. Your courage, your drive to survive, especially at such a young age, well- itisadmirable.”

She held her breath, expecting him to snarl or show displeasure that such a topic was breached. Hugo studied her for a long moment of contemplation, his face an unreadable mask of emotion. Then he grunted, and picked up his pen again.

“I cannot say I have ever had my actions deemed admirable,” he muttered, looking down at his papers, “But I am glad my scars do not offend you. There’s not much I can do about them.”

Silence settled between them for a moment and Seraphina nibbled on her bottom lip. She wanted to learn more about him and she thought perhaps this was her chance. He never spoke much about the past, but now that he knew what she had been told…