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Did Henrik make it back too late? Did Camellia punish the girl because he was delayed?

I’m brushing my hair when there’s a knock on the panel. After throwing on my dressing gown, I say, “You can come in.”

Lawrence pushes through the wall and steps into my room. I’m not particularly surprised to see him.

He studies me for several seconds, arms crossed and angry. “Why?”

I walk back to my mirror and pick up my brush, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Why what?”

“You didn’t have any idea this could end badly?”

“How was I supposed to know we were going to be arrested?” I say with a forced laugh, hoping to keep the conversation lighter than it looks like it’s going to be.

“Those men are loyal to Camellia, Clover, and she wants youdead. If Pranmore hadn’t healed Henrik’s arm, this night could have ended very differently.”

“But Pranmore did heal Henrik’s arm, so that’s a moot point.”

He jerks his head to the side, refusing to look at me. Lawrence is never angry. Frustrated, yes, but not this. I don’t like it.

“So we’ve confirmed the men are working for Camellia?” I ask.

“They must be.” He walks to a bookshelf and stares at the contents. “Tell me again what they said.”

“The swordsman was particularly interested in Henrik’s arm. He said he was going to tell Camellia that Henrik was no longer wounded. He made it sound like he knew Henrik was deceiving her.”

“Then it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But why would Camellia’s men attack Henrik while he was running an errand for her?”

Lawrence shakes his head. “I’m not sure—unlessyouwere their target.”

“How would they know I left the castle? You didn’t even know.”

But that response doesn’t do me any favors.

Aggravated, Lawrence looks back over, and I wince. Silently, he crosses the room, his expression darker than I’ve ever seen it. When he’s close, I back up, accidentally bumping into the vanity. The brush drops to the floor, and I begin to reach down to pick it up.

“Leave it,” he says, taking my arm to stop me.

I look at his fingers wrapped around the thin material of my dressing gown, startled by the contact. My voice wavers a little as I say, “You’re touching me again. I’m not sure you remember the terms of our agreement.”

“Why Henrik?” he demands, so close I can smell the subtle scent of the dark, fragrant oil he applies after he shaves. “Why not me?”

“Lawrence.” I try to laugh, pretending he’s only teasing as we’ve done so many times.

But this is different. I can sense it.

“Stop,” he murmurs when I try to pull my arm free. “Look at me.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Clover,” he commands, slowly running his hand up my arm to my shoulder. “I’m not playing this time.”

My mouth goes dry.

“Don’t do this,” I beg softly.

“I want you,” he says. “I have for years.”