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“Then what were you doing in here?”

The wind outside howls even louder than before, making the noise echo in the room.

“I heard that noise,” I say. “It sounded like a wounded animal, so I came in to investigate.”

He watches me through slitted eyes.

“And where did you find the key to open the room?” he questions.

“It was already open when I came in,” I reply.

“Was it now?” He studies me through slitted, untrusting eyes.

If he stares at me for long enough, I’m afraid he might see right through me.

“I should probably get going,” I say softly.

“I didn’t dismiss you yet,” he says, moving closer toward me.

The light from the hallway falls on my face, burning my eyes all over again. Mr. Sinclair is still cloaked by darkness, like a phantom who only comes alive at night.

My heart pounds faster as I stand in his shadow.

His dark gaze pins me in place.

It feels like he can see right through me. I’m very aware that I have someone’s diary pressed against my waist. If he can make out the outline of the book, it’ll be the end of me.

Men like him can make sure that I never find another job again.

“Do you really expect me to believe you weren’t snooping around, Miss Turner?”

“I swear that the noise caught my attention,” I say. “Otherwise, I never would have stepped foot inside this room.”

“You shouldn’t have entered it regardless,” he says. “You have no business in here.”

He walks toward the window and seals it shut.

The strangest sensation crawls down my spine. I feel like I’m being watched even though Mr. Sinclair has his back to me.

I keep my eyes on his broad shoulders. Just looking at him makes my breasts feel heavy. I avert my gaze before I get too carried away by the feelings he evokes in me.

My eyes land on the portrait of him with his sister.

There’s something enchantingly eerie about it.

I focus on Mr. Sinclair. He’s younger here. He has the scar, but there was a light in his eyes that’s absent now. It almost makes him look like a completely different person.

I look at his sister. She has the most alluring eyes I’ve ever seen on a person.

Mr. Sinclair clears his throat.

“Your sister was stunning,” I say, glancing over at him.

“That she is,” he replies.

He spoke about her in the present tense. I watch the emotions play out on his face as he realizes his mistake. I guess it’s a common mistake to make.

“Little Rosalie looks so much like her mother already,” I say gingerly. “She’ll grow up to look just like her.”