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Against my better judgement, I slipped on my robe, and crept down the passageway, up the stairs, to Azriel’s room. I paused at the door, asking myself what in Heaven’s name Iwas thinking. I should return. I should peel my fingers from the handle and go back to my own bed.

But I could not. The thought of being alone in my room was somehow worse than spending the next few hours caught in pleasure and sin in Azriel’s bed.

The door barely made a sound as I closed it behind me, and I tip-toed across the room towards the enormous curtained bed.

“Azriel?” I whispered, unable to discern whether or not the pile of linens was an inert human figure, or indeed just a pile of linens. “Azriel, are you here?”

“I’m here.” The pile of linens stirred, and he sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Hello, beloved. Did you miss me?”

“No.” I snapped, perching on the edge of his bed. “I… I simply did not want to be alone, and since it is just you and I in the house…”

He chuckled softly, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw that he was not wearing a nightshirt, his chest quite bare. “Well, I am moved that I am a better choice than solitude.” He reached out, his fingers grazing the lace neckline of my nightgown. “You should take all this off.”

I slapped his hand away and huffed out a sigh. “I did not come here just for that.”

“Justfor that?” He asked playfully, lying back upon his pillows and tucking his hands behind his head. “What else did you come here for then, wife?”

“I… I don’t know. Comfort?” We both laughed at the same time, which made us laugh again. “Yes, I know, the irony of me seeking comfort here with you is not lost on me.”

“I fear I am not much good at comfort. One struggles to conjure up that which one was never allowed to experience.”

I frowned, reaching out in spite of myself to stroke a hand over his stomach. “You had a very sad childhood, didn't you?”

He scoffed. “Oh Evie, come now.”

“Would you stop trying to play the part of the uncouth heir and speak with me. Just… speak with me.”

His head snapped in my direction then, and he sat up against the pillows. “Speak with you? About my sad childhood? Well, I can sum it up for you. I was born, my mother died, my father was cruel, the end.”

“Do you remember her?”

Azriel sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, running his hands along his thighs. “Barely. I was three when she died. I only remember that she spoke to me in Spanish, which my father hated.”

“Do you still speak it?”

He shrugged. “Enough to speak to my mother’s family when I am in Barcelona.”

“What was she like, your mother?”

“Beautiful.” Azriel cleared his throat, shaking his head. “But all children think their mothers are beautiful. They are angels in our eyes, are they not?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I pulled my legs up onto the bed, smoothing my nightgown over my thighs. “Mine died bringing me into the world. Well, in the days thereafter in any case. Childbed fever, I’m told.”

“Is that why you didn’t want children?”

“I suppose that was part of it.”

“And now?”

I looked at Azriel with alarm, hoping he could not see my widened eyes in the darkness. “What do you mean, and now?”

“Do you want them now?”

“I suppose I don’t have much choice.”

“Hmmm.” Azriel shifted against his pillows, sinking down further into them. “What is your father like?”

“My father?” I huffed out a laugh, tracing my fingersalong the floral embroidery on my robe. “My father is perhaps the most pathetic man I have ever met.”