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“Her mother is Bomardi but was disowned for marrying an Eversun. She was raised across the sea, and she lived there until after the fall of Evermore, when her father started organizing against Mallow, at which time she was taken and given to the Barlowes.”

Briony’s mind whirred, taking it all in. “And why has she been given so much authority at Biltmore? She seems to have more freedom than any other Barlowe Girl.”

“I couldn’t say, really.” He sliced into his roast with small, precise cuts. “I suppose it’s because she’s … quite good at what she does.”

A cold suspicion crashed over her. “And what exactly does she do?”

Toven’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Host. With a smile. Flirt and joke. Be seen when she needs to be seen, be invisible when she needs to be invisible.”

Briony pursed her lips as she cut her roast. The arrogance of the Bomardi was astounding. It seemed like an awful oversight to give a woman with a background like Ilana’s the keys to the Biltmore, allowing her to move from room to room largely at will.

“The tattoos. How did you and Finn find a way around them for Larissa?”

“We didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged. “A blood-purifying spell and pure luck. We weren’t sure if it would work. It’s my understanding that if Larissa had crossed the estate line, it would have been all but impossible to remove it.”

“And you have no idea how to find a way around these tattoos.”

“It’s not exactly the kind of question I go around asking other Bomardi, no,” he said dryly. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Making your grand escape plan, Rosewood?”

“Hmm,” she said innocently, ignoring his question. “You were willing to divulge information on who escaped at Castle Javis during the card game. Care to share?”

She watched him chew, lips pressed tight with small bites, just like his mother, his aristocratic jaw moving quickly.

“Billium Meers made it out.”

Briony blinked, pulling her gaze from his lips. “He’s alive? I thought he died on the battlefield.”

“He lived, apparently, and portaled out of Javis. The Journal page wouldn’t have said anything about it. They wouldn’t publicize a weakness like that.”

Briony squeezed her napkin in both palms, letting out a shaky breath of relief. She had never gotten on with Sammy’s father, but he had been her father’s trusted general. It was a major loss for Mallow that he’d escaped.

“Do you know where he went?”

“Starksen.” He drank his wine, and she watched him swallow. “They’re causing quite a few problems for Mallow there.”

Briony smirked into her napkin. Good. When she glanced back up at him, the smile still fading on her lips, he was still looking away from her.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the second half of her plans for the evening. Grabbing her wineglass and taking two huge gulps, she stood.

His eyes snapped to her. “What are you doing?”

“I think”—she swallowed, hating the reedy sound in her voice—“I think we should practice.”

His fork and knife hovered over his plate. His eye twitched. “Practice.”

“To get more comfortable around each other.” She moved to the other side of him, reaching for the wine bottle.

He didn’t move an inch while she filled his glass, as she usually did at Biltmore.

Standing just to his side, she pressed her lips together when he didn’t look up at her, still frozen in his chair.

“I think you should pull me into your lap now.”

He placed his utensils down and sucked in a sharp breath. “This is your master plan, Rosewood?”

“Yes. We need to be more comfortable to put on a convincing show.” She twisted her fingers around each other. “We could both use a bit of rehearsal—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I disagree. You saw that stunt Canning pulled, and he’ll try it again if we keep giving him reasons to—”

“This whole idea is just childish.”

“What’s childish is that you can’t bear to touch me!”

“I touch you enough, it’s absurd you’re asking for more—”

“—and although it’s quite obvious that I physically repulse you—”

A dry laugh burst from him.

Her nostrils flared. “I don’t know how you behave toward women you’re sleeping with, Hearst, but if this is your idea of intimacy, then you clearly need more help than I could ever offer—”

His hand darted out and grabbed her opposite hip, tugging her into his lap.

She swallowed her squeak and steadied herself on the table, heart pounding.

In an attempt to save her dignity, she lifted her chin, shifting until she could sit properly.

It seemed it was no less difficult to find a balanced position in her long wool dress than it was in silk and heels.

“What now, Rosewood?” he rumbled, and she felt it vibrate through her rib cage.

The tips of her ears burned. “Just … behave normally. Like this is … normal.” She cleared her throat and reached for her wine, stretching back to her table setting. “Eat dinner as if I’m not even here.”

Toven seemed to take a long, slow breath before picking up his fork again. He pushed his vegetables around, staring at his peas intently.

She had a few choices of where to focus her gaze. She could awkwardly stare at his face. She could watch him play with his food. Or the safest option: She could stare at his neck, studying the way the pink blush spread under her gaze.

“How often do they play cards at dinner?” she asked softly, and she watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“They play maybe every other week. There’s no schedule,” he said.

“And that’s not dangerous? To have the women as witnesses?”

“Quite.”

Briony frowned. She thought of the strawberry-blonde and her intent eyes during the game, listening to every detail. The Barlowe Girls might be on a tight leash, but they had access to a wealth of knowledge.

“Find me a book to teach me how to play the game. I can use mind magic to see everyone’s cards.”

“How do you think I keep winning, Rosewood.”

She glanced at him, bringing their faces impossibly close. As he sipped from his wineglass, she realized that Toven Hearst was an endless vault of secrets.

“Oh, how could I forget,” she said at last. “You have a habit of getting into people’s heads, don’t you?” She shook her head and sighed into her glass.

His fingers drummed on the tablecloth. “Contrary to your memory of events, Rosewood, I never entered your mind until last week.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. That couldn’t be. The leg tingles from year three. The knowledge of Didion fumbling with her corset laces. He had to be lying.

She steadied her heartbeat and asked the question she’d been fearing.

“So what do I do?” she continued. “How do we get … comfortable?”

He heaved a great, laboring sigh. “Your behavior on Friday was fine. We can keep doing that—”

“All right then.” She reached up and ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. Brushing her fingers along his scalp, letting the smooth locks thread through her knuckles.

His head jerked away. “What are you doing—?”

“Oh, you have a No Hair Touching Rule as well?” She rolled her eyes. “Relax.”

He let out a ragged breath as her fingers dragged through the hair over his ear. She saw him pick up his fork again but do nothing with it. Brushing through his hair as if it were silk, she curved over his ear, her fingertips rounding the shell.

She’d dreamed of running her fingers through his hair like this. So many nights.

Remembering Larissa’s advice, she drifted soft fingers across the back of his neck, where his hairline ended.

As he shivered, she thought of the way Collin and Lorne held their women close and just watched the card game. The way the strawberry-blonde had massaged Liam’s neck and kissed his cheek for luck. The way she’d seen other Barlowe Girls smile and whisper into men’s ears or nuzzle into their necks.

“Relax,” she repeated quietly. She brushed his hair over his ear again, her fingers trailing around and down to his neck, flushed pink with the wine. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to the skin below his ear.

The earth ceased to spin in the heartbeat it took for his arm to curl tighter around her waist, his hand splayed on her ribs. She parted her lips and kissed him again. His skin was clean and minty, and she felt his throat bob under her mouth as he swallowed.

And then in quick movements, she was pushed to her feet, and he was up out of his chair.

“The fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

She steadied herself on the table as he touched his neck, where her lips had just been. His mouth moved wordlessly as he stared at her. Maybe he felt like she’d contaminated him.

“I’m doing what I’m supposed to,” she snarled. “If you’d just calm down—”

“You can’t just sit in a man’s lap and kiss his neck, Rosewood!”

She blinked at him, breathing quickly as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“And why not? That is precisely what happens at Biltmore—”

“That’s Biltmore !” he snapped. “This is here , in my house!”

Her eyes were wide as she watched him move toward the exit.

“What is your problem? We’re practicing—!”

“You cannot be this dense,” he muttered, striding out of the dining room.

She stormed after him, stopping at the doorway.

“We’re not done, Hearst! I expect you at dinner tomorrow evening!”

He disappeared around a corner, and Briony cursed under her breath.

She stomped to the table, drained her glass of wine, and finished her plate—and his, too, in case he planned to ask the house for it later.

***

After sending Toven a formal invitation to supper, Briony spent the rest of her Monday creating mind barriers.

She was perfectly prepared to spend another meal in his lap, and she’d work harder to convince him of the necessity. Pushing away her stray thoughts about the scent of his skin and the warmth of his chest against her side, she focused on how to stay focused.