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“Cormac sent it. He said you might need it. Or, he said, he is happy to accompany you out for a drink after dinner tonight if you prefer, your choice.”

“Without Rory?”

“He said he would join you, not that he would drink.” There was a hint of something in her voice I didn’t understand.

Lorcan glanced at me and shook his head. “Tell him I said thank you for the flask.”

“I will. Briar.” She smiled at me as she walked out the door, closing it behind her.

“What was that about?” I asked, sitting on the sofa again. My heart beat wildly, and I took a long breath, hoping to calm it. If Lorcan had been tense around me before, now, he looked like he was about to snap. He opened the flask and took a small drink.

He took a seat in the chair closest to me. “It was nothing.”

I shrugged and turned my attention to the portfolio, flipping through the pages. I read through them, sipping on the wine.

The first page was a timeline detailing what happened between when the Baroness of Blackcairn had been arrested and sentenced to transport.

She had left London on the Broxbournebury on 31 December 1813.

As my mother had found, she was listed on the ship simply as Isobel Blackcairn, murderess.

When she arrived in Australia, she once again went by Lady Blackcairn.

However, it held no weight, and she soon found herself assigned as the governess for the children of the recently widowed Colonial Secretary Reginald Fitzwilliam.

We knew the story from there, but it wasn’t in these files.

She and Fitzwilliam applied to be married seven years later, which was granted, and Isobel Fitzwilliam had several children, including the woman who was my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

I absently brought my glass to my lips again, but it was empty.

I picked up the bottle to refill it. A small, ragged piece of foil caught my eye.

It was stupid, really, but the uneven edge gnawed at me—at my sense of order, or maybe just at my nerves.

My thoughts were hazy. Maybe wine on an empty stomach hadn’t been such a good idea.

I gripped the foil between my thumbnail and the first knuckle of my forefinger and tugged.

“Shit.” Pain seared through my fingertip as it caught on an even sharper edge I’d made worse. Instinctively, I shoved it into my mouth, the metallic taste blooming instantly. I set the bottle on the table.

Lorcan’s eyes grew wide. “What happened?”

I pulled my finger from my mouth, and blood welled over the slice. Lorcan sat frozen. Was he afraid of blood?

I jammed my eyes shut against the pain and tried to apply pressure to it, the razor-sharp edge of the foil having cut deep.

“Let me help.” He kneeled next to me and removed the napkin from the neck of the bottle before shoving it into the bucket to dampen it. “Here.” He extended his hand palm up in front of me.

I laid my hand in his. Heat crept up my arm, the touch comforting in the best way. I jumped as he placed the ice-cold napkin onto the cut. He lifted it slightly, blood still oozing.

“Lorcan, I can—” I pulled back on my hand.

His fingers tightened around it. “I’ve got this.” His voice was soft as he gazed into my eyes, his thumb massaging my palm. He placed the cloth back on my finger without looking away, except when his gaze dipped to my lips.

His shallow breathing matched my own. I tried ignoring the remnants of pain and couldn’t deny that his touch was making me forget most of it.

He swallowed hard and took in a long breath before he looked down, lifting the edge of the napkin.

I couldn’t see what it looked like, but it must have been better because his shoulders had dropped.

“Briar…” He whispered my name as he pulled my finger to his lips, holding my finger to them to kiss away the pain.

“You’re going to get blood in your mouth,” I said breathlessly, but my heart pounded. His face was more serene than I had ever seen it. His eyes shut as his lips closed around the cut. He breathed with deep, steady breaths. The tension eased from my arms as if everything was right at this moment.

With a final deep breath, he lowered my hand before dipping another part of the napkin in the bucket and covering the cut again. “It’s almost stopped.” The words sounded forced.

“I can’t believe I was so careless.” I pulled on my hand again, but he didn’t let go. “I can take care of it.”

He spoke without looking at it. “Just another moment.”

“How do you…?”

“Trust me,” he said, his voice catching. After another breath, he sat back on his heels. “There.”

I looked at my finger. The tip was red and angry, but clean and no longer oozing. “Thank you.”

He bit his lip and settled back into his chair. “You’re welcome.”

My breath hitched. What just happened? His eyes shimmered, and his hands curled into fists, but his breathing remained shallow, and his pupils dilated.

I wanted to ask him what was going on in his mind.

Did he not feel anything I did? But this was Lorcan, who wouldn’t tell me anything he didn’t want me to know.

I returned to Cormac’s research and turned to the next page, a registry for the visitors to Lady Isobel at the Tower of London. “Lord O’Cillian visited her often.” I laughed, trying to change the subject as my heart pounded in my chest. “Do you think they were secret lovers?”

Lorcan practically snorted. “Hardly.”

I tilted my head at him. “Why are you so sure?”

“You’ll find it in his journal I gave you. Lord Lorcan felt sorry for her—believed she was acting in self-defense and for the good of humanity.” His voice was low.

“He believed she killed a vampire?”

Lorcan stood, his face a mask of unreadable stone. “You should go reread his journal.” He walked to the door, opening it. “I’ll see you at dinner. I need to find Cormac.”

I blinked a few times as my stomach sank, and it clicked that he was asking me to leave. I gathered the papers and scrambled up. “Um, sure,” I stammered as I walked past him. I paused in front of him and looked into his eyes, wanting to kiss him again, but he looked away. “Dinner, I guess.”

The door closed behind me.