Cicely’s mouth fell agape. Despite her determination to remain composed, the hand holding her glass trembled. Forget the smiles and soft tones—the man had been [i]watching[/i] her? He could bat off knowing her work with the fae as a casual convenience, but to her, that was a tightly clasped secret. In a world where fae creatures did not hesitate to make humans into toys and slaves, merely being associated with one was reason enough to be clapped in irons and dragged off to mob justice. Hadn’t her inquiries been a little more subtle?

The man was already too close for comfort, too. Cicely angled her legs away from him, forgetting all about her water as she used her other hand to rub at her forehead. Should she feign innocence? Just how much did the earl already know? To simply cave would be to confirm everything the earl suspected, but to flatly deny it would only make him press her harder. Thus, the only option left was deflection.

When she found her voice again, it was pitifully small. “Milord, I’m afraid I don’t understand. If there haven’t been any problems with securing your earldom, why have you given yourself to superstition? Surely a scout or one of the esteemed scholars here could give you more information about unknowns to concern yourself with.”