"What are you doing?" West groggily asked. He was lying face down on the bed, watching Sasha hand-sewing her tattered dress across her side of the bed, curled up in a chair by the lamp with naught but a blanket draped around her. "You are bloody crazy, Sasha, do you know that?"

"I can be, yes," she murmured in concentration, pulling at the thread with one arm. The blanket slipped off her shoulder.

"You are naked," he pointed out with a dry chuckle. "Wrapped in a bloody blanket."

She chuckled along. "I cannot sleep."

West buried his face in the pillow. "Oh, Lord... she is bloody sewing."

"Go back to sleep."

He rolled his head to the side. "I can't. I am enjoying your show."

She paused to look at him. "Are you afraid I am going to venture out for another journal hunt? Are there more?" she asked with feigned interest.

Grunting, West climbed out of bed and walked toward her.

"You are naked," she pointed out. "With no blanket."

"Yes, and I intend to return you to bed, so if you could please not point that needle at me..." he bent down and scooped her in his arms—the entire blanket bundle of her. Sasha shrieked but did not struggle, afraid that he would lose his balance. He deposited her to her side of the bed and proceeded to take the lamp near her. "You do your bloody sewing here. Where did you even find that bloody needle?"

"It is inside your closet. You must know that they are almost always accessible." She sighed. "But then, of course, you are not aware of that, duke that you are."

Making no comment, he climbed into bed and crawled back to his side. He slipped under the covers and reached for her, his arm circling her waist while he buried his face in the pillows behind her.

For some time, she worked quietly until West gave up sleep. Rolling his head, he watched her face.

"When this is all over, we have to talk about us."

Her hand stilled. She did not look at him.

"I see that you have been doing a lot of thinking." Her tone was calm, but her eyes said otherwise. When he did not answer, she looked down at him. "Does this mean you trust me? Perhaps you should not."

"You are trying to find a way to change the subject, are you not?"

"Because there is no point in engaging in a conversation that discusses an issue we know the resolution to."

West frowned. "What makes you think we cannot be?"

"Because you are the West Blackwood, Duke of Eaton." His jaw hardened. "Sasha Merson, daughter of a peasant. That's me. That is my real name." She looked away and continued her task. "I am the daughter of a peasant. We watched over the livestock we did not even own. My father killed my mother because he found our plight hopeless and he could find no reason to live. He did not find that reason in my mother." Her hand stilled once again as she added, "And he did not find it in me." She stole him a look. "To this day, I do not understand what took over him, or how his mind convinced him to do what he did. I cannot understand still why he had to make me choose, or why he told me to be a good girl when I chose me."

West shuddered. Be a good girl...

He remembered her murmuring the words the night she was attacked by Willoghby, how it had left her shaken.

Her father's last words.

She looked down at him, expressionless. "I do not want you to pity me. My story is not one for charity."

West blinked and then swallowed. "No, I do not pity you. I pity the man who should be seeing the woman that you are now."

"A whore?"

His face darkened. "I hate when you say that."

She smiled, returning to her work.

He unwound his arm from her waist and reached up to touch her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Sasha, you may be the last person I should trust, but I also believe it will be foolish of me to let you go back to Belcourt when all of this is over."

"And what do you expect me to do once this is over? Take your money and go away? Or perhaps serve as your mistress?"

West pushed away from the bed and sat up, twisting his body so he was facing her. "No, that is not what I meant. There is more for you outside Belcourt, Sasha."

"What? You?"

"Yes," he replied too fast, too certain.

Sasha shook her head. "Do not be a fool, West."

He was silent for a long moment, just staring at her. "You will not be my mistress."

"Thank you. I do not intend to be."

"I will marry you."

Sasha stiffened. "Do not jest, West. I am holding a needle."

"I rarely jest, Sasha, and when I do, it is not around you."

She continued her work as if it would render their conversation trivial, but it was clear on the way she was poking the muslin that her mind was no longer at the task. She was doing it again. She was disconnecting herself. "You once said you cannot imagine me as your wife," she murmured.

His frown deepened. "I did not say that."

"Yes, you did."

"I said I cannot imagine you as any other woman. I cannot see you as anyone else and I will not have you as anyone else. You are my Belle." And in a much lower tone, he added, "Only mine."

She was obviously not pleased. "I see that you hold strongly to what you think is yours."

"I do not think I own you, Sasha."

Finally, she dropped the pretense and threw her muslin, with the thread and needle still attached to it, to the side. She faced him fully, face gentle, and her voice patient. "Do not talk nonsense. When this all over, you will find that it is best we go our separate ways."

West sighed and scoffed. "It will never be over between us, Sasha. You know that."

She did not reply. She just stared at him, her shoulders bare, her hair a lovely mess around her face.

West moved and pulled her toward him. "I will let you off this time, but this conversation is not over."

She wound her arms around his neck, letting the blanket pool around her waist. "This conversation which is bound to be an argument is not my priority at the moment, West. You are not the priority now, you must know that."

He kissed her jaw. "I know."

She turned her head and sought his mouth. "Let us just have this for now, shall we? Until this is all over? Hmm?"

West did not respond in words.

He realized it was best he just showed her.

*****

The very next day, Sasha found West in his study, opening an envelope.

He seemed surprised to see her.

"An invitation to the Royal Theater," he explained, lifting the red envelope sealed in gold.

She frowned. "I never thought they send invitations."

"To people in my station, they do," he replied, throwing the envelope to the side. "They need our presence to have a successful show." Standing up, he asked, "Would you like to see another opera?"

Sasha rolled her eyes. "No."

He shrugged. "But it might be a good one this time."

"Will there be singing?"

"It is an opera."

"Then my answer remains no."

He smiled and approached her. "Shall we?"

She nodded and they exited the library.

West looked over his shoulder to give the envelope one last look before he closed the door.

*****

"This may be the last I will visit the Library. I can no longer risk being exposed. The librarians are not foolish. They always suspect things," Sasha later told him inside the carriage.

West nodded beside her. "I agree."

"Did your men find anything in any of Willoghby's known estates?" Sasha asked, tearing her eyes off the window to look up at him.

His hand nonchalantly reached up to pick at a strand of hair across her face and carefully tucked it to the side. "No, nor have they collected any valuable information from the Sutherland Post and The Grimes."

She shook her head in equal disbelief and awe. "He is very good, is he not?"

West nodded grimly. "But not for long. I am certain that if he is still out there, he will make a mistake."

"Let us just hope that he does, because really, he is not that strong. You can easily throw him across the room. He just knows... it seems he just knows the right person to attack."

Sasha looked at him and realized that his face had darkened.

"It is best that you do not let him get to you. He is but one man."

"Who has an endless flow of cash. He can hide as long as he wants, Sasha. And you are right that he knows how to pick his victims."

She felt a shudder run through her. "But he will make a mistake."

His jaw clenched and he looked out the window.

"Do you have any progress on tracking Reginald?" she found herself asking. "I am curious, of course."

He was silent for a while. "We did receive another letter from London. His son is said to be on his way to join him."

"His son?"

"Yes."

"And why is his son joining him?" When West did not respond, Sasha frowned. "West?"

"My sister, as he claims, is betrothed to his son."

Sasha's eyes widened. "Surely you did not intend to hide that detail from me, did you?"

"It is not a paramount detail, Sasha, for no wedding shall happen between my sister and Reginald's heir."

"But it would have—no matter."

"It would have what?"

"It would have been easier for you to convince me to believe you."

"You eventually did without that fact."

She sighed. "Maybe I did not until you told me."

His eyes narrowed.

She smiled. "Jesting, sir, jesting."

"You are a bad tease, Sasha," he said with a sigh. He looked out the window. They were now approaching the first gates. "Does Belcourt have a church?"

"Excuse me?"

His gaze traveled back to her. "Do you go to church?"

Sasha blinked. "I did before Belcourt. Belcourt does not have a church."

"Then your High Priestess is your God?"

"No, of course not." She shrugged. "We are taught to worship wherever and whenever we feel the need to."

He looked confused and she smiled. "God is everywhere, West. He does not need an edifice. The entire Belcourt is his church." When he did not comment, she asked, "Do you? Go to church?"

"The world is God's church," was his short response.

Sasha smiled and leaned up to plant a kiss on his jaw. "You are too smart, West Blackwood," she said as the carriage slowed down.

*****

Sasha left West in the Flower Garden and in her bedchamber where he believed he was most comfortable in and set out on foot to the Library in her red cloak.

"Fret not, Shirley," she said to the librarian who was guarding the Library of Records. "This will be the last you will see of me for years. I simply needed to finish checking the inventory."

Shirley just shook her head. "You truly need to detach yourself from the Library, Sasha and your red cloak should remind you of that. I heard rumors about you causing the Flower Garden trouble."

"Rumors, Shirley, nothing else," she said with a wink. Before entering the room, she stopped and nonchalantly asked, "By the by, Shirley, do you have any record of anyone from the Court of Arms coming by?"

Shirley asked and checked her book. "No, why do you ask?"

"Oh, she must have thought against it."

"Who?"

"A Soldier. Met her at the tea house the last I was there. She inquired if she could gain access to her records and I said yes."

Shirley nodded, then narrowed her eyes at Sasha. "Get going, Sasha. I hate seeing you here."

Sasha laughed and her smile disappeared as soon as she entered the room.

She walked to where her records were and pulled out the book. She then reached deeper into the shelf and sighed with relief when her hand touched the object she was looking for. Pulling it out, Sasha hid the journal inside her pelisse and closing her cloak over it.

She replaced her records on the shelf to proceed to her task.

She would not be able to find West's sister here for it was pointless. If it was ever here, it was gone.

Today, she had one goal and she went straight for it.

By now, she knew the room well enough. She navigated through the shelves with fluid ease and finally stopped at the right place.

She pulled out Gabrielle's records.

Once she was certain she was alone, she leafed through the pages, scanning for anything that she would find useful.

It was easy to memorize details such as Gabrielle's name, the date she was taken to Belcourt, and...

Sasha's eyes focused on one name.

Then she smiled.