The rain that's been streaming down since I woke up tangled in my duvet has finally let up.

I can see the vegetable garden beyond the open back door when I enter the kitchen with the tray laden with my empty breakfast dishes. Gentle light glistens on wet surfaces, making the world twinkle with mischievous sparkles.

"Thank you," I smile when the demure young woman, who often serves my meals, takes the tray from me. She'd warmed to me considerably but still doesn't speak to me. She simply returns my smile and inclines her head in acknowledgement of my thanks.

I'm feeling incredibly energetic today and have this almost overwhelming desire to go for a long, long run. I want to feel the breeze in my hair and the burn in my muscles.

I don't run... ever!

Running is for people with good coordination. Whenever I try to run, I end up in a tangle of limbs on the ground. Running is a very dangerous sport when it's me taking part in it, and what's that nonsense about burning muscles? I don't want my muscles to burn!

Yet, here I am, gazing longingly out the door at the dripping garden and the footpath leading to the rest of the estate. I am even sighing dramatically.

I have too much energy to spend my time indoors.

I have work to do, though! My first presentation for Alaric is nowhere near ready for Monday, and tomorrow, I want to spend most of the day in Slaughtaverty. Turning away from the temptation I never thought I would ever experience, I hurry to the front of the house and up the stairs to the office.

Ransford isn't in the mansion or anywhere on the grounds. I have no idea how I know that. I can just feel it, and it makes me sad. I miss him, but not in the gut-wrenching horrible way I missed Alaric yesterday. It's more of a burning ache, like a pot simmering at a very low temperature. It might be because he hasn't left the island. I can still feel his presence subtly lingering like a mirage trembling in hot air.

I need to speak to him about that kiss yesterday. I need to understand what happened between us.

I'm surprised I don't miss Alaric as much as yesterday. That intense longing has faded into a vague throb somewhere deep inside my heart. Perhaps my blood sugar was just really low yesterday, and I was feeling a bit melancholic. No, that doesn't usually happen to me, and I'm not going to surf the internet to see if my diagnosis makes any sense.

I've been so focused on trying to follow the trail in my mind, somehow leading me to where Ransford is hiding, that I didn't even notice that I could feel Alaric's presence strongly. I am, therefore, startled to find him sitting at his desk, sifting through some printed pages.

When I enter the office, he looks up, and seeing his face is like a punch to my gut. His dark hair is immaculately styled, as always, and his eyes seem to grow darker and darker while he gazes at me until none of the irises' silvery shine is visible. Something is tugging at the back of my mind, a memory like the name of a song or a person just beyond my reach.

My heart is beating so fast; I can imagine it taking flight from my chest to crash into the window behind Alaric with a wet, squelchy splat, blood spraying all over the office.

Suddenly, I'm thirsty.

Alaric's lips move soundlessly as if he's about to say something, but then his eyes narrow, and his frown deepens as he studies my face. The muscles in his jaw clenches and unclenches as if he's grinding his teeth while he reaches out and grabs a pencil from the holder on his desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Slatherty," I say with a tight smile, immediately on my guard. He is clearly in a bad mood, and though I've never seen him angry, I would rather not set him off. He has the air of someone who could be very dangerous when provoked.

For some strange reason, the thought of Alaric in a rage makes my stomach flutter, and my cheeks warm with excitement. It also scares me to the marrow in my bones. I would love to have that run I've been craving since I flew out of bed this morning, eager to start the day. I am clearly not myself. Enjoying visions of blood and craving violence? Me?

"Good morning, Miss Dankworth," he grinds out between his teeth and I wonder if he's upset because Leopold told him that he found me curled up in his chair like a sad baby missing her daddy yesterday. I would simply die of mortification if he'd told him, and Alaric scolds me for it.

"H-how was your trip to the mainland?" I ask, moving past his desk and avoiding his eyes that went back to being stern and grey. Though clearly agitated, he no longer seems to be on the verge of devouring all the fluffy bunnies in the world. He is once again as cold and unapproachable as ever, with some anger thrown into the mix.

Perhaps if I pretend that I don't see how irritated he is, he will just let it slide. He is good at hiding his feelings, why isn't he hiding it now? He is positively glaring at me, playing the pencil through his fingers in a rather impressively dexterous way. Is sitting in his chair a mortal sin?!

"It was brilliant," he hisses, the last word punctuated by a loud crack when the pencil breaks into several pieces. "Thank you."

I watch what's left of the demolished pencil clatter to the desk's surface, hoping I won't be next, and hastily step further away from Alaric when he jumps to his feet. Perhaps he might go after those bunnies after all! "Please excuse me, Miss Dankworth," he says tersely, "I have... a... something." With that eloquent statement, he rounds his desk and storms out of the room just as Diarmuid is about to enter.

"Where are ye-"

"To my thing!" Alaric growls in answer to his assistant's baffled inquiry, and entering the office, Diarmuid turns questioning eyes on me.

"He has a something," I inform him with a shrug and slide into my seat, a little bit relieved to be free of Alaric's overwhelming presence. Diarmuid tilts his head, looking confused and clearly not happy with my answer. "Don't ask me; you're his assistant."

"To be sure, to be sure. Guess we'll go over these later then," Diarmuid shrugs, crossing to Alaric's desk to place the stack of paper files he's holding on its polished surface. The relief I felt was fleeting. Alaric's abrupt departure has left an empty feeling in the middle of my body, somewhere between my heart and my stomach. This is ridiculous; why should I be sad that he's gone? The man makes me so nervous!

Sure, he was rather pleasing to look at, even while he was murdering his pencil; still, it makes no sense. Diarmuid strolls to my desk and braces his hip against the corner across from where I'm sitting, bringing my sulking to an end.

"Good mornin'," he grins, crossing his arms, and I realise that I didn't even greet him. "How are ye this mornin'?"

"Good morning," I smile repentantly, looking up at his twinkling eyes and knowing smirk. "I'm very well, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm curious," he shrugs, and I don't think I've ever had that in answer to a polite health and wellbeing inquiry before.

"Sometimes I get curious too," I tell him, feeling a bit awkward. I'm not sure how to hold my end of this strange conversation. I wasn't lying, though; in fact, I'm curious right now to know if Diarmuid would have the same peculiar effect on me that all the other men in this house seem to have... except Leopold. He is not quite close enough for me to tell, but I do rather enjoy the way the filtered light is picking out highlights in his brown hair.

Do I want to kiss him too?

My gaze travels to his lips, which makes me overly aware of my own. They feel strange as if I've subjected them to some kind of rough exfoliating treatment. I touch the tip of a finger to my lower lip and shiver as a half-remembered sensation tingles at my touch. My thoughts fleetingly fill with recollections of Alaric's working jaw muscles while he was mangling his pencil and his eyes as dark as midnight, watching me almost predatorily.

Experimenting to see if I can make it happen again and perhaps find the memory behind the enjoyable sensations, I close my eyes and slowly stroke my fingertip from one corner of my mouth to the other. I'm startled back to the present by Diarmuid clearing his throat.

I forgot about him!

My eyes fly open to see him shifting uncomfortably, adjusting his glasses, and I hastily drop my hand. He seems a little flushed, running his fingers along the inside of his collar as if his shirt is choking him.

He must think I'm trying to seduce him!

"What are you curious about," I ask, trying to hide my embarrassment. Honestly, I barely recognise myself anymore!

I busily open and shut my desk drawers, trying to remember where I left my laptop. I thought it was on my desk, but it's not here. My confusion about my laptop's whereabouts at least wipes the nervousness from Diarmuid's face. He probably realizes that he's no longer in danger of being sampled by me.

Is he relieved or disappointed? I'm a bit disappointed... I really need to go to that gym upstairs and work out until I'm me again!

"Why did Alaric run off in a huff?" Diarmuid asks, watching my face far too closely for my liking.

"Did he?" I frown. I know Alaric is in a bad mood about something, but was he huffing? Well, he growled. That could potentially count as being huffy, I suppose.

"Aye, he definitely had his tail in a twist just now."

"Really," I ask, smirking. "How could you tell? To me, he always seems to have his tail in a twist."

Diarmuid gives me a surprised look and bursts into laughter, adjusting his glasses again while stepping away from my desk.

"So, you two didn't have a... tiff?" he asks, apparently still curious.

"Alaric might be very good at having tiffs," I grin, amused by the choice of word, "but we definitely didn't have one. Unless greeting him and asking him how the trip was can be defined as a... tiff."

"Must've been me, then," he sighs. "Again. Sure, look. I'd better find him and apologize for me latest mistake."

I've spent some time with Diarmuid and experienced the strange things he tends to say; I can imagine that he often frustrates Alaric, but to this extreme?

"Does he often have tiffs with you or run off in a huff when you do or say something wrong?" I ask, surprised to hear this. Diarmuid pauses, tilting his head to the side as he searches his fascinating mind for his answer, which is probably going to be weird again.

"Naw, not at all, at all," he admits after a minute, shaking his head and pressing his lips into a thin line. "That would be too undignified. He usually just gives me a look, and then I see me own mistake," he shrugs.

"Perhaps he had a bathroom emergency," I offer, and when Diarmuid laughs, I add, "Or would that be too undignified too?"

"Probably."

"When did you get back?" I ask. Since my bedroom is relatively isolated from the body of the house where people arrive and depart, I did not hear Alaric's return to the mansion.

"Last night," Diarmuid says. "Alaric ran off the second the boat was close enough to leap to the wharf. He probably had a bathroom emergency then too, and didn't want to bother with slow things like motorised transport."

The man really has the strangest sense of humour. I smile, agreeing that taking a car to the mansion would be terribly slow if one is in a hurry and having an emergency. I have no idea what I'm talking about, and I cannot imagine Alaric jumping off a boat and running to the mansion. Besides, why on Earth would he have been in such a hurry to get home?

Catching movement at the door, I turn my attention towards it and seeing my reaction, Diarmuid does the same. I'm pleasantly surprised to see Liam entering, balancing a tray in one hand and carrying my laptop under his other arm.

"Good morning," he says, crossing to my desk. We both answer his greeting in chorus and then Diarmuid smirks, nodding at the tray holding two mugs of coffee Liam expertly puts on the surface of my desk.

"Leopold finally retired, did he?"

"Leopold will never retire," Liam chuckles, placing my laptop on the desk in front of me and, pulling my phone from his pants pocket, he lays it on top.

I didn't even realise that I didn't have my phone! How strange! This morning, when I woke up, I felt refreshed and happy. I didn't check the date to see if I'd slept for a week; I just danced to the bathroom, and after that, I wolved down my breakfast, got dressed and came downstairs.

"Thank you!" I exclaim, picking up the phone and turning on the screen. I'm relieved to see that it's definitely Thursday, the day after yesterday, and I haven't missed my library and lunch date scheduled for tomorrow. "Where did you find it?"

"Oh, Leopold found it in the dining room," Liam smiles, carrying a chair to the side of my desk and settling into it. "I offered to bring it to you since Alaric asked me to look in on you?"

Why on Earth would he ask that?

"Where is Alaric," Diarmuid wants to know.

"He's pacing around in his private library on the third floor," I answer automatically, a fraction of a second before Liam says more or less the same thing. If either of them is as shocked that I have that kind of knowledge, they're not showing it.

"Did you want some fresh coffee too?" Liam asks Diarmuid.

"Naw, thanks. I just had mine," he says, smiling at Liam. I watch him walk away from my desk, pausing to scoop his files from Alaric's desk on his way to the door. "I'd better go up there to discuss these," he says, holding them up for us to see. "Later!"

"I did not even know Alaric had a private library," I say, turning confused eyes on Liam as if he is supposed to know why I'm suddenly psychic.

"Well, he's in there now," he confirms, picking up his coffee and taking a long, satisfying sip from it. His long, thick lashes make him look vulnerable when he closes his eyes, savouring his coffee. Something about Liam is causing my heart to twitch with fondness and a deep desire to protect him. I have no idea why and from what. The man cannot be described as fragile or weak by any stretch of the imagination. He is, actually, very healthy and strong-looking... and yet...

"How did I know that?" I ask him, and his eyes open, their aquamarine irises stretched around their wide pupils. He doesn't say anything at first, he just lowers his mug and takes his time putting it back on the tray.

"Are you sure you do know that?" he asks, watching my face closely in that gentle, warm way that always calms my racing nerves. For some inexplicable reason, Liam has won my trust in a very short time. I do not understand it, but I embrace it as it gives me a sense of peace and relief. He is an anchor in a tumultuous ocean.

"Yes."

"How do you think you came to know that, Aubrey?" he asks, gazing into my eyes, and when Liam looks at me like this, I want to spill all my secrets. He could have a very successful career in spy interrogation. It's virtually impossible to keep my thoughts from flowing over my lips when he is looking at me.

"I don't know," I shrug, biting my lip. "Well... I know it's ridiculous, but it feels like I've tapped into some weird archive and have access to all its information. It's jumbled, though, like when a stack of puzzle boxes fell over, spilling their contents, and when it was cleaned up, all the puzzle pieces were mixed together and stuffed into random boxes. The pieces are too small to make sense of, and too many look alike. I cannot begin to sort them by image and make them make sense."

He is not laughing at me; he is still looking at me with interest and empathy, emboldening me to add, "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

Liam takes my hand, stilling my fingers nervously tapping on the surface of the desk. I didn't even realise that I was doing that. Feeling his palm folding over my hand and looking into his calm, gentle eyes, I am enveloped in warmth like a snug blanket.

"I can feel him up there," I whisper. "He is upset, and I don't know why. I don't think he's easy to upset." I bite my lower lip again, giving Liam a beseeching look. "Did... did something really bad happen?" I ask nervously.

"Not at all," he smiles, placing his other hand over mine as well, enclosing it in a safe little nest between his warm palms.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Aubrey, it's all good. Alaric is just a bit... under the weather," Liam assures me, squeezing my hand before releasing it to hand me my steaming mug of joy. I lift it to my lips, savouring the warmth and smooth taste. The coffee I make still doesn't come anywhere near this.

"What's your secret to this coffee?" I ask, sighing as I put my mug down.

"Patience," Liam smiles, and I laugh, shaking my head.

"I don't have a lot of that," I grin, wrapping both my hands around the comforting heat while I take another deep sip.

Liam leans back in his seat, lifting one leg to rest the ankle on the other's knee. He is once again studying me as if I am the most interesting bug in a display. I should feel flustered and unnerved, but somehow I don't. All I'm feeling is comforted by having him here, and I didn't even know that I was anxious this morning. I thought I was looking into a new career as a long-distance runner.

I might be confused about almost everything else in my life, but I know without any doubt that I really like Liam. He is not very talkative; he is more of a listener, but I've tasted his sharp wit on occasion and know that he has a great sense of humour. I've seen his childlike side, and I've seen his doctor's side. Both of those sides told me that he is a kind, gentle man, and as if that would not already be enough, he is also very handsome.

According to my logic, every woman on this island should be at least partially in love with him. Many might actually be, but in the same way that I knew where Alaric was, I also know that Liam does not have a love interest to fill the void in his big heart. There might've been once, but now there's only pain.

Why is he so lonely?

"Do you run?" I ask, watching him over the rim of my mug. He gives me an amused smile and shrugs.

"Away?"

"No, in general," I laugh, placing my empty mug on the tray, disappointed that I drank it too fast. "To get fit and rid yourself of too much energy."

"Not if I can help it," he shrugs. "I prefer training with the guys."

"With sticks?" I gasp, my mind leaping to the scene I'd witnessed of Billy and Ransford laughing while they were trying to kill each other in the backyard. In my wildest fantasies, I cannot imagine Liam doing that or Alaric, for that matter.

I definitely cannot picture Diarmuid doing tumbles in the mud or running nimbly along the edge of a high wall. I can find merit in the idea of someone chasing him with a stick for saying awkward things with a dorky laugh, though.

I can imagine Leopold doing some sparring. He has a stick permanently inserted up his butt, after all. Always ready to be used. I'm unable to suppress the giggle bubbling up inside me, and to my surprise, Liam laughs too. He drops his foot to the ground and leans over to pick up his mug again.

Did he read my mind?!

"I do occasionally enjoy playing with my stick," he grins, giving me a mirthful look while he brings the rim of his mug to his lips. "Would you like to give it a try?"

Blinking my eyes in surprise - nearly choking on my breath - there is one thing I keep repeating in my mind over and over to assure myself that Liam is definitely referring to sparring training.

This is not Ransford! This is not Ransford! This is not Ransford!

He laughs again, leaning over to place his empty cup on the tray. Rising, he pauses, giving me a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with life.

Just like that, I'm not entirely sure I believe my mantra anymore.

~~~