Ferron drifted towards her. His gaze seemed to be cataloguing her, as if there was a checklist he was reviewing. He idly pulled his gloves off, pocketing them.
She took an involuntary step back, the pattern of the knife hilt biting into her palm.
“I don’t often see you in this part of the house.” His voice was casual. “Was that your first time in the dining room?”
Her mouth went dry. “I was—looking at the flowers.”
He glanced towards the dining room again, eyes narrowing. “Were you, now?”
She used his distraction to adjust her grip on the knife. “Yes. I like—flowers.”
Heat rushed along her neck, a cold pit forming in her stomach.
“Let’s see it, then.” His eyes were on her hand where it was hidden amid her skirts.
Helena’s heart dropped like a stone as she tried not to react, to app
