He unfastened another button at the neck of his shirt, allowing a tantalising glimpse of brown flesh lightly covered with dark hair. His eyes narrowed, thick lashes veiling his expression. "Tilly told me you have been sick. What's wrong with you?"
"What? Nothing. Nothing is wrong with me," Sasha retorted quickly, inwardly cursing Tilly for making a difficult situation worse. "You—you don't have to care. Tilly worries about me, that’s all."
"She does worry a lot. With that, I agree." He paused, and she knew he was registering the color that had entered her pale cheeks as she spoke.
"It was just a cold" she added.
"Colds do not usually elicit such concern."
"No, well, Tilly is a very—sympathetic person." Sasha made a helpless gesture. "And—perhaps she didn't expect you to— to—"
"
