Chapter Nine #2
“I’d not go that far,” she managed. “I don’t think you’d actually risk your family, let alone your possessions, if you believed that was possible,” she added, surprised at the truth in her words.
“My possessions are spectacular,” he quipped. He almost certainly was not on his first glass of whatever that was.
Though his diction was clear and his eyes were anything but unfocused. Especially when locked on her form.
“My family is nothing to sneeze at, despite what some might say,” he added, his face searching hers, daring her to disagree.
Not that she would. Not because she had any love for the Berabs, but it was clear the criticisms to which he was referring came from people she almost certainly found even more insufferable.
She squeezed the polished wood of the chairback with her good hand. “It’s clear that you love them.”
His smile fell a touch. “There’s most certainly a ‘but,’ in that statement.” His eyes were focused now, sharp as they inspected her body, her face heating even as she refused to look away, refused to be cowed. “You need not be concerned with my brother.”
She blinked in surprise, as she’d not been thinking of him then. But he certainly was.
“He’s in America,” he continued. “Away from any consequences.”
“I know” was all she could respond.
“Of course you do,” he muttered. “But we won’t discuss that.” He shook his head, releasing her gaze. “No, let’s keep this friendly.”
Her throat tightened. “We’re not friends,” she said.
“I used the adverb,” he returned wagging a finger at her. “I’m surprised you didn’t catch that. And while I am not opposed to the concept—”
“It’s not necessary, as I shall be leaving shortly, and while we possess mutual acquaintances, I doubt we shall see each other very much, considering how occupied I am with my business,” she finished.
“You’re probably correct,” he admitted after a long moment. He clasped the glass once more and wiggled it in her direction. “You sure you don’t want a sip?”
“I’m fine.” She turned toward the fire, watching the flames for a long moment, unable to understand what was happening in the room, especially not the strange sensation in the air between them. Or more, she feared what she might feel, or worse, do, if she pondered the same.
“Your loss.” He took another gulp of his drink and stared at her again. “Are you a midwife because your mother is one?”
Rebecca blinked at the abrupt change in subject. What sort of question was that?
“Partially.” It was what she knew. What she’d seen her whole life. “I also have the mind and skill for it.”
“Has there ever been any other life you’ve wanted?” Berab shifted forward in his chair with what had to be feigned interest. Even if it was not, this was none of his business. Something she should tell him, posthaste. This was not the room, place, or conversation for her.
“Like what?” she asked instead. “I have a mother I love, financial security—not wealth, but I’m not in danger of starvation—as well as an intellectually stimulating business. What more could there be?”
“But I didn’t ask you if there’s any other life you want now, merely whether you’ve ever wanted anything different before.
” He had the nerve to point out the difference.
He took another sip, this time a rather long one.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing at her with an oddly curious expression, far worse than the contempt he’d formerly offered her.
“I don’t remember,” she told him, brushing off the question and the intimacies it sought.
Intimacies that would only leave her vulnerable.
Intimacies that he did not and would never deserve.
“If there ever was anything else, it was so fleeting and unimportant that it was pushed out of my head and replaced by necessary scientific knowledge.”
His lip twitched. “I’m sure.”
Irritation flooded her veins.
“Just because you fill your mind with useless nonsense,” she said, indicating his reading material, “doesn’t mean that others follow the same suit.”
“Nonsense is in the eye of the beholder,” he said rather calmly. “Not to mention, the tools of the wise are often useless in the hands of fools.” Baiting her, clearly, in an attempt to trick her into becoming angry and embarrassing herself like she had with the display of temper the first day.
“Or the invisible garments are truly just air,” she countered, giving him a small smirk.
“Touché,” he said again softly.
“You admit you’re not quite as omniscient as you like to believe yourself?” she asked, maneuvering them into their usual, far more comfortable pattern of confrontation.
“I never fancied myself such, Miss Adler,” he said rather primly.
“You might find it hard to fathom, but I have a quite accurate view of my person, warts and all.” His lips twisted into a smirk, setting up a new attack.
“Figuratively, regarding the warts, because, as you can see, my person is rather flawless.”
The blow hit harder than it should have. But she’d not give him the satisfaction of revealing such.