“Miss Weston.” The words were at once chiding and, Nim sensed, a bit staggered. Had Nim been holding the candle, she might have very well burned down his room, but she only fumbled with soft linen she had no right to hold. She spun to face him. “I need my key.” The response came out before she’d had a moment to think. She was still shaken, angry, and feeling quite trapped. She was not repentant for being found in his personal… everything, but when she took him in, she was suddenly as awkward in his presence as she’d ever been.
