“Perhaps,” Élisabeth repeated, her voice little more than a murmur lost in thought.
Her focus wandered, barely taking in the words he’d spoken. Outside, the gentle tap-tap-tap of the rain seemed to be a roar to her heightened senses, lulling her into a momentary fugue state, until everything seemed to snap back into place. She was left with an odd, unsettled feeling she could not explain the origin of, although she began to fear a reprisal of the uncontrolled magic that had elevated her bloodlust at Valentine’s Day.
“Your children are very lucky,” she told Cole, trying to segue as gracefully as she could to a somewhat hurried farewell. “If you’ll forgive me, I must return to the school. Bonsoir. I hope you enjoy the novel.”
She made her way to the circulation desk, checking out the books that had been requested before stepping outside into the rain. With an elegant sweep of her arm, she raised her umbrella against the elements and started back toward Crescent Hill.