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The air inside is mercifully cooler than the street, though not nearly cool enough to stop the silk clinging to my skin. I breathe a sigh of relief, setting my parcel on the counter as Iscairn shuts the door behind us. A little tug loosens the laces at my throat, giving my breasts some much-needed air, and I gather my skirts before heading towards the little room at the back.

“Tea?” I call over my shoulder.

“Please, Ophelia.”

“Lovely. Put the kettle on, then, would you?”

The thought of lighting a fire in this heat is appalling, but I'm certainly not going without my tea.

I rummage for our cups, and by the time I return with the tea leaves, he's crouched beside the hearth, blowing gently on a twist of dry moss until the kindling catches. The flames cast a warm, flickering light across the room, leaving the shelves and far corners of the shop in darkness.

I set everything on the table and give the laces of my bodice another little tug, trying to get some air beneath the silk that's been sticking to me since noon. Another inch or so, and I might actually be able to breathe.

“Hmm.”

I glance up from my laces. He’s still crouched beside the hearth, but he's watching me now, his eyes lingering on the silk I've loosened across my breasts. And when he notices I've caught him looking, the smug bastard doesn't even have the decency to look away.

I raise a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, though his eyes wander down again as he pulls off his gloves. “I must say, I am quite fond of those laces.”

A smirk tugs at my lips as I rest my hips against the edge of the table and catch the ends of the ribbon at my throat, keeping my eyes on his as I give one a little tug. The knot loosens, allowing the silk to slip further apart across my breasts, and Iscairn's hand pauses above the kindling.

“I'm surprised you noticed,” I tell him, slipping a finger beneath the edge of my bodice. “You were making such a fuss about the price of my dinner not five minutes ago.”

“The pasty was exorbitant,” he says, setting aside the kindling as he rises. That wicked smile of his only grows as he approaches, and before I can tease him any further, he braces his hands on either side of my hips, leaning close enough for the scent of earth and rain to fill my senses. “Though I must admit, I am feeling considerably more generous now, and I have a much better proposition for you.”

I lean back a little farther as he steps closer, his knuckles brushing the bare skin above my bodice and sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “And what exactly are you proposing, Doctor?”

“I am proposing,” he murmurs against my cheek, catching the end of my loosened ribbon, “that your tea can wait.”

The silk gives beneath his gentle tug, and his mouth presses against the sensitive spot beneath my ear. My head tilts to give him better access, fingers slipping into the hair at his nape as his arm curls around my waist and pulls me closer.

His kisses wander down my throat, following the silk as he loosens it, and a little sound escapes me as his lips brush the newly exposed skin.

When he lifts his head, the familiar black membranes are slipping across his eyes, but I catch him by the collar and pull him down again. The last of the silk slips beneath my breasts, cool air brushing my skin as his mouth returns.

A sharp gasp catches in my throat as his kisses move from one breast to the other. “Iscairn⁠—”

A low murmur answers me, his arm tightening around my waist while his lips continue their slow journey across my skin.

The silk has bunched beneath my ribs, and that coat of his is getting in the way of everything, so my fingers abandon his hair for the fastenings at his chest instead. He hums as they come undone, helping me push the leather from his shoulders, though I've already caught the laces at his throat by the time he's shrugged it off.

“Off,” I say.

The shirt follows, landing in a heap beside his coat, and my palms are soon wandering over the warmth of his scarred chest. His arms slip around my waist as I draw him into another kiss, and he lifts me onto the edge of the table, where my skirts gather in a great untidy heap beneath my thighs.

There's still the matter of his boots, unfortunately, and I give one an impatient tug while he braces a hand beside me for balance. It takes a little wrestling, but soon we've discarded them both, and I'm already reaching for the fastenings of his breeches, earning a low laugh against my cheek.

“Impatient, Ophelia?” he asks.

“Have you only just noticed?”

He smiles, helping me with the last of his clothing, and I welcome him back between my knees, my hands settling on those lovely broad shoulders as he bends to kiss me again.

“Lean back,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees.

I shuffle a little farther back, leaning on my palms as he eases my skirts aside.