Lucian snuffed out the candle neatly between his finger and thumb, an inelegant trick which has the advantage of killing the smell. “You been popping the question?” he asked, and dropped his long cold fingers across Farquhar’s forehead.
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“I’m to wait three months.”
“What on earth for?”
“She wants to consider my virtues—and yours.”
“Mine? Oh, I’m out of the running; I only put myself forward as a pis-aller, in case you didn’t suit.”
“You’re not out of the running. I shouldn’t wonder if she took you. She says she likes you better than me.”
“You sure of that?”
“She told me so to my face. I wished her in Hades.”