Oh — now this was unexpected. Her hand on his arm, and her words stripped of all pretense. He'd thought to get her begging, of course, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. Half a step back, his hand on his whiskey glass and his eyes flitting away from her; was that really all it had taken? After their first meeting, he'd thought she would give him more of a chase. After their letters, he'd wondered if perhaps she was capable of mounting an offensive equal to his own, and whether he ought to reconsider his expectations for their night together. Now... he supposed he'd been wrong. This was Miss Scrimgeour in the garden at the winter party all over again, except that she was more mature; a fine wine compared to fresh grapes.

He could command her to kiss him, if he liked. He was sure she would oblige. He might be able to command her to do other things, too, depending on how smitten she was already.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Professor," he said with a feigned casual tone. "You don't need to prove anything to me. Shall we play cards?"