In this, she is just like all the other high-born ladies of his acquaintance: too used to the world bending to their whims to tolerate its refusal to do so with good grace.

Still, she does not press the issue, and Benedict finds himself torn between gratitude and regret for it.

"You matter to all of them," he points out, knowing she resents the fact but also knowing that it is the truth. Ninon is more important to the Spire than she seemingly realizes, or wishes to acknowledge, and as such, she cannot ever do only what she wishes to do.

He catches her hand as she tugs at her bodice, folding his large fingers around her soft skin, and lifts her palm enough that he can duck his head down to press a kiss to the center of it. "You matter to me," he adds gruffly, embarrassed to be so forthright.

Hopefully that confession will mollify her somewhat.