That night Margo lay in bed.

It was a tame fantasy at first, his thumb rubbing soft circles into her skin and keeping her close. That handsome face close enough to hers to smell his cologne.

They were no longer in the stuffy library alcoves that her father had chosen for them to study but he was here with her in her room. She lay on the bed draped in silk shorts that hardly covered anything and a patching camisole. Her hair fell around her in dark waves as she pretended to study whatever book he was talking about.

Mr. Edlund kept smiling at her from her large armchair across...