He shifted slightly, still primarily facing the window but angling enough that he could look at her across his shoulder. There was a gaslamp in the room behind them, left barely burning on the desk, but she was mostly moonlit now. He let his eyes trail over her eyes, her jawline, her neck, her bust, her waist. He took no pains to hide that he was looking.

"I agree," he said, and shifted his weight again to angle towards her: an invitation.

---