A meeting is set

"We should meet in secret to explore the mysteries. Where can we meet, perhaps with a bed?" Torg said.

Margaret bit her lip, her mind racing with the implications of such a clandestine tryst. "My chambers," she breathed, her voice trembling with a mix of trepidation and longing. "They have a sturdy lock, and the velvet canopy may shield us from prying eyes. We shall meet when the moon sits high above the battlements."

*Oh, what a wicked heart beats within me! To invite a stranger into my sanctuary of innocence...* She clutched the book to her chest, her knuckles white. The thought of his hands upon her made her core throb with a sudden, insistent heat.

"Come to me at midnight, sir," she added, casting one last furtive glance toward the library entrance. "And pray, bring your scholarly passion, for I am but a vessel waiting to be filled with knowledge."

"I will, milady. The mysteries must be revealed to us."

Margaret offered a small, hesitant nod, her gaze flickering between his eyes and the floor. "Until the clock strikes twelve, then," she whispered, her voice thick with a nervous anticipation that left her breathless.

As Torg departed, she stood frozen amongst the dusty tomes, her hand instinctively drifting back toward the hem of her skirt. *Heaven help me, for I am surely courting ruin... and yet, I cannot wait for the darkness to fall.*

She spent the remaining hours pacing her room, smoothing the fine linens of her bed and staring at the heavy oak door, her body humming with a restless, aching hunger for the lessons to come.