[He can't see her expression right now, and so she lets a slight smirk flit over her face. Good, that's Rosalind one point up, then, and she really oughtn't treat social interactions like a competition, but that's just how she's wired. There are worse things, she supposes.

Besides. There's something immensely satisfying about frustrating others, leaving them wanting while she walks away smug. But far be it for her to torment him all evening; if nothing else, that would drive him away, and he's starting to become entertaining to her.

Isn't that lovely for him?]

Really? And here most men I know would have loved to go through what you just did. I'll keep that in mind for the future, though: Richard Tozier, doesn't care to be pinned to bookshelves.

[She glances over at him as she takes a seat. The tomes are still laid out on the table, and there's something lighter in her gaze as she looks at him. It's much easier to be friendly now that she's got the upper hand.]

Tell me, then: what is it you'd rather be doing, if I let you leave?