"Hamilton," Burr says, a harsher bite than then first. He drops Hamilton's hand and stands. "I will not speak of this," and his face is red, and really he would not flee if Ned were not there, but he is, and Burr doesn't want to--he hates this. This feeling that they're playing at a game. That Hamilton should feel--but is is Hamilton's pain, isn't it? To defraud something his own property.

Still flushed, when he turns and makes for the door. "I will not stay to agitate you. Recover yourself and I shall return," to take the sting out. He closes the door behind h, but the hallway is its own awkward, heavy silence. A long dark hall, with carved wood panels. Stuffy air. He makes his way to one of the smaller bedrooms. Hardly made up for guests, but--good enough to be alone. To read, maybe. He doesn't want to think, either. So he finds a nearby housekeeper, requests a bit of brandy, then returns to the room and closes the door.