“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I’m glad you’re alive.”
It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was enough for now. George’s hand dropped, but he nodded, understanding more than she’d said.
“We need to leave,” Aaron said, scanning the alley for signs of pursuit. “Those men won’t stay unconscious forever, and Wigram will send more when they don’t report back.”
They made their way through the twisting alleys with Aaron leading, George in the middle, and Louise next to him. He tried to match her stride, but his steps faltered. Once he stumbled, recovered, then fell back again, his boots scraping softly against the stones.
Louise glanced over her shoulder. Her brother walked like a man heading to the gallows, shoulders bent with the weight of his failures.
She turned forward and fixed her gaze on Aaron’s back as they moved through the darkness. He had fought five men without hesitation, without fear, protecting her with a violence she hadn’t known he possessed. Yet his hand, when it reached back to help her over a pile of refuse, remained gentle as ever.
This was the man she loved. Dangerous and tender, controlled and passionate, capable of violence but choosing gentleness. He would save her brother not because George deserved it, but because she needed it.
The gratitude that flooded through her felt too large for her chest, tangled with fear for what came next and anger at whathad come before. But beneath it all, solid as bedrock, lay the certainty that Aaron would see them through this.
He had given his word, and Aaron’s word was worth more than all her brother’s broken promises combined.
As they emerged onto a slightly wider street where a hackney might be found, Louise caught George’s arm.
“No more running,” she said quietly. “Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
George nodded, his throat working as he swallowed whatever words wanted to emerge. Behind them, the fog thinned, revealing the first pale hints of dawn on the horizon.
A new day. A found brother. And ahead, the monumental task of rebuilding what George’s choices had shattered.
The servants’ entrance to Calborough House stood blessedly unguarded at four in the morning. Aaron produced a key, and they slipped inside like thieves, their mud-caked boots silent on the kitchen flagstones. The familiar warmth of the house felt surreal after the nightmare of the East End, as if they had crossed between worlds.
George stood awkwardly in the kitchen, taking in the copper pots gleaming on their hooks, the scrubbed wooden table whereCook prepared meals, the everyday domesticity that seemed to pain him. His clothes hung torn and filthy, making him look exactly what he was. A man who had been living rough and on the run for weeks.
“The blue guest chamber is prepared.” Aaron kept his voice low to avoid waking the household. “You’ll find fresh clothes in the wardrobe. They should fit well enough.”
George nodded, his gaze sliding away from Aaron’s with visible shame. “Your Grace, I cannot adequately express?—”
“Then don’t.” Aaron turned toward the back stairs. “We’ll discuss everything tomorrow. Tonight, you need rest.”
Louise watched her brother climb the stairs like a man ascending to his execution. When his footsteps faded, she was alone with Aaron in the dim kitchen. Mud streaked his face, and his coat bore tears from the fight, but he had never looked more magnificent to her. This man, who had risked everything to find her worthless brother.
“You should rest as well.” Aaron moved toward the door that led to the main house, then paused. “I’ll hire guards tomorrow. Men, I trust to watch the house until Wigram is dealt with and your brother’s debts are cleared.”
Something cold settled in Louise’s chest. “Guards?”
“For your protection when you return to Sulton House.” He still wouldn’t look at her directly. “You should be able to go home tomorrow. Today, rather. George will need to prepare the house for your return.”
The words hit her like physical blows. Home. As if Calborough House had never been that. As if these weeks of family dinners and shared laughter and stolen kisses meant nothing.
Louise forced her voice to remain steady. “Of course. This was always temporary.”
She waited, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he would hear it. This was his moment to protest, to say something, anything, that would show he wanted her to stay. That which existed between them was worth fighting for.
Aaron nodded once, sharp and final. “Yes. Temporary.”
The word fell between them like a blade.
Louise pressed her fingernails into her palms, using the pain to keep her expression neutral. “Then I should pack. Thank you, Your Grace, for everything you’ve done for my family.”
She dropped a curtsy, proper and distant, as if they were strangers at a ball rather than two people who had shared intimacies that still burned in her dreams.
“Louise—”
