Her gaze dropped, just for a moment. “You’re not angry I came?”
“Angry? No. I needed you here. More than I knew.”
The silence between them held more than the fading light could contain.
She wanted to speak, to thank him, to scold him, to ask if he still dreamed of her, but every word was perilously close to a confession.
Instead, she looked at his hands, steady at his sides, and thought how easily strength could disguise tenderness.
That surprised her. Not the words, but the way he said them. Like, there was no space left for pretense.
He stepped closer.
“I knew what I felt for you before we came here,” he said. “But seeing you in there, not backing down, not looking away, made me want you in a way that doesn’t fit the life I’ve known.”
Her breath caught.
“Then maybe that life was never meant to hold this,” she said. “You don’t have to make it fit. You just have to choose it.”
His hand brushed hers, lightly, reverently, and for a long moment, neither moved. The wind caught her hair and tangled it across her cheek, and he reached to smooth it back. Not urgent. Not possessive. Just… present. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath with them, the air between their faces carrying the faint scent of rain and coal dust, something ordinary turned sacred.
“Then I’ll build the life that can hold it,” he said. “With you.”
For an instant, she couldn’t breathe. The words were simple, but they carried the kind of promise that remade the air itself.
She saw in him not the soldier or the earl, but the man who had finally stopped running from duty, from desire, from her.
And the knowledge settled in her chest like warmth breaking through frost.
A hush passed through her, not from surprise, but from recognition. From the sound of something solid settling into place.
She didn’t answer him with words. She stepped forward instead, closing the last inch between them, and kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed, or questioning, or bold. It was quiet. Certain. A seal on something that had already begun to live between them, wordless and real.
When she pulled back, she didn’t look away. And he didn’t let go.
For a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. The world held still. The hush was different now. It was no longer the silence before battle, but something gentler. The kind that came after the truth had been spoken.
Alex brushed his thumb along the side of her hand. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Everything that mattered had already passed between them, unspoken but undeniable.
Georgina’s gaze softened, her lips still tingling, her heart steady in a way it hadn’t been in years. The steadiness frightened her almost as much as the kiss itself. It meant she could no longer pretend this was temporary. She didn’t feel swept away. She was anchored.
And then the air shifted.
The sound reached them a heartbeat later. The distant rhythm of hooves, fast but uneven, echoed off the ridge. Hoofbeats on packed earth, too deliberate for a casual rider.
Alex’s jaw tensed. He turned, scanning the tree line, every instinctcoiled. The hoofbeats were too steady, too sharp. Not a merchant’s sway or a messenger’s clatter. A searcher’s rhythm. Intentional. “Someone’s coming,” he said.
Georgina stepped back just enough to adjust her gloves, her voice calm but sharp with awareness. “Let them.”
They walked back toward the horses in silence, not awkward, but full. Full of what had been said, and what didn’t need to be. Alex glanced down once as their shoulders brushed. His hand hovered for a moment, then settled at the small of her back, a simple gesture that said: you’re not alone in this.
Georgina didn’t flinch from the contact. If anything, she leaned slightly into it.
Then came the second echo of hoofbeats, louder this time, carrying speed and urgency.
Alex’s hand fell away, replaced by instinct. He turned to face the sound head-on, listening for weight in the stride, for familiarity in the rhythm. It wasn’t one of theirs. The tempo was wrong by half a beat. A single rider. Not charging but not meandering either.
