William moved toward the landing to keep watch.
Johnathan closed the door behind them. The moment it clicked shut, Frances flew into his arms.
He held her tight, burying his face in her hair. He could feel her shaking—soft tremors, barely controlled—and the heat of her breath against his neck.
“I knew you would come,” she whispered.
“I could never stay away,” he whispered back.
She pulled away enough to look at him. “Cranford will not let me leave. He has been careful—he wants it to seem as though I am here by choice. But I am watched.”
“We will leave together. Now.”
The door opened.
“Are you looking for something, Hargate?” Cranford’s voice was smooth, like oiled velvet. His eyes cold.
Johnathan tensed, his fingers tightening around Frances’s. “Not anymore,” he said, voice hard as steel.
Cranford raised an eyebrow, as if amused. “There is nothing here for you, Your Grace.”
“Then we will be leaving,” Johnathan said, stepping forward, Frances at his side.
Cranford’s smirk deepened, but there was no joy in it. “She is not yours to take, Hargate. She made her choice. She is mine.” His gaze moved to Frances. “Once you marry me, my dear, you will learn obedience. Or you will learn consequences.”
Her grip on Johnathan’s hand tightened.
“No,” Johnathan said, his voice full of fury. “She is not. She never has been, nor will she ever be yours.”
Cranford’s eyes darkened. “You have always been a fool. Believing you could just take her from me. You think because she is stubborn and rebellious that you have earned her? She was always mine, even when you played at being the savior.”
“I was never a savior,” Johnathan said through clenched teeth. “I was a fool. But I will be damned if I let you keep her.”
Cranford’s smile vanished. “Then you will have to fight for her, Hargate. And I doubt you have the will for it.”
Johnathan’s fingers curled around the pistol in his greatcoat. His heart raced, but he moved forward anyway, each step firm, his jaw set with purpose.
He needed her.
And he would do whatever was necessary to make sure no one ever took her from him again.
“Let us pass,” Johnathan said. With a single motion, he drew his pistol and aimed it squarely at Cranford’s chest.
Cranford looked down at the gun with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “Very well, Hargate. Your insults shall not go unanswered. If it is pistols you crave, I shall indulge you.”
They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither one flinching.
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then, from the shadows behind them, William appeared. His gun was drawn, but he was not pointing it at either of them. He kept his distance, his eyes trained on Johnathan. “Do you require a second?”
“It would seem so,” Johnathan said, his gaze remaining on Cranford.
“Johnathan,” Frances interrupted, her gaze softening as she met his eyes.
His vision blurred. “I would pay any price for you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You are everything to me. You always have been.”
She nodded, as if she understood the depth of his words and what he must do. And this time, the silence did not divide them—it bound them, stronger than ever, like ivy growing back over stone long thought ruined.
All that mattered was the love they fought for—and the life they would build.
