“Then we proceed. Tomorrow, the solicitor’s office. Tonight, we watch.”
They ate stew and bread, Maximilian scanning the doors and windows while Lydia drew strength from the food. Later, he pretended to read as she watched the fire, her thoughts focused on C.M. and the estate's worth.
At eleven, he closed the book. “We should retire.”
Jenny returned with candles, her smile bright. “Good night, Your Grace. Miss Montague.”
In the hall, the candlelight cast a warm glow on the wallpaper. Maximilian hesitated. “Lock your door.”
“Worried for my safety? Or yours?”
“For both.”
She brushed her fingers against his sleeve, feeling the muscle tighten beneath it. “We cannot keep pretending last night did not happen.”
His breath caught. “Some things are better left in the dark, Miss Montague.”
Her hand fell away. She wanted to pull him inside, to close the distance between them, but he stepped back, neck rigid and footsteps silent. She closed her door, the latch clicking shut with finality.
Undressing by candlelight, she slipped between cold sheets, every nerve alive with regret and anticipation.
In the darkness, she listened for his footsteps next door, hoping he was awake and wrestling with the same questions. It was better than being alone with her thoughts. Alas, it was only the countess's soft snore that greeted her.
