His smile faded slightly, not into displeasure, but into something more complex. "I smile," he said, "under the right circumstances."
"And what circumstances might those be?"
The question hung between them, weighted with implications neither had meant to voice. The rain thundered against the roof, and somewhere in the stable, a horse whickered softly, but Alice was aware of nothing except the man before her and the charged current that seemed to flow between them.
"Unexpected ones," Samuel said at last. "Circumstances I had not anticipated."
Alice felt her pulse quicken. "You have a talent for anticipation."
"I had thought so." His gaze moved across her face, her dripping hair, flushed cheeks, and slightly parted lips. "I find I am revising my assessment."
The stable felt smaller than it had moments ago, the space between them reduced toinches rather than feet. Water dripped from Alice's hair onto the straw below, each drop marking time. Outside, thunder rolled across the estate, leaving her uncertain whether it was a promise or a warning.
The storm reached its peak with a crack of thunder that shook the stable walls. In the lightning flash that followed, Alice saw Samuel's face illuminated, every line and shadow revealing the composure that had begun to slip. His eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch, the gray of his irises turning silver in the flashes of light.
Then darkness returned, leaving only the lantern's glow and the sound of rain against the roof.
Neither of them moved.
In the sudden quiet between thunderclaps, Alice’s heartbeat became loud. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, and a dark, dripping strand of hair fell across her face, obscuring her vision on one side. She started to reach for it.
Samuel's hand was there first.
His fingers brushed her temple as he swept the hair aside, the touch so gentle it barely registered. But he did not withdraw. His hand lingered at the edge of her face, fingertips resting against her cheekbone, thumb brushing away a drop of water from the corner of her eye. The leather of his glove felt cold, yet beneath it, warmth radiated. The heat of hisskin and the slight tremor in his touch suggested he was not as composed as his expression implied.
"Alice," he said, his voice weaving her name into a question, a warning, an invitation she had not known she was waiting for.
Her usual quips and deflections fled. She stood in the lantern light, heart pounding, watching the emotions flit across his face—uncertainty, desire, perhaps fear. The control he maintained had cracked, revealing the man she had glimpsed in the library, the one with old wounds hidden beneath his armor.
Their breathing matched, or perhaps it always had, and she was only now aware of it. Each inhale and exhale moved in harmony, as if their bodies had reached an agreement their minds had yet to acknowledge.
"Samuel." The name slipped from her lips, filling the charged silence, the space between them shrinking to something impossibly intimate, his hand still warm against her face, and she did not want it to move.
He leaned forward.
The movement was slow, hesitant. Unlike his usual decisive precision, the pause ached in Alice’s chest. She watched him close the distance, his grey eyes darkening, lips parting slightly as his breathmingled with hers. She caught the scent of rain, something warmer beneath it, and the hay-and-horse aroma of the stable, which had become the most romantic fragrance she had ever encountered.
Their lips hovered a breath apart. Less than a breath—a whisper, a heartbeat, the width of a promise about to be made.
The stable door crashed open.
Alice sprang backward, nearly colliding with her mare, her composure snapping into place. Samuel straightened with a rigid grace that spoke of years of near-disasters, his hand dropping to his side as if it had never touched her face, as if they had been standing at appropriate distances all along.
A groom stood in the doorway, arms laden with towels, his expression cheerful and oblivious to the moment he had just interrupted.
"Begging your pardon, my lord, my lady," he said, stepping inside and shaking water from his cap. "Mrs. Henderson sent me with these. She thought you might need them, caught out in this weather." He set the towels on a nearby barrel and reached for the lantern he'd brought. "The storm should pass within the hour, or so the head gardener reckons. He’s rarely wrong about such things."
"How thoughtful," Alice heard herself say, hervoice surprisingly light and pleasant. "Please thank Mrs. Henderson for her consideration."
"Aye, my lady. Will you be wanting an escort back to the house when it clears? I can have a footman with umbrellas ready at the main entrance."
"That would be most welcome." Samuel's voice held a composed facade, but Alice sensed the faintest roughness at its edges. "Thank you for your attention."
The groom nodded, pleased to have fulfilled his duty, and began checking on the horses with the easy efficiency of a man in his element. Alice reached for one of the towels and pressed it to her hair, grateful for something to occupy her hands—anything to distract from the man standing three careful feet away.
She risked a glance at Samuel. He studied the wall, his jaw set and posture rigid. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
"The weather," Alice ventured, breaking the silence, "has been remarkably dramatic this week."
