“I shall send him away,” he declared, straightening his waistcoat. “The man has some nerve, showing his face here after everything. Does he truly believe that saving your life absolves him of his betrayal? That I should simply forgive and forget because he played the hero in the end?”
“Brother, please,” Nora said more firmly, setting aside her needlework. “I wish to speak with him.”
Cecil froze halfway to the door, turning back to face her with incredulity written across his features. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am perfectly serious,” Nora replied, lifting her chin in a gesture she knew her brother recognized as the precursor to the very same stubbornness he also bore. “I need to speak with him, Cecil. I need... closure, if nothing else.”
“Closure,” Cecil repeated flatly. “Nora, the man used us. He befriended me for the sole purpose of gaining access to our father so he could exact some misguided revenge. He lied to you, manipulated you, broke your heart –”
“I am well aware of what he did, brother. I was there.” Nora interrupted; her voice sharp enough to make Cecil pause. Then, more gently, she added, “But I also know what he did at that warehouse. I saw his face when he thought he might lose me. I heard what he said afterward.”
Cecil's expression softened slightly, concern replacing some of the anger. “What he said in the heat of the moment, you mean. Words spoken under duress are not the same as –”
“I think he loves me,” Nora said simply.
The words hung in the air between them. Cecil stared at her, clearly struggling with some internal battle, before finally releasing a long, suffering sigh.
“And you love him,” he said, rather than questioned.
Nora nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes despite her best efforts to remain composed.
“I do. God help me, Cecil, I know I should not. I know he has done terrible things, that he hurt both of us with his deception. But I cannot simply stop loving him because it would be more convenient.”
For a long moment, Cecil said nothing. He simply stood there, watching his sister with an expression that was part frustration, part resignation, and part something that looked almost like understanding.
“You are certain about this?” he asked finally. “If I allow him in here, if I give you this opportunity to speak with him, you must understand that I cannot protect you from being hurt again. Not if you choose to trust him.”
“I know,” Nora said softly. “But I need to do this, Cecil. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else. I need to hear the truth from him. All of it.”
Cecil studied her face for another moment, then shook his head with a sound that was half-laugh, half frustrated groan. “You have always been the most stubborn of my sisters,” he muttered. “Very well. But I am giving him fifteen minutes. That is all. And I will be right outside this door the entire time.”
Relief flooded through Nora, warm and overwhelming. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet,” Cecil warned as he moved toward the door. “If he says anything to upset you, I reserve the right to throw him out bodily. And to perhaps blacken his eye in the process.”
Despite everything, Nora found herself smiling. “Noted.”
Cecil opened the door and stepped into the hallway, and Nora could hear the low murmur of voices as he spoke with whoever had announced Godric's arrival. Then there were footsteps, drawing closer, and her heart began to race in earnest.
She rose from her chair, smoothing down her skirts with hands that trembled slightly. She had thought about this moment constantly over the past three days, had rehearsed what she might say, how she might maintain her composure. But now that it was actually happening, all those careful plans seemed to evaporate.
The door opened again, and Cecil entered first, his expression dark with warning as he fixed his gaze on the man who followed him into the room.
Godric looked... terrible.
That was Nora's first thought as she took in his appearance. His normally immaculate clothing was slightly rumpled, as though he had dressed in haste. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, suggesting he had slept as poorly as she had over the past few days. And there was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his mouth, that spoke of strain held barely in check.
But his eyes – when they met hers across the room, they blazed with such intensity that it took her breath away.
“Fifteen minutes,” Cecil said curtly, breaking the spell. “That is all you get, Ironwell. And I will be right outside. Nora, you have only to call if you need me.”
He shot one last warning look at Godric, then stepped back into the hallway and closed the door behind him. The soft click of it settling into place seemed deafening in the sudden silence.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. They simply stood there, separated by the length of the drawing room, drinking in the sight of each other.
Then, quietly, Godric asked, “How are you feeling?”
The gentle concern in his voice made something in Nora's chest ache. She had expected many things from this conversation – anger, perhaps, or desperate justifications. But this soft solicitude caught her off guard.
