“You are searching,” she said, anger breaking through the shock. “You have been searching, and you did not tell me.”
“I needed certainty,” he said sharply. “Not rumor.”
“This concerns my parents.”
“And you lied to me,” he shot back before he could stop himself.
The words hung between them.
She flinched—but did not retreat.
“I lied about my name,” she said. “Not about their deaths.”
“I chose to trust you,” he said, his voice lowering. “I chose to accept that there were reasons you could not speak. Allow me the same grace.”
Her eyes flashed. “Grace? You are investigating my family’s murder in secret.”
“I am protecting you.”
“From what?” she demanded. “From the truth?”
“From speculation that could destroy more than it reveals.”
She took a step back, frustration radiating from her.
“I deserve to know.”
“And you will,” he said, more gently now. “When I have something worthy of placing in your hands.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
“I cannot stand in ignorance while you make decisions for me.”
He stepped closer—but stopped himself short of reaching for her.
“Trust me a little longer,” he said quietly. “Please.”
The word seemed to surprise them both.
Her expression wavered, but the anger did not fully leave.
“I need time,” she said at last.
She turned and stepped toward the window, staring out into the darkness of the grounds beyond.
Edward watched her in silence.
He had thought he could shield her. He had not accounted for the fact that she did not wish to be shielded.
And somewhere in the distance, beyond the reach of lamplight and warmth, William Armitage walked away smiling.
Edward did not immediately speak.
The study felt smaller than it ever had before. The fire burned low. The air still held the warmth of her presence by the hearth only minutes ago. That alone made this moment dangerous.
He had already crossed lines tonight—letting his guard lower, giving her the drawing, allowing himself to look at her the way he had.
Protecting her in front of William without calculation. It had been instinct, and instinct, in matters of the heart, was a treacherous thing.
