Malum responded with a tight smile.
It didn’t feel like morning. The weariness he’d been ignoring for months clung to him, a relentless weight that made it seem as though he lived his life in one endless, gray night.
Even after a few hours of restless sleep in his own bed, a bath, and dressing with the efficient assistance of Angus, his fastidious valet, the sensation persisted.
Morning slipped into afternoon, but not even the mundane distraction of reviewing estate reports from his largest holdings could shake the sensation.
As he sat in his study, Malum caught the faint sound of a knock at the front door below. He waited, expecting to hear the familiar footsteps of his butler, Mr. Tipton. But there was only silence.
Frowning, he straightened in his revolving Windsor chair and turned toward the window. Raindrops dotted the glass, the scattered drips quickly building into a steady shower.Typical London weather.
His gaze drifted across Regent Street, where Rutherford, now the Earl of Standish, had once resided. The windows were empty—odd, given that one of the daughters was usually stationed there, watching. He’d grown accustomed to her undistinguishable presence, oddly enough. In the same way he might notice a particular street vendor or beggar.
Before he could turn away, the door flew open, and a dark-haired young woman darted out into the rain. His breath hitched—barely perceptible, even to himself—as something flickered inhis chest. He couldn’t place it, a tug of awareness, unsettling in its unfamiliarity, as he watched her tiptoe around a few puddles and cross the narrow street, looking hesitant but also determined.
She had neither an umbrella nor a coat, hat, or gloves. The rain was relentless; she’d be soaked through in minutes.
The chit was one of Rutherford’s younger sisters, but what the devil was she doing?
She disappeared from view, and Malum realized she was headed for his front step.
Curious, he stepped out of his study. When Mr. Tipton appeared in the entryway, Malum waved him off with a sharp flick of his hand.
The butler hesitated, but with a deferential nod, he stepped back, retreating—though Malum had no doubt the man was lingering just out of sight.
Unbothered, Malum placed his hand on the doorknob but immediately froze. A jolt of… something shot up his arm. Anticipation, perhaps.
He blinked, dismissing the sensation as nothing more than the storm—a buildup of energy, the imbalance before lightning struck. Stretching his shoulders with a faint grimace, he turned the knob and opened the door.
Cool wind swept inside, carrying biting raindrops that spattered across the floor.
Malum barely noticed.
Because there, on his stoop, was a large basket, but it wasn’t what held his attention.
Rutherford’s sister knelt at his feet, shoving soaking curls from her face. Her head tipped back, and his breath caught.
The prettiest damn eyes he’d ever seen.
Luminous blue—crystal clear, like sunlight glinting off a quiet stream. For a moment, the world tilted, and an almost incomprehensible thought teased his senses.
From this moment on, nothing will be the same.
But that was ridiculous.
And yet, he couldn’t dismiss it completely.
WATCHING…
Lady Melanie Rutherford sat by the window, her gaze drifting over the familiar landscape outside. The world beyond seemed so steady—so unchanged—in contrast to the disquiet she couldn’t seem to shed.
“We won’t be back for several hours.” The sharp tone of her mother’s voice cut through the quiet of the drawing room. “I’ve informed Eloisa that she needn’t bother setting out tea.”
Melanie didn’t look up, but the faint scent of lavender told her that her mother had stepped inside.
“Melanie?” The single word was softer this time, almost tentative. A question unspoken but understood.
Melanie’s fingers curled into the folds of her skirt, her nails pressing into the fabric. Her throat constricted as if the air itself had thickened. Her mother knew better than to expect much of a response. And yet… the hesitation was there. It always was. A pause just long enough for hope to slide in.
