“About that day at Even Tor, the day I left. That is not how things should have ended.”
***
Charlotte stiffened, spurred by the onset of unsettling panic as what he was saying registered in her mind.
He intended to talk to her aboutthat day—about what they had been to each other.
Her face grew hot. Her head grew light.
Today had already been difficult, and now she could barely contain the emotions pummeling her, let alone allow herself to open that vault.
Yet Anthony was standing so close.
She could feel his warmth. He was not touching her, yet she knew the feeling of sinking against his chest. Of the comfort that could be found in his arms. The sensation of it replayed with vibrant colors in her mind—tempting her to lower her guard.
“I think it best we do not discuss it,” she shot back. “Nothing good could come of it.”
“But, I—”
“Stop. Please,” she said, much sharper than she intended. “’Tis not a good idea.”
A slight wince tightened his face before he concealed it.
She immediately regretted the harshness in her tone. The swiftness of her response. But she would not—could not—relive that day. It would weaken her.
He relented. “Very well. But if you’ll permit me to say one thing, I’ll not revisit it again.”
The blood roared in her ears, and she stared at him, unsure how to respond. She feared the words that would pass his lips. Notafraid that they would injure her, for her heart was already broken. Nay, she feared just the opposite—that they would offer her a sense of peace that she, at this time, did not feel free to take.
“I cannot hear it,” she blurted. “The past must stay in the past.”
His eyes, unnervingly astute and direct, were fixed intently on her. As if he could read every thought flitting through her mind and sense every feeling. “Wouldn’t you rather put it to rest than act as if it never happened?”
Tears threatened to gather. “To what end?”
They were staring at each other—the intimate link of two people who knew each other too well. It was a communication all its own—even more frightening to Charlotte than words.
“So this is how we handle it?” he challenged. “Pretend to be strangers? For I cannot pretend that it is not difficult to see you like this. To see you struggle and in conflict.”
“I pretend nothing. I am simply doing the best I can in the wake of my husband’s death.”
“Then it must be me, alone, who cannot forget those evenings on Even Tor.” He stepped even closer, dangerously so, and his scent of wool and the outdoors was intoxicating, the directness of his gaze impairing her. “Have you not thought about that day even once since we’ve been here? It seems to be all I can think about.”
She had to make this stop. It was too painful. Anger was starting to wind its way in, for she didn’t know how else to feel. “Do you want to know what I really think about it? Very well. All I can think about is Henry. You cannot imagine the world we have just escaped. My sole existence moving forward is to protect him from Silas Prior and to protect him from becoming a man like Roland. Ido not have the luxury of time or indifference. I refuse to let Henry be lost to their world. So you will excuse me if my thoughts are not fixed in the past, for my present is very much a nightmare.”
She did not wait for his response. She couldn’t—tears of frustration she had held back since Roland’s death were threatening, and she refused to let Anthony see them fall.
***
Anthony stood alone in the silent parlor—alone with the whistling wind, the crackling fire, and the echo of the words that had just been spoken.
Every interaction with Charlotte revealed another layer of her experiences after he’d left.
His suspicion had been correct. She was not a grieving widow but a frightened one. A threatened one—one who was backed into a corner and ready for a fight.
He found it difficult to leave the parlor, as if by leaving he would be putting an end to this conversation.
In his heart, it was far from over.
