A light caught the corner of her eye. She spun, hand on her chest. The sight before her left her breathless.
The greenhouse was old, neglected. The windowpanes—the ones that remained unbroken—had recently been scrubbed clean. Someone had piled brush in a corner, clearing it away from the foundation but not yet disposing of it.
Eliza swallowed, uncertain if the pain in her throat resulted from the smoke or the knot of understanding welling within her.
She approached in a sort of trance. Her fingers traced along the ironwork surrounding the glazings as she examined the structure. Inside, at the far corner, a stack of broken stoneware pots of varying sizes teetered precariously. The undamaged ones lined the back wall, the largest housing the smaller ones inside.A long oaken table occupied the center of the room—though she suspected it once belonged against one side.
Her heart skipped when she recognized the tiny, once broken pot in the middle of the table. It called to her.
She turned the handle and swung the door out.
As she stepped in, an odd rustling filled her ears. There, between the table and the wall—across from the one she had peeped through—sat a bemused Benedict Sinclair.
He’d slept in a makeshift bed built on the floor. His feet were closest to her, still underneath blankets, but pressed against the floor, knees bent. He’d sat up and had one arm casually slung across that knee. One bare arm.
Benedict Sinclair was shirtless in her presence again. It had been distracting enough while she cleaned his wounds. But now, clean and sleep rumpled… Her heart was sure to give out—there was no possible way it could maintain such a pace.
“Hello there.” His smile was teasing. His voice retained a little of the hoarse quality from the day before. Her body wasn’t concerned with the cause; the low rasp—so like the one he’d used in the orangery—had her nipples tightening in memory.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered, hoping he would attribute the nervous trill to their ordeal. “It didn’t seem like anyone was in here.”
“You didn’t. It’s a little brighter than I’m used to. And I had a lot on my mind. Also, I think a squirrel was trying to break in.”
“That must have been the most terrifying occurrence you’ve had in the last two days.”
“In truth, I did nearly piss myself. I woke, and it was right there,” he said, pointing to the glass pane directly above where his head would have lain. “Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit. But I promised myself I would never lie to you again.”
Eliza allowed the door to shut behind her, closing them in. The soft breeze, the splash of the ducks in the nearby pond, thechirps of the agitated squirrel all faded, leaving nothing but her breath and his.
Slowly, in a way she hoped was appealing and not ungainly, she sidled between Benedict and the table before leaning against it.
He swallowed but said nothing.
Eliza tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she gathered her courage to forge ahead. “Why did you?”
He twisted, shoving one of his pillows between the glass wall and his back. At last, he was situated facing her.
“I spent my life trying to please my father. What were the feelings of one girl against the demands of blood and duty? As it turns out—everything. But I had no way of knowing that.” Benedict ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled waves before catching her gaze again. “My father insisted your father cheated him. Every single thing that went wrong in our lives was his fault. It was the only truth I’d ever known. That made it easy to hate him—and you by extension.”
Eliza couldn’t bear to see him sitting so small beneath her. She dropped to her knees before pivoting to rest her back against the cool glass beside him.
Benedict huffed before sliding his arm around her shoulder. With gentle encouragement, he guided her to lay her head on his chest. It was a terribly awkward angle, no matter how nice the chest was. He chuckled at whatever he read on her face. Then he reached down and placed both hands around her waist. One moment she was on the ground; the next she was in the air. When she returned to earth, she was between his splayed legs, her back against his still bare chest.
“Alright?” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes,” she croaked. Judging by how his sharp, quick breath rustled the hair near her ear, he understood her ragged voice was unrelated to the previous day’s smoke.
One hand reached across her shoulder and brushed the hair from it before Benedict settled his chin into the crook there.
“Why me? Why not Sophie?”
Benedict inhaled, her chest rising with his, then he released in a great sigh. “You know the whole of it. Bella spoke to you, thought you would be an easier mark.”
He offered her no excuses, no pretty explanations. As much as her heart suffered to hear it, she appreciated the forthright delivery.
“And your back?” she asked.
He hesitated before replying. “That is not what I thought you would ask. I should think the answer fairly obvious.”
