“I convinced myself I was meant to be alone.” His gaze found hers, but it felt distant now, as if he were looking through her rather than at her. “That perhaps some people carry too much darkness to offer anything clean to another person. That I was too damaged by what I’d seen, by what I’d lost, to ever love or be loved in return.” He stopped, his hands clenching. “I thought your presence here had changed everything.”
Thought. Past tense. Her chest ached with the weight of everythingunspoken, everything she couldn’t tell him.
“For me too,” she whispered.
But even as she said it, she could feel him pulling away, retreating behind walls she didn’t know how to scale. He was sharing his deepest pain with her, and she was giving him nothing in return. She could see it in his eyes—the growing certainty that she would never truly let him in.
“Sometimes I think the boy who watched his father hang never really left that courtyard. That I’m still him, still ten years old, still believing that everything good gets destroyed.”
“But you don’t really believe that. Not anymore.”
He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, resigned. “No. But perhaps I was wrong to think otherwise.” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. Tell me what you were going to say.”
“That I thought there was a possibility to put back together what was once broken.” His eyes met hers briefly before looking away. “But maybe some things are meant to stay broken.”
Her stomach hollowed, leaving nothing but emptiness. “How can you say that?”
“Because you won’t let me in, Georgie.” The admission came out raw, desperate. “You say you want to be loved, but you won’t trust me with whatever’s troubling you. You pull back every time we get close to something real.”
Shame burned in her throat. He was right, but how could she explain? How could she tell him about Julian’s hands on her, about how dirty and broken she felt inside? How no matter what she did, she could not rid herself of him? He had found her, no matter where she went. And she had a terrible feeling he would be in London, wreaking havoc.
“It’s not that simple—”
“Isn’t it?” He stood abruptly, moving to add another log to the fire with sharp, agitated movements. “Either you trust someone or you don’t. Either you let them know you or you keep them at arm’s length.”
The fire had died lower, and the room had grown cold. She shivered, and he noticed immediately, his face softening despite his frustration.
“Here, take this.” James reached for his discarded coat. He draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering just a moment too long, his fingers brushing against the curve of her neck. She felt the warmth of his touch like a brand, and her breath stuttered.
A charged silence filled the space between them, but it felt different now—weighted with all the things she couldn’t say.
“I’m glad you’ll be in London with us.” Her voice broke slightly on the words, betraying everything she wasn’t saying.
“So am I,” he said, but the words came out mechanical, distant.
“And maybe someone wouldn’t care if you were broken. Maybe they’d want you exactly as you are.”
He covered her hand with his, and she felt the calluses on his palm, the steady warmth of him. His thumb swept across her knuckles, but when he looked at her, his expression was guarded. “You make me want to try. To choose courage instead of fear.”
She held her breath, waiting for more, but he seemed to catch himself, pulling back emotionally even as his hand remained on hers.
The fire threw shadows across the room as the dark night pressed against the windows.
“It is growing late,” James said finally, his voice once again carefully neutral. “And we’ll be up before the sun.”
She fought against the disappointment pooling in her stomach and managed a benign smile. “An early start will be best if we’re to reach London before evening.”
He stood, offering his hand. When he lifted her to her feet, shestumbled slightly, drawing too close. His jacket slid from her shoulders and onto the floor. They remained, inches apart, looking into each other’s eyes, and for a moment she thought she saw the James from before—warm, open, wanting.
His gaze moved to her mouth. “It seems unfair to all the others that a woman should be as beautiful as you.” He brushed his thumb against her bottom lip as he’d done before, and it had the same effect. Stars burst in her stomach and sent sparks through her entire body.
But then something shifted in his expression, shutters falling across his eyes. He backed away, gesturing toward the door with painful politeness.
“You should precede me out of the room, or I cannot promise to behave as a gentleman.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she heard the dismissal in it. The careful distance. She nodded and moved toward the door. However, she paused just outside the drawing room, turning back to face him as he followed her out. In the dim corridor, lit only by a single sconce, the space between them felt even more intimate and too stimulating.
