Thaddeus went very still, his grey eyes narrowing. “I am listening.”
“Allow me to remain here. In your household.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, though every instinct screamed at her to look away. “Not as a guest. Perhaps… something akin to a governess, someone who can help care for Oliver. He knows me. He trusts me. And you have seen for yourself that he responds to my presence in ways he does not respond to yours.”
The words hung between them, dangerous and undeniable.
His expression shattered, that controlled mask falling into place. But she caught the tightening of his fingers against the arm of his chair.
“You propose to install yourself in my home,” he said slowly, “under the pretense of caring for a child.”
“It is no pretense. Oliver is—” She closed her eyes as grief threatened to overcome her. He was all she had left of her sister. “Oliver is dear to me. I have known him since his birth. I was there when he took his first steps, spoke his first words. I am not some stranger seeking advantage, Your Grace. I am the closest thing to a mother that boy has left.”
His eyes narrowed further, and she saw the questions forming there—the suspicion, the calculation.
“And what do you gain from this arrangement, Lady Maribel? Forgive my cynicism, but in my experience, people rarely offer assistance without expectation of reward.”
“What I gain,” she said quietly, “is the knowledge that a child I love is not suffering alone in a house full of strangers. That he has someone who will hold him when he wakes from nightmares and answer his questions about his parents and remind him, every single day, that he is worthy of love.” Her voice wavered, but she steadied it. “I gain nothing material from this, Your Grace. Only peace of mind—something I suspect you cannot put a price upon.”
The fire crackled in the grate. Beyond the windows, the October darkness had fully descended, pressing against the glass like something alive.
Thaddeus rose from his chair and crossed to the fireplace, his back to her. She watched the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his hands clasped behind him with white-knuckled precision.
“You despise me,” he said at last, his voice flat. “You have made that abundantly clear on multiple occasions. And yet you would willingly place yourself under my roof, subject to my authority, for the sake of a child who is not your responsibility.”
Maribel averted his eyes. This was the perfect opportunity to tell him—tell him that Margaret was her sister and best friend, that Oliver was the only family she had left.
She remained quiet.
Thaddeus turned. The firelight caught his features, throwing them into sharp relief—the hard line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his cheekbones, the grey eyes that studied her with an intensity that stole her breath.
“You understand what you are asking,” he said. “The impropriety of an unmarried woman residing in the home of an unmarried man. The whispers it would invite. The damage to whatever remains of your reputation.”
“I understand.”
“And still you offer.”
“I do.”
The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Maribel could hear her own pulse thundering in her ears, could feel the weight of his scrutiny pressing against her like something physical.
Thaddeus took a step toward her. Then another. He stopped when barely two feet separated them, close enough that she could see the firelight reflected in his grey eyes, close enough that the scent of sandalwood and smoke curled into her senses.
“You are either very brave,” he said softly, “or very foolish.”
“Perhaps both, Your Grace.”
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the closest she had ever seen him come to one. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar mask of control.
“I will consider your offer,” he said. “You may stay the night. Mrs. Allen will prepare a room.”
“And Oliver?”
“The boy will be informed that you are here. Whether you remain beyond tomorrow—” He paused, his gaze searching her face. “That decision requires further thought.”
It was not a yes. But it was not a no.
Maribel inclined her head, refusing to let him see how violently her heart was racing. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
She turned toward the door, acutely aware of his eyes following her every step. Her hand had just closed around the handle when his voice stopped her.
