His hand tightened around the stem of his glass until I feared it might break.
“They assumed that I drove her to it,” he admitted. “That the manor was cursed. That madness runs in the Deveroux blood. Then, of course, there were others whoclaimed I had pushed her.”
I froze.
He met my eyes, and for a heartbeat the candlelight caught in them. They looked haunted, weary, and utterly sincere. “I stayed away for all those years because I thought it was my fault,” he went on quietly. “Not because I was guilty. I didn’t love her, Lucy… but I would never have hurt her.”
The admission hung between us like a confession.
I released a trembling breath. Somehow, I believed him. Despite the years that had stretched between us, I still knew the cadence of his honesty, the rawness behind his restraint. The pain in his eyes was too real to be rehearsed.
I lifted my glass, took a slow sip of wine to steady myself, then murmured, “I’m sorry, Sylum. I know what it is to be the subject of gossip.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile, then reached across the table for my hand. His fingers brushed mine, warm and steady. He lifted my hand to his lips, turning it slightly before pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist.
My breath caught. The heat of his mouth sent a tremor through me, the ghost of that touch radiating outward until it filled my chest.
“I should have never left you,” he whispered, his lips brushing my skin again. “Please… forgive me.”
Something inside me softened, fractured, and gave way. I wasn’t sure when it happened, whether in that moment or long ago, but I forgave him completely. Every part of me that had once resented him dissolved beneath the weight of his voice.
Without thinking, I leaned forward, emboldened by wine and want. Our joined hands hovered between us, and I turned them slightly, mirroring his gesture. My lips met his knuckles, soft and uncertain.
When I looked up again, his gaze was already on me, his fascination almost reverent.
A corner of his mouth curved. “Lucy,” he murmured, and my name in his voice felt like a sin. His pupils darkened, swallowing the warm brown of his irises until only shadow remained. “Perhaps you should rest now. It’s been a long day.”
I frowned, our hands still entwined. “Did I do something wrong?”
His jaw flexed, and he drew a slow breath through his nose. “No,” he assured gently. “That’s precisely the problem.”
Heat bloomed up my throat, dizzying and reckless. “I don’t want to rest,” I said. The sound of my own voice startled me—low and husky with something I could neither name nor contain.
I wanted to be his wife. Truly.
He made a sound deep in his chest, a restrained groan that felt like a battle barely won. His fingers molded around mine as if holding himself still by will alone.
Something bloomed inside me, wild and bright. The room felt warmer, smaller, the air charged. I didn’t know if it was the wine or his nearness that made my blood heat beneath my skin.
But for the first time since stepping foot in Blackthorn Manor, I wasn’t afraid.
Not of him at least.
The moment stretched between us, fragile as spun glass. His thumb brushed over the back of my hand, slow and reverent. For a heartbeat, I could almost believe that the world had gone still and there was only us.
Then, from the corner of my eye, something moved.
A gentle stirring in the dark beyond the window.
I turned my head, drawn by the faintest sense of motion. The rain had thickened to a fine mist, painting the glass in silvery sheen. Yet through it—through the gentle shimmer of the candlelight’s reflection—I thought I saw the suggestion of a figure standing at the edge of the terrace.
It was little more than a blur, a pale light in the blackness, but as I stared, the shape seemed to tilt its head in a disturbingly human gesture. My breath hitched.
“Lucy?” Sylum’s voice was soft, uncertain. “What is it?”
I blinked rapidly, eyes darting back to the glass, realizing only then that my fingers had tightened around his. The terrace was empty. The only movement now was the restless sway of ivy in the wind.
I swallowed hard, forcing a trembling laugh. “It’s nothing. I thought I saw—” I stopped myself. The last thing I needed was for him to think I’d gone the way of my mother. “It must be the storm.”
