She wore her nightgown and wrapper, her hair loose over her shoulders, her feet bare against the carpet. There were shadows beneath her eyes, a tension in her bearing that spoke of sleeplessness and unrest.
She was, Nathaniel thought with a painful clarity, beautiful.
“I could not sleep,” she said quietly. “I came for a book.”
“So did I.”
They stood facing one another across the length of the library. The fire burned low, casting restless shadows across the walls. The house lay silent around them.
They were alone.
The distance they had so carefully maintained suddenly felt unbearable.
“Serena.” Her name escaped him before he could restrain it—a plea, a confession, a surrender.
“We should not—” she began.
“I know.”
“The children—Lady Crane—”
“I know.”
Yet neither of them moved. Neither looked away.
“I miss you,” Nathaniel said at last, the words torn from somewhere deep and unguarded. “I see you every day, and still I miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss the way you look at me when you think no one is watching. I miss—” His voice faltered. “I miss everything.”
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I miss you too. More than I know how to say.”
“This distance—this pretence—it is impossible. The harder I strive for propriety, the more improper my thoughts become.”
“Nathaniel—”
“I am sorry.” He rose abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should not be saying this. I asked you for restraint, and now, here I am, making everything harder—”
“You are not making anything harder,” Serena said, crossing the room toward him, her steps soundless. “You are only giving voice to what I have carried in silence since the moment you spoke to me in your study.”
She stopped a few feet away.
“But we cannot forget what is at stake,” she continued quietly. “Lady Crane is coming. The children’s future hangs in the balance. We must not do anything—anything—that might endanger them.”
“I know.”
“And so we endure.” Her smile was fragile, sorrowful. “We endure the distance. We endure the restraint. We endure the ache of loving and not touching. Because sometimes love demands sacrifice.”
Love.
“You love me,” he said, scarcely above a breath.
“Of course I love you.” The tears finally fell. “I have loved you for weeks—perhaps longer than I can properly reckon. It has altered everything.”
Something long-buried broke open in his chest—something that had been locked away for years, something he had thought he would never feel again.
“Serena.” He reached for her, then checked the motion, his hands falling to his sides. “If I touch you now, I will not stop. And if Elspeth were to discover—if she were to find any evidence—”
“I know.” Serena brushed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “That is why we should not be here. Why we agreed to keep our distance. Because when we are alone together, the rules seem suddenly so much less important than what we feel.”
“And yet they are important. The rules. They are the only thing protecting us right now.”
