Only when Basil and Élise moved on, strolling down the corridor toward the south terrace he eased slightly. Sabrina had not appreciated his interference. Not that he blamed her. He would have been irritated in a similar situation. But he did not let it bother him that she was mad at him. Lately she was always angry and he was her convenient target. He followed behind her as she fled the corridor until she walked inside the library. When she swept inside the dark-paneled room, he stepped in behind her and—before she could protest—turned the key in the lock. The soft click seemed to echo.
Sabrina whirled, eyes blazing. “Leander! What do you think you are doing?”
“Ensuring we have privacy,” he replied smoothly. “It is best we are not discovered alone together.”
“Better for you, you mean,” she replied scathingly. She was so beautiful it ached to look at her. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and press his lips to hers. He wanted to kiss her so badly he almost gave into that urge. Somehow, he held the fortitude not to give into that desire. Instead, he asked, “Why were you skulking about spying on your brother?”
“I was not skulking. I was observing.”
“You were about to be observed,” he countered. “And trust me when I say this, that woman is far more dangerous than she appears.”
“I am not afraid of her.” So much bravery… He would applaud it if it didn’t hold the possibility of getting her killed.
“You have no idea what you were about to interrupt,” he said quietly, “There would be repercussions should she mistake you for a threat. Do you not understand that?”
Color rose in her cheeks—anger or embarrassment, he could not tell. “How could you possibly know that?”
How did he explain the years of experience he had as a spy? She had thought him a mere soldier in the war. No one, except a trusted few, knew exactly what role he had played. It had been imperative for his cover and continued existence that no one be aware of his spying expertise. Instead of answering he said, “I will escort you back to the ballroom.”
“I refuse,” she snapped. “Haven’t we already had this argument. I want to be here. In the library. Not in the bloody ballroom.”
Of course she refuse—stubborn woman. His patience snapped like a bowstring. “You need to understand exactly the danger you are dancing with.” He stepped toward her, letting the truth settle heavily between them. “It is time we had the necessary conversation you have been avoiding, Sabella love.”
“I have avoided nothing…”
“Is that so?” He arched a brow. She was so stubborn…though a twisted part of him liked that about her. He might have to use some of those spy skills he earned to coax that truth out of her. The problem, of course, was he would enjoy it far more than he should. Seduction was a skill that all good spies used. He just never thought he would have to use those particular attributes on the woman who held his heart… “Well, then, let’s discuss something far more interesting.” He stepped closer. “Something else that you have been avoiding.” He trailed a finger over her cheek and then down her jawline. “Tell me, Sabella, why you are truly mad at me. Tell me why we are no longer friends. The truth, love. Why did you take my leaving so…personally?”
Her sharp intake of breath echoed around him and he stilled. Would she speak the truth now or avoid it. Was this enough for her to spill the secrets regarding her brother? Would she choose a different truth over the much harder one. The truth that they both hid from—that they loved each other and neither of them was ready to speak aloud. He waited on bated breath for her response, with both fear and hope filling him in equal measures.
Eight
Leander had pushed her too far. Sabrina stood completely still before him in the library; her fingers curled tightly around the skirt of her gown as though the silk itself might steady her. A storm churned in her chest—not the kind that rattled windowpanes, but the kind that unsettled the heart, that made every breath sharp and every word perilous.
How dare he ask her that?
How dare he look at her with those earnest, searching eyes, as if he had the right to demand answers she had buried years ago? She swallowed hard, but the knot in her throat only tightened. “Why did you take my leaving so personally?” he had asked again. “Why will you not even look at me the same way you once did?”
Questions she had no wish to revisit. Wounds she had no desire to reopen.
He did not understand—could not understand—that his leaving for war had nearly broken her. That it had felt like a betrayal so deep she still had not found her way out of it. That she had loved him, hopelessly and foolishly, while he had ridden away without a backward glance. And he expected her to simply say it? To lay herself bare before the very man who had shattered her heart without ever knowing he held it?
No. Impossible.
She released her skirts and crossed her arms over her ribcage as if that might keep everything contained. Every fear, every memory, every bit of longing she still carried for him.
For Leander.
Even thinking his name felt dangerous.
She should not be agonizing over old heartbreak when far more pressing matters loomed. Basil. The letter she had found addressed to her brother—its contents still burned behind her eyes. The blackmail. The threat. The peril her family now faced. That should have been her focus.
Not the man who had left her behind. Not the man who stood before her now in the library waiting for an answer she did not know how to give.
Both truths might free her or they both could destroy her…
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. Could she tell him? Could she truly confess that his departure had devastated her? That she had spent years believing she had been nothing to him, that her affection had been laughably one-sided?
Could she risk that humiliation?
