She stepped close again, chin lifted. “If I am to be your wife,” she said, “I will be your partner in truth. Your equal in every way.”
His gaze held hers, and she saw it. The relinquishment of power not as defeat but as relief.
“Agreed,” he said, then offered his hand.
Eleanor accepted, feeling the pulse in his wrist like a metric of intent. “Will we be hunted for this?” she asked.
“There are always new enemies,” he said. “But I would rather face them with you than with a room full of cowards and old men. I cannot promise safety—only that I would lay my life down for you.”
Eleanor’s smile was quick, bright. “Then it is a contract.”
He reached for her pencil and mimed drafting an agreement on the back of his bandaged hand.
“Witnessed,” he said.
Eleanor laughed, the sound unfamiliar and yet perfectly at home in the battered little room.
A knock came.
Eleanor froze, her laughter fading.
Graham straightened. “Colin,” he said, even before the door swung open.
Colin, Lord Highwood, entered with the ease of a man who never had to be invited. His gaze took in the room from the stacked pages, to the upended teacups, then the two of them hands still clasped together, and his mouth curved.
“Miss Hargrove,” he said with a slight bow. “Lord Rathbourne.” His eyes flicked between them. “Or should I begin practicing ‘Lady Rathbourne’?”
Eleanor shot Graham a look, then returned Colin’s smile. “You are early. We have not yet finished our first squabble.”
Colin made a show of studying the desk. “I see the house is now a fire hazard of secrets.”
“Get to the point of your visit,” Graham said.
Colin set a slim, red-sealed envelope on the table. “A token from the Home Office. Gratitude, paperwork, the usual tedium.”
Eleanor eyed the seal. “Let me guess. A summons masquerading as appreciation.”
Colin’s mouth curved. “Precisely. Statements to be taken. Signatures to be witnessed. And,” his gaze flicked to the battered catalogue, “your father’s name to be cleared in full, once the ink is dry.”
He slid the envelope forward. “I promised I would hold it until you were ready to read it without throwing it at someone.”
Graham’s gaze narrowed, but approval lurked there. “She has many talents.”
“You will need them,” Colin said. “This one is… personal.”
Eleanor reached for the envelope. Her knuckles brushed Graham’s. He did not move away. Instead, his thumb grazed the back of her hand—an intimate, steadying touch.
Colin watched as Eleanor ran her thumb over the wax seal.
“Will you read it aloud,” Graham asked, “or do I have to wrestle it from you?”
“If you try,” she said, tearing the envelope with her nail, “we can add it to the list of squabbles.”
His mouth curved. “Another time.”
Eleanor unfolded the letter and read the first line.
Her heart fluttered. New coordinates, new danger. She looked up. Graham had already drawn his chair closer. They leaned in, heads nearly touching, and read the rest together.
