“Not yet. But I will be. If the man responsible is there, he won’t walk away again.”
He cannot. I have let this rot go unchallenged for too long. I must be the one to see it ended.
She pressed her forehead lightly to his, her breath soft and even. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
He nodded, the words lodging in his throat. Promises were fragile things in the face of danger, but she needed to hear it, so he made it.
“And there’s more. I secured the property in Kent.”
She pulled back slightly to look at him, her lips parting. “For Aunt Eugenia?”
“Yes. It’s hers. She can leave Rothmere Park. It’s a fine estate—apple trees, wide meadows. She’ll have peace.”
“She will adore it,” April said. “And I’m glad she’ll be near.”
Theo’s arms tightened around her as if he could shelter her from what was coming. She was everything warm and right in a world grown too dark.
He went quiet. His thoughts strayed—across the weeks ahead, the risk, the men he would face. He thought of April alone inthis manor should anything happen to him. That fear was the sharpest.
She reached up, her thumb pressing between his brows. “You look so serious. Positively stony.”
He smiled, slow and reluctant. “I was born with this face.”
“Yes, but it softens when you look at me.”
“Does it?”
“Considerably. You’re quite handsome when you do that.”
He laughed then, a sound that shook the tension in his chest loose. “You ruin me.”
“Good. I rather mean to.”
He kissed her, long and slow, allowing himself the small comfort of her presence, the scent of her hair, the way her fingers curled around his.
Then he stood, brushing his hand down his coat. “I must dress for dinner.”
She nodded. “Don’t be long.”
He hesitated in the doorway, turning to look back one last time.
Please let me be enough. Let me be the man she believes me to be. The man who returns.
And yet, as he left her chambers, the constriction in his chest did not ease. The dread had only grown in intensity, curling behind his ribs like smoke.
I am close to resolving this nightmare, yet victory still feels far. And failure—failure is too great a cost to name.
Thirty-Seven
The bed was too cold.
April’s hand slid across the linen sheets, fingers reaching instinctively toward the space where Theo usually lay. It was empty. Still warm but empty. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, brushing back a tumble of curls as she blinked into the morning light. The silk canopy swayed faintly in the early breeze, and through the drawn curtains, she could hear the call of distant birds.
Two days had passed since Theo returned from his meeting with the Bow Street Runners. They had begun sharing a bed since their return from London, and Theo would hold her through the night, his arm around her waist, his breath calm and sure against the curve of her neck. Each night he did the same, as if keeping her close could ward off the dark.
It’s foolish to feel safe just because someone holds you,she thought.And yet, I do. With him, I do.
She rose and dressed quickly with the help of her maid, her mind wandering as fabric was laced and pinned. There had been a moment—last night—when he had kissed her temple before sleep, and she had nearly said it aloud.
