It was as much truth as he could offer.
“It brings me peace,” she said, her voice softer now, almost confessional.
Theo met her eyes, feeling the pull of her honesty.
You are dangerous,he thought,far more than you know.
“Tell me about your family,” she suggested, hesitating slightly. “Do you have any siblings?”
For a heartbeat he could not breathe. The walls of the room seemed to close in.
“My parents are gone,” he said, the words clipped, final. “Long ago.”
Compassion lit her gaze, and he recoiled from it.
Before she could speak, before her tenderness could undo him, he bowed over her hand.
“It has been a lovely evening, Lady April.”
Her fingers trembled slightly against his lips.
Without another word, he turned and strode out into the cold night.
Outside, he drew a breath that scraped painfully against his ribs. His hand found the worn handkerchief in his pocket, and he gripped it tightly, seeking a calm that would not come.
He swung into the saddle, Obsidian snorting beneath him. There was only one cure for the chaos boiling in his blood.
He would ride, and he would find the next name on his list.
Ten
The bell above the bookshop door gave a muted jingle as Theo stepped inside. He took in a deep breath and welcomed the cool hush of the place, for he needed the silence today. As he moved further in, a burst of laughter broke the quiet—light, clear, entirely out of place—and every muscle in his body went taut.
He knew that sound. Theo turned a corner between two towering shelves and found her.
Lady April stood at the counter, animatedly speaking with the elderly bookseller, who looked half-delighted, half-bewildered. She held aloft a lurid-looking novel titledThe Castle of Mist and Mourning, the kind plastered with improbable castles and swooning heroines.
“But you must admit,” she was saying, “there is something terribly heroic about a hero who spends half the novel brooding in dungeons.”
The bookseller chuckled and shook his head, and Lady April grinned, radiant and unburdened.
Theo leaned against the nearest shelf, arms crossed, unseen for the moment. He watched her—the lively expressions that danced across her face, the way she leaned in when making a point, the utter lack of self-consciousness.
How easily she lived.
The bookseller spotted him first and inclined his head. Lady April turned, her blue eyes widening in surprise before lighting with mischief.
“Your Grace,” she said, sweeping him a curtsy far too grand for such a humble place.
“Lady April,” he replied, inclining his head, dismissing the urge to curve his lips.
She straightened, her mouth curving into a grin. “Are you here to seek novels as grim as your disposition?”
“I might be,” he confirmed. “Unless you intend to recommend something… lighter?”
“I doubt you would survive it,” she teased, handing him the gothic novel with a solemn air. “Perhaps you should begin with this. A sturdy dungeon or two might suit you.”
He accepted the ridiculous book, turning it over in his hands with mock gravity. “If I do not survive the experience, I shall hold you responsible.”
