April grinned. “How very poetic.”
He snorted. “Practical, not poetic. And certainly not the sort found in novels with turrets and trapped princesses or governesses.”
April smirked. “And what makes you think I read such novels?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Because you sometimes act like a princess.”
“Spoiled and pompous?”
“Inquisitive. Dangerously so.”
She tilted her head. “Why is that dangerous? If you have questions, you will seek answers. Will you not?”
A shadow passed across Theodore’s face, and his gaze turned distant. As though her words had struck a deeper note than intended.
April’s smile faded. “Theodore?”
He did not answer. His eyes were still on her, yet he seemed elsewhere entirely.
And she realized with a strange tightening in her chest that he was no longer with her at all.
Fourteen
Fool.
Theodore lunged. The tip of his foil struck the padded chest of the fencing dummy with a hardthwack, and he did not pause before stepping back, resetting, and driving forward again.
It was long past midnight, and sleep had evaded him—mocked him, even—and so he had come to the only room where thought might be turned into motion.
Twice now, I have nearly lost control. Once in the garden. Then again in the park.
He turned, sliced at the air, and struck again. Each movement was clean, deliberate.
Emotions are chaos. They make fools of thinking men. Worse, they weaken resolve.
He thrust low. Parried an invisible opponent. Again.
And still I watched her lips part. I stepped toward her as though my blood had more say than my reason.
The dummy swayed slightly. He adjusted his stance and struck harder.
He should have walked away. Both times. He should have left April to her indecision. Instead, he had leaned in, said too much, almost?—
No. Not almost. He had wanted to kiss her. It was a thin line but one that mattered.
He disengaged, flicked his foil down, and exhaled once. Deep and sharp.
The fencing hall echoed with his breath. The walls watched in silence as they always did. Judgment, if it came, would not be from the plaster or brick.
He turned and handed the foil to Redmond, who had appeared with his usual uncanny timing.
“I shall clean it at once, Your Grace,” the butler said, bowing.
Theo nodded. “And make certain the blades are re-balanced.”
“Of course.”
He left the hall, the muscles in his arms aching with the effort he had just exerted. It did little to loosen the knot in his chest.
