“That doesn’t mean you have to walk it alone.” Christian tipped back the rest of his bourbon before locking eyes with him. “Duty and loneliness needn’t go hand in hand.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Josephine stood inthe quiet hallway, her hand half-raised toward the closed door. A single candle burned low on a side table, its light pooling gold across the worn floorboards, the flicker of the flame sending restless shadows along the walls. She stared at the door as though it might open on its own and relieve her of the choice.
The memory of his voice echoed in the back of her mind.She’s nothing. Not my woman. Never will be.The words bit down like iron teeth, clamping tight around her heart. She clenched her jaw, but it didn’t stop the sting that rose behind her eyes. She didn’t want to care, didn’t wanthimto matter. And yet…
Here she was.
She reached for the door once more, her fingers brushing the knob. At the last moment, she pulled back, her pulse stuttering in her throat.
He didn’t deserve her thanks.
But he hadearnedit. Because whatever else he’d said or meant or believed, when the world went to hell, he’d gone straight into the fire for her. No hesitation.
Her heart gave an unsteady beat as she touched her knuckles gently to the wood. She closed her eyes, took a breath so deep it ached, then gave one light knock—a sound barely more than a breath in the dark.
Part of her hoped he wouldn’t answer.
Was it horrible that the rest of her hoped he would?
She counted to ten. Let out a breath. Took a step back.
The door opened.
Isaac stood backlit by the glow of a lantern behind him. His half-buttoned nightshirt clung to damp skin, and wet hair curled loosely around his brow. Heat rose to her cheeks as water dripped to his collarbone, ran a trail over his chest, and disappeared beneath linen fabric. She’d interrupted his bath.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The air between them fairly crackled—thick with everything unsaid. Confusion bloomed, twisting the lines between words like rescue and rejection until they were indistinguishable. Her breath caught as her heart pounded a furious rhythm against her ribs.
They spoke at the same time.
“I—”
“Thank you.” The words escaped too fast, too loud, the moment unraveling before she could gather it. She flinched at the tremor in her voice, and dropped her gaze to the floorboards. “I just—I wanted to say thank you.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She couldn’t. The words had cost too much already, scraping raw places she hadn’t known were still tender. With a hollow ache blooming in her chest, she turned and started down the hall.
“Josephine.”
She froze as he whispered her name. Her shoulders rose and fell with uneven breaths. If she turned back, she might crumble. Might break in ways she didn’t know how to mend. If she didn’t, she might never forgive herself. With fists clenched, she swiveled, eyes on the floor. The silence pressed in, thick and unyielding, stretching the moment taut between them.
“Look at me.”
Damn her, she did.
Her resolve to stay guarded fractured as the oceans within his eyes overtook her, crashing against the fragile walls she’d built until therewas nothing left to hold onto.
He swallowed, then gave a subtle wave of his hand. “Join me?”
She could still walk away.
Except, she couldn’t. Like a moth to a flame, she found herself stepping forward, unable to resist the pull. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality, sealing them both into the space.
He took a step forward, his hand hovering in the space between them. “Are you…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “I mean, you’re not hurt, are you?” The question lingered, his worried eyes scanning her.
“If it weren’t for you, I’d…” She took a shuddering breath. “I—”
