The push and pull of love and duty was written across his face, and Thea prayed he would see sense. The muscle in his jawjumped, his lips parted, but no words came. And in that silence, she knew she was reaching him.
The ache in her chest eased, replaced by a fragile, desperate hope, and her thumb caressed his cheek as she’d done so many times before. His breath hitched, and Thea’s heart leapt. Frederick felt it too. Their love. This rightness between them. The impossible pull that bound them together, no matter the obstacles that lay before them.
“Please.” The word was little more than a breath as her lips brushed his.
*
A shiver ran down his spine, settling into his heart as his pulse quickened. Frederick felt her breath on his skin. Felt her warmth seeping into him. And though the few remnant bits of sense left in his head knew he ought to step away, Frederick couldn’t when she closed the distance. Thea’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him flush, and it was as though his body was possessed, moving of its own accord as his arms followed suit, securing her to him.
This embrace wasn’t a moment of passion or haste, though he felt both in equal measure. It was a homecoming. Thea fit against him as though she’d been made to steady him when the world tilted, and her touch shone light into his life when everything was shrouded in darkness. Frederick’s heart swelled with all the love he felt for this woman—not some flickering affection of youth, but the scorching embers of a genuine love and connection.
His match. The woman he would love until his dying breath. That was what Thea did not understand.
Love wasn’t the issue.
It was the reason he needed to be strong.
Chapter 24
Time stretched as thin as a spider’s silk, and the air between them felt alive as though spring had arrived once more, shaking off the gloomy remnants of winter. Thea’s eyes fluttered open, wide and luminous, and the faintest, most radiant smile touched her lips. She was a light unto herself. One that outshone even the sun above.
Frederick drank in the sight, his heart thundering in his chest, but love could not save them from what waited beyond this small, bright moment.
“I love you, Thea. I always will,” he said, the words rough, pulled from somewhere deep within. And then, quieter, the next words scraped from his throat like shards of glass. “But we cannot be together.”
The light in her eyes flickered and faded, and his heart twisted as she grasped his words, but this, too, was love. The kind that sacrificed. Frederick’s pain amplified with each sign of Thea’s distress, but he drew it deep within him; he had to be strong enough for the both of them.
“I am sorry for it.” Frederick’s voice cracked, and he drew in a sharp breath, forcing out the words, “But our feelings do not change what has happened and what must come next. Please, let it be.”
Taking her hand in his, Frederick bowed low over it, his lungs shuddering as he pressed a final kiss to her hand. Then, straightening, he forced his feet away from her, and the clouds settled lower in the sky, darkening the world around him.
*
Frederick was walking away.
The scene unfolded with a strange, dreamlike clarity—the blond hair peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat, the familiar line of his shoulders, the thump of his boot heel against the packed earth. Thea watched, expecting him to stop, to turn back, to realize the mistake and return to her side, but each step carried him farther until the figure she loved was little more than a blur in the distance.
And still she stood there, unable to breathe or move, whilst his kiss lay warm upon her lips. It was as though all sound, all thought, and all strength had been stripped from her, leaving a gaping hollow in her chest.
Frederick was gone. And the realization—slow, crawling, cruel—settled deep inside her. He wasn’t returning.
Thea didn’t decide to walk. Her feet simply moved, carrying her along the rutted lane through the village and past the green while her thoughts dragged behind, too heavy to keep pace. The sounds of the festival faded, the fiddles and laughter dissolving into the hum of bees and the rhythmic scuff of her shoes against the earth.
Perhaps he needed time to consider matters. Perhaps tomorrow would bring him back to her. Frederick was sensible, clever, kind—so how could he choose this?
But the image of him walking away would not soften, no matter how she tried to paint it in gentler colors.
Frederick claimed this was for her good. To spare her. As though she were some delicate creature who would shatter at the first hardship. Thea walked faster, as though she might outpace that realization, but the lane stretched endlessly before her; the gray skies leeched the world of color, and still she went on, numb to everything but thoughts of him.
Rensford Park came into view through a screen of elms, its pale stone muted beneath the gray skies. The house stood with a quiet sort of grandeur, balanced and graceful, its long front framed by tall windows and a portico that cast shadows across the steps. Gravel crunched beneath Thea’s shoes as she turned up the drive, the curve of it leading her toward the wide, welcoming sweep of the entrance.
The lawns sloped gently on either side, bordered by tidy hedges and clusters of rosebushes whose scent lingered faintly in the air, and beyond the shrubbery, the park stretched open and green, dotted with oaks whose leaves trembled in the breeze. Those paths had granted Thea peace so many times before, but even their power could not heal her pain.
As she rounded the curve, the bright sound of laughter broke through her daze. Bradford darted between the flowerbeds, a wooden soldier clutched in one hand, whilst the nursemaid trailed behind, her cap askew from the chase. Upon spying her, he abandoned his fortress amongst the clipped yews and sped toward her.
“General Thea,” he cried, thrusting the soldier aloft in triumph. “You must command the attack.”
He seized her hand before she could answer, his face alight with excitement as he dragged her toward his imaginary battlefield. Thea let him pull for a moment, her fingers tightening reflexively around his. The laughter and warmth of his small hand belonged to another world, one still whole and unbroken.
