His warm hand engulfed mine. I turned halfway, the glow of our combined candles like an orb in the darkness encircling us. I parted my lips to say something, to give some witty retort to his continued attempts to scare me, but I found his gaze set upon our joined hands. Despite being cramped in this narrow passageway, he looked at ease. Untroubled. As though the burdens he so often shouldered had no place here.
With the air perfumed with spice and oranges, warm from the light of our candles, I felt it too. The ease. “You don’t look like a villain.”
His features were too smooth. His eyes too warm. And when he smiled one of his rare, genuine smiles, I felt his heart in mine. And it was good.
“Looks can be deceiving.” He swallowed. His gaze washed over my face.
I let him look, feeling the smallest bit shy at the open way he studied me. I hadn’t yet washed my face for the evening, nor had I done anything special with my hair.
“I shouldn’t trust you, then? To save me from what lies ahead?”
Marlow stroked my palm with this thumb. He looked down at our hands. “What lies ahead is far less dangerous than what is here, right in front of you.”
I swallowed, still as a statue. His lips pursed, left dimple creasing. And then his gaze flicked back up to mine.
He held my hand, my attention, my very breath. And I gave it to him willingly.
My cold heart stuttered back to life. The way it had so long ago in those ballrooms, and at Lakeshire Park. But this time it felt fuller. Stronger. Wiser.
This time my heart spoke tomes to my mind.
I had done this once before—given myself too willingly. I would not make the same foolish mistake twice. If Marlow wanted something from me—and I was not a fool, his very gaze beguiled me—it was not the whole, and I could not afford to give myself in pieces.
I turned from him, facing the darkness once more. I took a step forward. His fingers unwillingly released mine, and our hold broke. “Whatever lies ahead, I shall have to face alone as all brave heroines do.”
I took another step. I could feel his warmth at my back, heard his long pull of breath and a heavy exhale.
“We must be nearly there,” he said.
There was a turn ahead, and I navigated it. We walked in a series of weaves left and right.
“Where does it lead?” I asked.
“Certain death.”
I huffed. “Marlow!”
“Georgiana.” His voice was a tease. “You shall have to trust me.”
We had to be getting close. “Trustyou?”
“Close your eyes,” Marlow said, and the urgency in his voice compelled me to instantly obey.
“What is it?” I stopped walking.
He put a hand on the small of my back and urged me forward. “Nothing. Just keep your eyes closed. A few more steps.”
“Tell me,” I insisted, too scared to open them.
“You ... just passed a rat.”
“What!” My eyes snapped open, and I dashed ahead, pushing off the wall, rounding another bend, and there—the door! The passageway narrowed to a single set of stairs leading up.
“Wait!” Marlow laughed, rushing behind.
I slowed as I reached four small stone steps leading up to a square wooden door overhead. I felt around blindly for the latch, only illuminating it with the candle once I found it. Marlow was at my back, surrounding me. I lifted the metal piece, and, together, we pushed up. The door raised high and then fell open to the ground.
I climbed out first.
