Cedric sank into his chair, the plush seat groaning beneath the weight of his responsibilities and endless pursuit of a concealed assassin. Three days had come and gone, but his men had failed to track down the criminals who had disappeared in the winding labyrinth of secret tunnels. Their one lead had slipped through his fingers.
The scent of lukewarm tea and desperation hung heavily over the sitting room, its reach stretching to every corner. Cedric’s focus wandered to the window, and a reflection of his own weary resolve stared back. This was more than a manhunt—it was a race against time.
A knock sounded behind the concealed door, and Cedric closed his eyes for a single heartbeat before he forced himself to stand from the comfort the chair had offered to his fatigued muscles. As he suspected, Lucille stood on the other side, her dark brows drawn together, her mouth pinched with disapproval. Without waiting for permission, she swept past him and claimed the center of the room, arms folded.
He didn’t make any protest, having become accustomed to her intrusions.
“You should think about apologizing to Nin,” Lucille said matter-of-factly.
Cedric released a slow breath. “How many times must you scold me? Wouldn’t it be more authentic if I were to initiate the apology myself?”
“Yes,” Lucille said sweetly, gathering her skirts to sit on the settee with deliberate grace. “But I grow weary with how long you’re taking.”
He lowered himself into the chair across from her, grateful for the relief it gave his aching legs. “And what, among the many offenses I have no doubt committed, am I guilty of today?”
“You have yet to appear since Nin was wounded. Do you plan on punishing her with your absence?”
Both his brows rose. The surprise must have shown on his face, for Lucille crossed her arms and fixed him with a pointed stare.
“My absence was not meant to trouble her,” he said. “I have been occupied with other matters.”
“And no time to check on the woman you hired to be in harm’s way?”
If her intent was to inject guilt straight into his veins, she had hit an artery. Cedric leaned back and regarded her with a long-suffering look.
“You make a point, madame. But the condescension?” he tutted.
“Oh, sometimes words must be said to a man who is being arrogant,” she replied, eyes twinkling. “It helps bring him down a peg or two.”
Cedric could not help the corner of his mouth from lifting. “You think me arrogant?”
“Quite so,” Lucille said evenly.
“Duly noted. I’ll put it on the never-ending list of faults,” he said dryly. “But I have been absentbecauseI do not wish her to be in harm’s way. I have spent every waking hour trying to track down the assassin.”
“It’s been three days,” Lucille said softly. “She’s quite hurt.”
Another stab of guilt hit its mark. Cedric exhaled and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “I know. I will attempt to visit her soon. I could not rest without finding the men responsible… but they remain at large.”
Lucille’s usual sternness softened. “You carry too much weight on those shoulders,” she said. “Why must you carry this alone when she could help you? Vanishing will only push her farther from you.”
Cedric stiffened. The concern beneath her words brushed too close to a truth he had refused to name.
“If you’re implying anything romantic, that’s wholly inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” she echoed with a half-amused, half-exasperated huff. “You two are far more compatible than you realize. Stubborn as bulls, both of you—and far too clever for your own good. You match each other well.”
She studied him for a moment, her eyes penetrating through every excuse and denial he wished tomake.
“And that frightens you more than any assassin,” she said.
Cedric looked away. The truth of it struck deeper than he cared to admit.
His shoulders sagged.
“Even if that’s true… our stations would never allow it,” he said quietly.
“Only if you let that stop you,” she replied. “If you care for her—you’ll find a way.”
