Page 36 of A Legacy of Lies

Footsteps sounded through the fog, steadily, drawing closer.

“Fletcher?” The voice was firm, measured, unmistakable. “Where the devil are you with that mare?”

Nathaniel. Relief and dread collided in her chest.

Her father’s eyes glinted. He stepped back into the fog with a crooked smile. “Next time, daughter. And next time, you won’t be able to lie your way out.” He took another step and vanished, the mist swallowing him whole.

Clara pressed herself against the hedge, heart pounding, willing the fog to cover her. If Nathaniel passed without seeing, if she could only remain unseen—

But his boots crunched closer. To hide would condemn her more surely than discovery. She dragged trembling fingers across her torn sleeve, smearing the blood as she tugged her cloak forward.

She bent her head, forced her breath even, and willed her steps to steadiness. She turned the hedge corner—

—and nearly collided with him.

He caught her arm to steady her. His hand brushed torn fabric and stilled. “Miss Whitmore?” His brow furrowed. “You’re out early.”

Clara forced her eyes up to meet his, though her pulse jumped. “I… couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze swept her. Her cloak askew, hair damp, sleeve torn and poorly hidden. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been in the maze.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. The rip was impossible to deny. She tugged her cloak tighter.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Someone was with you.”

“No.”

“Clara.”

Her name from his lips struck harder than the thorn. “You don’t flinch from thunder or titles,” he said quietly. “But you’re flinching now. Who was here?”

“There was no one.”

“I heard voices.”

“I was speaking aloud,” she said, though the lie curdled on her tongue.

“In the fog?” His tone sharpened. “Your sleeve isn’t torn by chance. That cut isn’t from walking. I’ve seen this before—in courts, in alleys. Someone cornered you.”

Her mother’s voice echoed again: Never lie, my darling. Only hope no one asks the next question.

Nathaniel always asked the next question.

“I could help you,” he said. “If you’d let me.”

She forced defiance into her gaze. “And if I won’t?”

“Then I’ll find out another way.”

“That is your choice, Your Grace.”

He exhaled and tried once more. “Clara, don’t walk away from me like this.”

“You think I care for truth because it’s mine?” His voice steadied. “I care because you matter.”