Page 79 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“I had no choice,” she whispered. “If Ashwood had returned and found him there—Thomas, he meant to accuse you. To have you taken. Or worse.”

A long, taut silence stretched between them, filled with wind, rain, and breath.

“Was there not one available to help you?” he asked, his voice low.

She held his gaze steadily. “Would you have trusted anyone else?”

The answer came without thought.

“No.”

Her chest rose on a soft breath, her eyes shining with something deeper than fear. Something that stirred at the center of him like a dangerous, fragile truth. The realization settled deep in his chest, heavy enough that for a moment even the storm outside seemed distant beside it.

He did not dare reach for it.

“Show me,” he said quietly.

She turned and led him down the chapel steps, the stone slick beneath their feet. At the bottom, she paused. Thomas eased the crypt door open a fraction.

The candlelight inside flickered weakly.

“Lady Thornhaven?” Sammy’s small voice called.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Mr. Grey is here.”

Thomas stepped inside. Sammy’s head lifted at once. Relief flooded the boy’s face, pure and immediate.

Thomas crossed the space in three strides, kneeling beside him.

“Mr. Grey!” the boy cried, his voice cracking as he struggled to sit up. “You came back!”

“Of course I came back,” Thomas said, kneeling beside him. “Are you hurt?”

“My arm hurts a little. And my head.”

“Let me see.” Thomas examined the bruises with practiced care. “You’ll mend. But you were handled roughly.”

Sammy nodded, tears pooling again. “I tried to take Da’s message. I didn’t drop it. I swear I didn’t.”

Eliza’s heart lurched.

Thomas froze for one heartbeat.

Then, carefully, deliberately, he asked, “What message, Sammy?”

But Sammy’s lashes drooped, exhaustion overtaking him once more. His chin dipped to his chest.

“The one in my pocket…” he murmured, already drifting back into sleep.

Eliza’s breath caught. She looked at Thomas, but he held up a hand.

“Not now,” he said quietly. “Let him rest.”

He eased the blanket more securely around the boy, his movements gentle, protective. Then he sat back on his heels and let out a slow breath.

“Eliza,” he said, not looking at her yet, “you’ve done something remarkable tonight.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t think. I only acted.”