Page 82 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Eliza stepped closer, her voice barely audible. “And what of us?”

Thomas’s eyes flicked to hers, weary, fierce, and unbearably tender.

“We tell no one,” he said. “Not yet. But you and I—” His voice softened. “We stay aligned. Whatever comes.”

Her breath trembled, but her answer did not. “Yes.”

A soft creak echoed from above. Not a footstep. Not a presence, just the house settling.

Eliza lifted her gaze toward the shadowed ceiling. “Hartleigh agrees.”

Thomas looked at her with something like wonder.

“Eliza,” he said quietly, “I need you to trust me with what comes next.”

“I do,” she whispered. “More than I should.”

A soft smile touched his mouth, restrained, intimate, dangerous in its promise.

“Then let’s begin.”

He tightened his hold on Sammy’s shoulder. With Eliza at his side, he led them toward the hidden passage beneath the chapel, away from Ashwood’s reach, and toward a truth neither of them was ready to speak aloud.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The hidden passage beneath the chapel was colder than the crypt itself, the air dense and unmoving, as though the stone had forgotten how to breathe.

Thomas led with a single lantern. Its flame stretched shadows across earth and timber supports, the light bending with every uneven step.

Sammy walked between them, one hand in Thomas’s, the other clutching Eliza’s skirts when the ground sloped without warning.

Eliza’s heartbeat refused to settle into step with her feet. She had not released the tension in her chest since the moment she found the boy in Thomas’s cottage. Relief, when it came, felt provisional. Like glass restored, but not yet cooled.

“Where… where are we going?” Sammy whispered, stumbling on a loose stone.

Thomas tightened his grip. “Somewhere safe.”

Eliza softened her voice. “A place no one uses anymore. But warmer than this passage.”

Sammy’s eyes widened. “Warmer than the crypt?”

She exhaled quietly. She had forgotten how literal children were. “Warmer than Hartleigh’s undercroft. You’ll see.”

The passage turned sharply. The lantern’s light revealed a small oak door set directly into the earth. The wood was old but sound. Someone had maintained it.

Eliza slowed. “Thomas… this is—”

He gave a slight nod. “My father’s workshop.”

The words carried a restrained grief Eliza did not miss.

Thomas rested his hand against the door. For a breath, no longer than that, his shoulders dipped, as if memories had found him at last.

He pushed the door open.

Warmth met them immediately. Thick stone held the heat close. The air smelled faintly of cedar and iron. Tools lined the walls exactly where his father had left them. Nothing disturbed.

Sammy stepped inside, awe smoothing the fear from his face. “Mama would say this was cozy.”