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He chuckled in the darkness. “How dare you become angry with me when I am merely out here to look after your well-being?”

“Fine job you’re doing at it. You nearly scared me to death.”

She could just see the flash of his smile. “My apologies. But truth be told, you really should have expected me.”

“How do you figure that?”

“After those cryptic smiles you were attempting to keep to yourself earlier, anyone with half a brain could see you were concocting a plan to sneak back out here.”

Lark stared. “Very well, perhaps I was not as discreet as I ought to have been. But I thought I did a fine enough job at keeping it from the others. I daresay my uncle was not aware of my desires.”

“That would not be the first time, would it?”

He’d spoken the words without guile, but he’d made his point.

For just a moment, matters between them had felt like before, when she could speak comfortably with him, playfully. But too soon, Lark was reminded of all that had happened between them—and it was too much to pretend like it hadn’t.

“Well,” she began, smoothing out her pelisse, “I thank you for your efforts to look after my well-being, but I assure you, I am quite well. You needn’t concern yourself over me any longer, Mr. Branok. Goodnight.”

She turned on her heel and made her way through the darkness, but he caught up with her, running around to stop her with both hands raised in a disarming motion. “Miss Fernside, please. Forgive me. I did not mean to cause offense. I simply have kept silent for so long, I only want…”

She stopped, folding her arms. “What, Mr. Branok? What is it you want?”

He hesitated. “A single moment of your time.”

The pleading in his tone, the softness of his words, tugged at her defenses, just like they had by the fireside when he’d first begged her forgiveness.

But she could not tear them down this time—not when her heart still needed protecting.

“I do not know if that would be wise,” she answered truthfully.

“Because you do not care to hear what I have to say?”

“No, I do care.”

“Then, why?” he pressed.

“Because my uncle thinks it unwise.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and she could only guess what words he was withholding. “And what do you think?”

“It matters not what I think.”

“It does to me,” he answered promptly.

Lark could no longer meet his gaze. She wanted to believe him, but whispers of doubt echoed in the deepest recesses of her heart—doubt that had been planted there by Mr. Yates long ago.

Mr. Yates had partially hidden his sharp teeth and cruel claws until she’d finally dared to speak her mind.

“I cannot marry you, Mr. Yates. I will not,” she’d said.

He’d let loose in a rage, criticizing every inch of her personality and soul, then moved on to her family. She’d been crushed in the moment, but over the years, she’d discovered that the words—while unpardonable—were spoken out of his own insecurities and had nothing to do with herself.

And yet, the unsettling feelings borne from Mr. Yates’s cruelty returned to plague her. Was she truly unlovable? Was she really so strange that no one could bear to listen to her?

She hadn’t realized she’d shaken her head until Mr. Branok dipped his chin to meet her gaze.

“Do you not believe me?” he asked.