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The blow would be far more effective if it arrived when Gwen was already overwhelmed, and the afternoon of the auction provided an ideal opportunity. He knew that. Had come here to do precisely this. And if the knowledge sat rather less comfortably than it once would have, that was hardly reason to abandon a sound strategy. This was what he was good at. It was who he was. And the quicker he finished this, the faster he could forget all this mess and move on.

“I will see you at first light then,” he said. “And bid you a good evening.”

He walked away, shutting the door and resisting the urge to steal a final glance over his shoulder. She was just another business owner. He didn’t need one final look at her smile.

Michael lay in bed long into the night, unable to sleep.

Excitement always coursed through his veins, disrupting his peace in those final moments. The axe seemed to hover in midair before landing with a final, resounding crunch.

Yet his last thought, before sleep finally dragged him under, was that this didn’t feel precisely like excitement.

Dawn broke in an enthusiastic perfusion of brilliant pinks and oranges that seemed to mirror the lively atmosphere of the day. Long before potential buyers arrived, the yard had transformed into a veritable hive of activity. While the younger lads scrambled to clear clutter from pathways, coiling ropes and sweeping loose sand from the dockside, the more seasoned craftsmen polished brass fixtures and triple checked rigging, ensuring that every boat showed at its best.

Michael spent the morning taking Harry’s orders and watching Gwen navigate the nerves she fought so determinedly to hide. Gradually, merchants and sailors began to accumulate, their numbers bolstered by the crowds of curious townsfolk who were there, simply because there was little else to do. They wandered through the sturdy coastal schooners and small trading lighters. The low hum of conversation merged with the rhythmic splash of seawater and steady brine-scented breeze.

When the auction began, Michael took up a position toward the back of the crowd and waited, not for the opening bid, but for the timely arrival of his mounted courier. He’d instructed the man to deliver his correspondence roughly a quarter hour into the auction, before the event had a chance to settle into a comfortable rhythm, while Gwen’s tension would still be hovering near its peak.

There was a method to these things. Michael had perfected it over the years: wait while his opponent scrambled for safe harbors that no longer existed, then apply the final pressure precisely when they realized there was nowhere left to turn.

Not before.

Not after.

Timing mattered.

And Michael was very, very good at this.

It was who he was.

There had been a time when Michael could enter a room and leave it again without altering anything by his presence. When nothing he did seemed sufficient to make anyone look twice. He had long since put that version of himself behind him. But this, at least, he had made indisputably his own. He knew how to win. Knew how to remain unmoved while someone else faltered. He had built a reputation, a fortune, an entire bloody identity upon never flinching when the moment came to tighten his grip.

He would not flinch now.

He simply had to follow procedure.

The crowd pressed closer, the auctioneer’s voice, roughened by salt and wind, carrying above the throng. Michael paid little attention to the proceedings. His focus remained entirely on Gwen. Her cheeks were flushed becomingly, her eyes bright with nervous excitement as she moved through the crowd, answering questions with determined confidence and occasionally returning to consult with her clerk. Michael was so distracted he nearly missed the moment the rider arrived, his horse gleaming with sweat as the young man’s gaze sliced through the crowd in search of Gwen, letter with blood red seal in hand.

Michael had to admit that sweat was a nice touch, considering the lad hadn’t needed to travel more than a few short miles to arrive. Harry noticed him first, his brow furrowing, hand coming to rest on Gwen’s forearm. She turned slowly, almost reluctantly, towards the rider, and even from his vantage point, he could see all that beautiful, intoxicating vivacity slip away.

Shoulders tense, she began searching the crowd for Michael. For him. Because somewhere along the way, he had become her safe harbor, the last place she expected to crumble beneath her. When her gaze locked on his, the cold finality of it tore through him and he felt it everywhere—the violent thump of his heart, an acid twist low in his stomach, an icy chill spreading inexorably over his skin.

He felt… sick.

If this was victory, then, somehow, he’d managed to poison himself in the process.

No. He could not do this.

Her mouth shaped his name, but Michael was already moving, carving a path through the crowd with his considerable height and bulk. Some frantic part of him urged him faster. If he could reach the courier first, take the letter, shove it into his pocket⁠—

Then what?

The thought collapsed almost as quickly as it formed. There was no snatching this back, no clever maneuver that would restore the avenue he’d so deliberately closed.

Still, he pushed forward, but Gwen was faster, slipping easily through gaps his larger frame could not manage. She reached the courier first, accepted the envelope with a distracted murmur, and hurried toward the office with Michael a step behind.

The distance from the docks to the office had never seemed particularly great before. Now, weaving through the crush in her wake, each yard seemed to stretch interminably before him. By the time they reached the office, Michael felt as though he’d followed her halfway across Wales. He closed the door behind them, reducing the noise of the auction to a distant murmur.

Gwen stood motionless at the centre of the room. Her cheeks had lost their rosy glow, but her hands, gently cradling the letter—his blasted letter—remained steady. Michael felt a surge of pride at her courage, though he had no right to it. Perhaps his encouragement along the way had bolstered her in some small way, but the truth was impossible to ignore. Were it not for him, she would not need to be brave at all.