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They stood close, not moving, barely breathing. Then Angelo lifted his head and looked down at her face, both sides visible now in the candlelight, equally beautiful to his eyes.

“You are so very beautiful,” he said softly, meaning every word with an intensity that surprised him.

Tears slipped down Isolde’s cheeks. Angelo brushed them away gently with the pads of his thumbs, then pulled her into an embrace, thankful for this chance to touch her. To confirm she was of the tangible world.

Isolde came willingly, pressing her face against his chest, her arms coming up to wrap around his waist. Angelo could feel her heart racing against him, could feel the slight tremors that ran through her body as years of fear and isolation met the reality of acceptance.

He held her close, saying nothing, simply offering the comfort of his presence and the warmth of human connection she had denied herself for so long.

Angelo had so many questions burning in his mind. About her family, about Grimsfell’s secrets, about the passages she moved through and the responsibilities she carried. But he knew instinctively that this was not the time. That pushing for answers now would break whatever fragile trust they were building.

So he simply held her, stroking her hair gently, and let the moment be enough.

Eventually, he felt Isolde’s breathing slow, felt some of the tension leave her body. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with eyes that still glistened with tears but also held something that might have been wonder.

* * *

Isolde stared up at Angelo’s face, unable to quite believe what had just happened. He had kissed her. Had looked at her birthmark and then kissed her as if she were any other woman worthy of affection.

It was her first kiss. One she had never expected to experience. She had resigned herself years ago to dying unmarried, unkissed, unknown except to the handful of servants who maintained Grimsfell Hall.

But here she stood in Angelo’s arms, her thoughts still whirling from the wonder of his kiss, her heart racing so fast she felt dizzy with it.

She wanted to stay. Wanted to remain in this warm circle of his embrace for hours, days, forever. Wanted to ask him a thousand questions about his life in Florence, about his family, about whether he truly meant all the kind things he had said.

But fear crept in at the edges of her joy. This was too much, too fast. She needed time to process, to understand what this meant, to decide whether she dared believe in the potential of happiness.

“I should …” Isolde pulled away gently, immediately missing his warmth. “I have things to see to. Responsibilities.”

It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it. But Angelo simply nodded, not pushing, not demanding more than she could give.

Isolde turned toward the organ, needing to move, needing to put some distance between them before she lost her nerve and revealed more than was wise.

“Isolde.”

She stopped but did not turn around, afraid that looking at him would undo her resolve.

“When will I see you again?” She thought Angelo’s voice held hope and longing in equal measure.

Isolde’s heart clenched. He wanted to see her again? Even after seeing her fully, he wanted to return.

“Tomorrow evening,” she managed, her voice unsteady. “Come back tomorrow evening.”

Then she fled to the alcove behind the organ, her hands finding the hidden mechanism by memory, and disappeared into the passages before Angelo could say anything else.

She leaned her back against the cold stone once the hidden door closed behind her, one hand rising to touch her lips where the ghost of his kiss still lingered.

For the first time in six long years, Isolde allowed herself to imagine a future that held more than endless solitude.

CHAPTER 10

"The serenity of her mind returned, as a spring shower revives the drooping plant."

Ann Radcliffe

* * *

Angelo woke just after sunrise, tangled in bedsheets, his heart aching with a longing he barely understood, and his mind full of vivid dreams that made his cheeks burn, even in the privacy of his chamber.