Aaron’s concern was misguided. It was overbearing. It was remarkably overblown.
But it was clearly concern forher, not for himself.
“Aaron,” she said again, this time more gently, “I need to have my freedom.”
“Yes,” he said after a long pause in which he seemed to be corralling his emotions. “I know. I just… I was worried.”
She could see how the admission cost him. His eyes closed for a long moment, and she was seized by a temptation to reach up, to hold his face in her hands, and to give him a long, consoling kiss.
This was silly. What was she thinking—that he wanted her to kiss him? That he would find comfort from such a thing?
But she couldn’t banish the thought from her mind—from her expression—before he opened his eyes.
The pain in his gaze changed, and for the span of a breath, there was a true tenderness there.
She leaned toward him, the movement no more than a shifting of her weight to the balls of her feet. His hand grew heavier on her shoulder; his fingers cupped her elbow just a hair more tightly.
She looked at his mouth and was struck by the memory of what they felt like against her mouth, against her…
But this was not that. This wasn’t the desire of the body; it was—something too soft and sweet anddangerousfor all those things.
So, she pulled back, and then so did he.
“Thank you for your concern,” she said, hiking the blanket higher around her shoulders in a way that dislodged his grasp. He let his hands fall. “I will make sure to let you know before I go out in bad weather.”
It was a concession, and his expression said that he recognized it as such.
“I appreciate it,” he said, taking a step back of his own. “I… Thank you.”
She nodded, and so did he. Then, he left her in her warm spot by the fire.
The cozy glow of the flames was not enough, however, to burn away the strange sense of loss that hung over her like a cloud far denser than the ones that were filtering snow down over the London skyline.
CHAPTER 17
“Aaron!”
Someone was… yelling his name through the house. This was surprising enough on its own, given that he lived in a ducal house with all the resulting decorum and not, say, the hovel of a half-deaf fishmonger. But even more surprising than the yelling itself was the person who was apparently doing the yelling.
“Aaron Warson, where are you?” demanded the voice.
Aaron wasn’t necessarily proud of this—he’d been to war after all, and he had faced much worse than this—but he briefly considered just locking the door to his study and pretending he hadn’t heard a thing.
But the unexpected arrival of his little sister wasn’t the kind of problem he could just ignore.
He went to the front of the house to find Clio standing with her hands on her hips, a rather travel-worn hat upon her head, and a frown upon her face.
“Clio,” he said politely. “How good to see you.”
Clio’s cheeks went bright red with ire.
It had been nearly two years since Aaron had last seen his sister, whom he had packed off to live with their great-aunt shortly after he’d returned from war, covered in scars inside and out. She had grown into even more of a young woman in the intervening years; she didn’t necessarily look older at three and twenty than she had at one and twenty, but she carried more of a self-possessed air.
He had a feeling that was going to be a problem for him.
“Is it good to see me, Aaron?” She asked, tilting her chin up at him defiantly. “Because I feel as though you can see why I might wonder.”
“Of course,” he said, lying through his teeth. This was a complete disaster, which really made a great deal of sense, given that his entire life had devolved into chaos over the past several days. “It’s rather unexpected, though.”
