“I have a question for you. I think it’s only fair,” he said, a hint of amusement brightening his eyes. “Three questions, actually.”
“You have questions for me?”
“I do,” he said. “But I wasn’t prepared to write them this morning.”
Her lips curved, just slightly. “Next time, then.”
He studied her. “You’re taking this seriously.”
“We agreed to be honest with each other.”
His voice dropped a degree. “I didn’t expect it to be so direct.”
Leticia looked toward the sundial. “We’ve two weeks. If this engagement is to mean anything, to you, to your work, to my reputation, we must act with precision. As you do when you dance.”
He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd her, but enough to change the air. Her pulse quickened, but she held her ground.
“You meant what you said. About clarity.”
She nodded. “And you?”
Gabriel reached out, not to touch, but to offer an open hand between them.
Leticia didn’t take it. Not yet.
Instead, she turned the letter over in her hand. “Your questions had best be good, Gabriel. I’m not in the habit of entertaining dull suitors.”
He lowered his hand and smiled, slightly, unhurried. “Neither am I.”
They parted near the rose arbor, the letter folded in her fingers, and the early afternoon just beginning to warm.
Leticia waited until she reached her chamber before she unfolded the paper.
He’d remembered so much: her shawl, her quietness, her willingness to stay. But not her name. He hadn’t asked. She didn’t know why that mattered, but it did.
She didn’t read the note immediately. She let it rest on the writing desk, her fingers pressed to the edge as if holding something fragile.
Then, slowly, she opened it, hope pooling low and quiet like sunlight beneath the surface of still water.
Her eyes widened. She drew in a soft gasp, her breath catching before her lips curved upward, not with amusement, but with something warmer, brighter.
She smiled, wicked and wondering all at once.
Chapter Eleven
It had beentwo days since the masquerade, yet the aftershocks still lingered. The unspoken glances, hesitant words, and the memory of a dance that had changed everything.
Sommer Castle still held the scent of stone and silence. The air inside was cool and dry, laced with the faint sweetness of ivy and something older than dust, perhaps memory itself. Sunlight slanted through tall, narrow windows, striping the floor in gold and shadow. Far below the cliffs, the North Sea surged and receded, its distant rhythm a reminder of the castle’s perch above the world.
A hush lingered, the kind that made footsteps feel like an interruption. Somewhere beyond the walls, birds called. But inside the chapel, there was only the breath of stillness and the quiet echo of forgotten prayers. Sunlight streamed through mullioned glass, warming the worn flagstones. Ivy crept in through the broken mortar along the southern wall, and a scattering of dust motes danced in the air like fading ghosts of vows once spoken.
Leticia stepped into the cool shadows and let the hush fold around her. She walked slowly past the pews, trailing her gloved fingers along the edge of the smooth wood. The quiet did not unnerve her. It made her feel full, each breath carried meaning.
She paused in the center aisle, facing the modest altar, and tried to picture it draped in lilies and lace, filled with guests instead of dust. A wedding at Sommer Castle.
Her own?
The very thought startled her. The notion was foreign, even in silence. And yet, hadn’t she made a kind of promise?
