“Only tired.”
He nodded. Slowly, carefully, he brushed a curl back from her face. His thumb grazed the faint mark along her jaw where Fenwick’s hand had been.
Her breath slipped.
“When I saw you in that cellar…” His voice faltered. He searched for the truth and found it. “Everything inside me wentstill. But when you lifted your hand to signal me, Lila, it was the first moment in months I was certain.”
“Certain of what?” she whispered.
“That I wasn’t walking through this world alone anymore.”
Her heart stumbled.
He stepped closer, close enough that she felt the warmth of him, the steadiness he had reclaimed.
“I don’t want you returning to Rosehaven tonight,” he said.
“Propriety—”
“I’m not speaking of propriety.” His gaze held hers. “I’m speaking of safety. Of sense. And of…” He drew a breath. “…wanting you close.”
The truth of it moved through her too swiftly to deny. Not as a plea. Not as pressure. As fact.
“I will stay,” she said softly.
His answer was immediate. “Good.”
He offered his arm.
She placed her hand there. The contact sent a quiet warmth through her, steady rather than startling.
He walked her toward the guest chambers, their pace unhurried, the hush around them intimate and suspended.
At her door, he stopped.
“Lila.”
She looked up.
The moment swelled. Charged. Certain.
He could have kissed her.
She would not have stepped back.
He did not.
Instead, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. The touch was soft as breath. Not claiming. Not tentative. A vow.
When he lowered her hand, his own trembled once.
“Rest,” he whispered.
She nodded, unable to speak.
He stepped back only half a pace, as though leaving fully were impossible.
“Goodnight,” she said.
