“Because she is brave,” Marcus said. “And brave people carry burdens others cannot see.”
Henry nodded once.
They walked into the softening afternoon light.
Behind them, Fenwick’s carriage waited somewhere in the narrowing streets. Ahead of them waited a truth Marcus had avoided too long.
Lila Edgewood mattered. And someone had begun to circle her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lila did notbreathe until the door closed behind her. The latch clicked softly. The boarding-house corridor stretched ahead, flowered wallpaper dulled by age, gas lamps turned low.
She rested her back against the door. Her fingers trembled against the door.
Marcus’s last words lingered in her chest.
You can.
No man had ever spoken to her in that tone. Not possessively. Not boldly.
With him, it sounded like duty.
As though her safety mattered.
As though her dignity was something he meant to honor.
Her breath steadied by degrees.
Footsteps sounded above, quick and light. Mrs. Denning’s eldest returning from the newspaper office. A door creaked. Someone coughed down the hall. The house resumed its ordinary noises.
Only Lila was different tonight.
She set her music portfolio on the narrow table and moved toward her room.
Inside, the space waited as it always did. A single bed. A modest writing desk. A washbasin with a towel folded to Mrs. Denning’s exacting standard.
She sat on the edge of the bed.
Her hands still remembered the warmth of Henry’s small fingers.
Her pulse still held the echo of Marcus’s steadying presence on the steps.
And beneath it all, a slow dread curled.
Not from Marcus.
From Fenwick.
She turned her gaze toward the window. Streetlamps flickered to life below. A carriage rattled past, iron rims striking stone.
She did not touch the curtain.
If Fenwick watched, she would not grant him the satisfaction of her glance.
She closed her eyes.
Be steady.
