The admission settled between them, fragile and brave.
He slowed his stride, lowering his voice further. “You are doing remarkably well.”
Her eyes shimmered, something fragile surfacing before she mastered it. “I feel… foolish.”
“Bravery often looks foolish to the unkind,” Marcus said. “That does not make it less brave.”
Lila blinked once, hard, and kept walking.
And Marcus understood, with a clarity that left no room for retreat, that whatever Fenwick intended to take from her, he would not succeed.
Not while Marcus Wolfton still drew breath.
As they steppedinto the narrower end of the Bow Street crossing, Henry suddenly stopped.
“Miss Edgewood… is that man your friend? He’s staring at you.”
Marcus followed his gaze.
A man leaned against a cart.
Not Fenwick, but someone in Fenwick’s orbit.
A runner, perhaps. A watcher. The sort of man who kept company with power in darker corners.
His gaze slid over Lila with a butcher’s dispassion, as though calculating cost rather than consequence.
Marcus stepped forward at once, positioning himself fully between the man and Lila.
“Keep walking,” he murmured.
Lila obeyed without hesitation.
She did not glance back, but the subtle alteration in her stride told Marcus she felt the tension rise behind them.
Henry reached for her hand, gripping it with earnest force, as if anchoring her by sheer will.
Marcus shifted behind and slightly to the side.
A protective angle.
The old instincts woke fully.
Sharp. Clean. Decisive.
Fenwick, foolish, arrogant Fenwick, had awakened them.
Lila turned toMarcus at the bottom of the steps to the boarding house. She did not curtsy. She did not look away.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He did not bow. He did not soften. “You do not owe him anything,” he said.
Her breath caught. She nodded.
Henry hugged her, quick and fierce, uncompromising. “I will keep all the music, Miss Edgewood.”
She pressed a trembling kiss to his hair. “I know you will.”
