Marcus stayed until the boy’s breathing evened, then extinguished the candle. He walked down the corridor as the house settled around him, not as an empty shell he had failed to fill, but as a place with a pulse again.
Halfway down the stairs, he stopped.
Henry’s simple certainty echoed in his mind.She likes you.
Marcus let out a breath, sharp and unsteady.
Because part of him knew the truth, he had not spoken. That he liked her too. Enough to step into danger. Enough to wake parts of himself he had believed buried with Grace. Enough to feel alive in a way he had not allowed for years.
His hand tightened on the banister.
Fenwick would make another move. Marcus felt it in his bones.
And when he did, Marcus would be ready. Not with noise or fury, but with the same deliberate strength Henry had already seen. The kind that leaves no doubt when someone he loves is threatened.
Marcus continued down the stairs.
Tomorrow, he would begin again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The first lightof morning slanted through the narrow halls of Rosehaven House, catching on uneven wallpaper and the wall hooks that rattled whenever someone climbed the stairs too quickly. From below came the early kitchen smells of tea, bread, and the faint promise of butter warming.
Lila had been awake long before the house stirred.
Her satchel filled with her lessons, was already packed. Her gloves were already on. She stood in front of the small mirror in her room, coaxing a stray curl back behind her ear, though she knew it would escape again. She told herself she was eager for Henry’s lesson, for his careful concentration, his bright pride when a note stayed where he put it.
It was only partly true.
Mostly, she was waiting for a particular footstep outside.
When the knock came, it was quiet, deliberate, unmistakable.
Lila released a breath she had not realized she was holding, rested her fingertips briefly at her waist to steady herself, and went downstairs.
Mrs. Denning reached the door first but stepped aside almost at once, the movement suggesting she had expected him.
Lord Wolfton stood on the threshold.
His coat was neatly buttoned, his hair brushed into order, but something in his posture, alert, grounded, quietly watchful, told her he had not slept easily.
“Miss Edgewood,” he said.
“Good morning, my lord.”
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her before Mrs. Denning could add commentary she did not wish to hear.
They set off together, walking side by side. Not touching. Not speaking at first. Yet the space between them felt charged, attentive, as though it listened along with them.
When Lila glanced up, she realized Marcus was not looking at her but at every corner, every doorway, every unfamiliar face they passed.
“You’re tense,” she said softly.
“I’m attentive,” he corrected.
“That is a polite word for tense.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You are observant.”
