Then she turned.
Their gazes met across the crowded room.
Something settled in him. Not peace. Something sharper. The part of him that had once read every table, judged every risk, fixed on a single point.
Her.
Lila excused herself and moved toward the side corridor that led to the smaller parlors. She did not look back.
Marcus pushed away from the pillar and followed.
He did not hurry. Haste would draw eyes. He wove between tables at an unhurried pace and felt attention shift as he passed. A murmur ran behind him. Someone called his name, amused, testing. He did not answer.
The music changed as he neared the corridor. Henry picked up speed, a light trill spilling through the wall, bright as a child’s laugh.
Marcus stepped into the side passage.
The air cooled away from the crush of bodies. Candles burned in wall sconces, their glow soft against patterned paper. Voices faded. Henry’s melody came clearer now, as though the boy sat only a few doors away.
Lila stood halfway down the passage near a narrow window, one hand braced on the sill, her face tipped toward the night. The glass held a faint reflection of the room behind her.
He did not call her name.
He walked until he stood close enough to feel her warmth in the thin space between them.
“Is the air better here,” he asked quietly, “or are you hiding from Bessie and her questions?”
She stiffened. Only a breath, but enough.
Lila turned slowly. Her gaze traveled his coat, his waistcoat, his open stance, before lifting to his face.
“If this is hiding,” she said, “I’m doing it poorly.”
“You are the most conspicuous woman in London,” he replied. “Hiding is no longer an option.”
“So I’m bait now.” Her fingers tightened on the sill. “That is what you brought me here to be.”
The accusation struck cleanly.
“No.” He stepped a fraction closer. “I brought you because Fenwick had already marked you. Because Bessie can call in favors that no man refuses. Because Henry laughs when he is near her, and you smile when you watch him.”
Her lashes flickered. Henry’s playing threaded through the pause.
“I will not have him touch you,” Marcus said. “Fenwick. He will not lay a hand on you again.”
“He hasn’t yet,” she said quietly. “You place yourself in his path every time. That is what he wants.”
“That is what I want.”
She let out a breath that was almost a scoff. “Of course it is.”
She stepped away from the window. He did not move, so she came closer instead, drawn into his space. Candlelight caught in her hair and darkened her eyes. Her hands lifted, hovered, then settled against his coat.
“You cannot stand between all danger and everyone you love,” she said.
He did not flinch.
“I can try,” he said. “I failed once. I will not lose someone I love. Not again.”
