For a moment, the room fell into dim shadow, the grey light from the windows casting strange, shifting shapes across the walls. Thomas gave a small, frightened sound.
“It is all right,” Lorraine said at once, steadying her voice. “The draft has caught the lamps. Old houses are full of such tricks in bad weather. We shall find candles.”
“I do not know where they are.”
“Then we shall discover them together. Come.”
She led him toward the door, one hand resting lightly at his shoulder, the other extended before her. The corridor beyond was darker still, the storm pressing at the windows like a living thing.
“Miss Weston?” Thomas’s voice trembled. “I am frightened.”
“I know. But I am here. I shall not leave you.”
“Promise?”
She hesitated only a moment.
“I promise.”
They had gone but a little way when a warm light appeared at the far end of the corridor. Footsteps followed, measured and steady, and then the Duke came into view, carrying a candelabra in one hand and a lantern in the other.
“Miss Weston. Thomas.” His voice was low, composed. “Are you well?”
“The lamps went out,” Thomas said gravely.
“So I see.” A faint dryness touched the Duke’s tone. “The wind has found its way through the shutters, I imagine. Half the house is in darkness.” He extended the lantern toward Lorraine. “You may have use of this.”
She took it, her fingers brushing his in passing—a fleeting contact, yet she felt it keenly.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“The nursery will be chill without a proper fire.” His gaze rested on her, steady in the shifting light. “The library hearth is well kept. You may be more comfortable there.”
It was not quite an invitation. Nor quite anything else.
“Thomas?” Lorraine said. “Shall we sit by the fire until the storm passes?”
Thomas cast a quick glance at the Duke. “Will… will His Grace be there?”
A pause, filled by the low rumble of thunder.
“Yes,” the Duke said quietly. “If you wish it.”
Another moment of hesitation. Then Thomas nodded, just once, and Lorraine felt something ease in her chest.
“Lead the way, Your Grace,” she said.
***
Dominic had not intended this.
He had been in his study when the storm broke, watching the sky darken, his thoughts straying—as they had done with increasing frequency—to a certain governess who had unsettled the careful order of his days.
Three weeks. In that time, she had challenged him, unsettled him, drawn from him words he had not spoken in years. She had looked at him without fear—and without illusion.
And now he walked beside her through the darkened halls, carrying light.
The library was warm, at least. The fire had been built high against the storm, and the flames cast dancing shadows across the shelves and the leather chairs and the carpet where, he noticed, someone had left a collection of toy soldiers arranged in careful formations.
