Tristan’s smile returned in full force, wide and triumphant.
Just then, a voice called from outside—faint, but unmistakable. “Tristan!”
Tristan’s head jerked towards the sound, and he immediately dropped beneath the windowsill. Pressing a finger to his lips, he looked up at Dominic with wide eyes. “Shhh,” he whispered.
A shadow passed back and forth from just outside of the window. Finally, the voice grew much more distant.
“I think she finally gave up,” Tristan whispered, rising from his crouch.
Dominic leaned back in his chair and asked, “Why don’t you go find something to read in the library?”
Tristan let out a dramatic groan. “Do I have to?”
“I believe it’s a more productive use of your time than evading my household staff,” Dominic remarked. “And if you go now, I’ll see to it that you’re given an extra biscuit after supper.”
Tristan tilted his head, clearly intrigued. “Can you make it two extra biscuits?”
Dominic allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “I believe I can arrange that.”
A broad smile spread across Tristan’s face. “Very well. I shall be in the library until supper,” he declared before skipping towards the door.
Just as he reached the threshold, a flustered voice rang out from the window. “Tristan!I see you!”
Dominic turned just in time to glimpse a young maid’s flushed face peering through the open window, her cheeks puffed in exasperation.
Tristan glanced over his shoulder and laughed, utterly unrepentant. “Too late!” he called back, disappearing into the corridor with a gleeful whoop.
The maid sighed. “That boy will be the death of me,” she muttered before withdrawing from view.
Dominic turned his attention towards his ledgers and figured it was as good a time as any to get some work done.
11
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale silver glow through the curtains of Dorothea’s bedchamber. She lay on her back, unmoving, eyes fixed on the canopy above. Sleep had evaded her completely.
She had been lying awake for hours now, ever since her conversation with Dominic earlier that evening. For one breathless moment, she had believed she had reached him—that the armor he wore so tightly around his heart had cracked, just a little. But true to form, he had withdrawn again, shuttering his thoughts behind those guarded eyes and carefully measured words.
Her thoughts circled back again and again, looping like a melody she couldn’t silence. She clutched the blanket tighter to her chest, her senses still haunted by the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air. It was a stubborn reminder of how close to death she had come. How Dominic had risked his life to save hers.
How could she not feel something for him after that?
But it wasn’t just gratitude. She knew it, deep down. She had fallen in love with Dominic long before the fire—back whenthey were on the Continent, side by side in that dim, makeshift hospital. In those endless hours of shared silence and whispered confidences, something in her had changed. He had become more than a wounded soldier. He had become... hers.
The mantel clock chimed once, then again, breaking the silence of the room and marking the slow approach of dawn. She turned towards the sound with a sigh, aware she would greet the morning unrested once more.
A sudden noise cut through the stillness. It was a muffled cry, harsh and fractured. Dorothea sat upright, heart pounding. The sound had come from the adjoining bedchamber. Dominic’s.
Then came another: a garbled shout, and the sound of something—perhaps a pillow—thudding against the floor.
She reached for her wrapper, shrugging it over her shoulders, and walked across the room. Her bare feet made little sound on the carpet as she approached the door that separated their rooms. Her fingers hesitated on the handle. Could she go in? It felt like an intrusion. But another shout shattered her uncertainty.
“No, John! No!”
Her breath caught.John?
Without further thought, she turned the handle and opened the door a fraction, peering into the dim space. The faint glow of embers in the hearth illuminated the figure of Dominic, twisted in the grip of a nightmare. His sheets were thrown aside, his brow slick with sweat, his fists clenching and unclenching as he thrashed against invisible demons.
“Dominic,” she called out, stepping into the room.
