She nodded once, slow and resolute. “I can be strong,” she said.
“I know you can,” Dominic said. “That’s one of the many things I lo…” His voice trailed off.
Dorothea’s heart stalled in her chest. Her eyes searched his face.Was he about to say it?That he loved her?
But then he cleared his throat, the sound abrupt and awkward, as though trying to chase the words back down before they escaped.
“Admire about you,” he finished.
A sharp pang bloomed in her chest, but she forced a smile to her lips. “I see,” she replied, doing her best to disguise the sting behind her composed tone. “Thank you.”
Dominic rose from his chair, the legs scraping softly against the stone floor. He extended a hand towards her. “It’s late,” he said. “Shall we retire for the night?”
Dorothea slipped her hand into his. “Yes… I think that’s wise.”
As they walked quietly through the corridor and up the dimly lit stairs, the house hushed around them, Dominic glanced sideways at her and asked, “Are you happy, Thea?”
“I am,” she responded. “Especially now. I feel as though my father is still looking after me, even from beyond the grave.”
“I am happy for you. You deserve every good that has happened to you,” he said after a moment.
She looked up at him then, her heart aching at the tenderness in his voice. “So do you, Dominic,” she whispered. “Even if you don’t believe it yet.”
He said nothing, but his gaze lingered on hers longer than it should have.
And though no more words were exchanged as they continued up the stairs, something between them had shifted—quietly, irrevocably.
19
Dominic sat at the head of the dining table, the half-folded newssheets between his fingers. He kept his eyes trained on the columns of print, feigning interest in the articles, but not a single word registered. His thoughts were tangled, jumbled—a hopeless knot of what-ifs and maybes—and at the center of them all washer.
Across from him, Dorothea read the newssheets. Her expression was focused, serene, and utterly lovely. He couldn’t stop stealing glances. And with each glance came a gut-deep ache.
He had nearly told her that he loved her the night before.
But the words had stayed trapped in his throat. Because the truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure what he felt. Not yet. Or perhaps he was simply afraid to face it.
Now that she was an heiress in her own right, she no longer needed him. She could purchase her own household, hire her own guards, and surround herself with potential suitors. The mere thought made his blood run hot.
What was he to do? Was it selfish to want her now, to keep her close—not because she needed him, but because he needed her?
From behind her pages, Dorothea glanced up. “Is everything all right?”
“It is,” he said quickly. “Why do you ask?”
She gave him a knowing smile. “Because you are reading the newssheets upside down.”
He blinked, looked down and cursed under his breath. “So I am,” he muttered, folding it neatly and placing it on the table. “I’m afraid I was… woolgathering.”
“Anything you wish to share?”
No, his mind screamed. But she deserved more than silence.
Reaching for his fork, he replied, “I was thinking about the state of my estate.” It was a lie, but a polite one. And it seemed to suffice.
Before she could respond, Wright entered the room, his expression unusually grim. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but Mr. Haverleigh is in the entry hall. He insists upon speaking with you.”
Dominic set down his fork with deliberate care. “Inform Mr. Haverleigh I will join him shortly, once I’ve finished my breakfast.”
