She crossed her arms, lifted her chin. “You’re not welcome here as you are.”
Blanche watched her mother, surprised by the steel beneath the silk. She felt Fanny edge beside her, shoulder pressing gently to hers, and somehow, in the quiet that followed, the house felt… different.
Not at peace, but honest.
Then came the sound of boots. Quick. Measured. Unmistakable.
Blanche straightened.
No. It couldn’t be?—
But her heart had already leaped ahead of her, racing down the hallway, barreling toward that sound like it had waited all night—not just for answers, but forhim. For the storm in his eyes. For the pull she could neither name nor resist.
The door burst open.
Heath filled the entrance like a thunderclap, draped in coat and fog-damp shoulders, dark-eyed and breathless—as though the distance between them had scorched him, too.
His gaze found hers immediately, and something unspoken passed between them. Fierce. Familiar. Fated.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to reach for him. And he didn’t move—not yet—but every line of him pointed toward her like gravity undone.
“Where is he?” he demanded, without preamble.
Lord Gooldwer turned.
Heath’s gaze locked on him. “You don’t get to disappear for months, leave your daughters scrambling to stitch togetherwhat’s left, and then show up with that tired, pitiful charm like it buys you absolution.”
Her mother looked delightfully aghast.
Lord Gooldwer bristled. “This is none of your concern, Your Grace?—”
“No,” Heath snapped. “Butsheis my concern.”
He turned to Blanche then, as if just remembering she was the anchor in the room. His voice gentled, but the fury didn’t fade.
“I gave you time—space, as you requested. But I will not stand by while you hosthimlike a returning hero. You deserve more than reconciliation with a man who could gamble away your future without blinking.”
Blanche stared at him—utterly still—then slowly stepped forward, expression unreadable.
“Heath.” She reached out and touched his arm.
His breath caught, just for a moment.
“It’s all right,” she said gently. “I’ve already dealt with it.”
His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
Lord Gooldwer cleared his throat, looking somewhat offended and vaguely impressed. “You know,” he said, looking between them. “I rather like him.”
Blanche glanced at her father, the corner of her mouth twitching in dry amusement. But her focus drifted—unwillingly, uncontrollably—back to Heath.
He turned toward her, eyes still blazing but softened at the edges. His jaw was taut, his breath visible in the cool morning light, like smoke curling around restraint.
“If you tell me to leave, I’ll go,” he said. “But I couldn’t—not without knowing you were truly safe.”
The timbre of his voice reached her first—low, frayed, threaded with something deeper than concern. A yearning that stretched across the distance between them, thin as silk, impossible to sever.
Her pulse leaped.
