Page 31 of A Legacy of Lies

“There are things you cannot believe,” she whispered. “Not if you wish to think well of me.”

“You mistake me,” he said softly. “I wish only to think the truth of you.”

She shook her head, too quickly. “Truth cuts both ways, my lord. And some of us bleed faster than others.”

He took a step nearer. “Then why walk these halls alone if not to outrun what you fear?”

Her voice trembled on its edge. “Because fear follows even when I stand still.”

Silence folded between them, close, charged. The candle guttered once, a thread of smoke curling between their faces.

He reached for her without meaning to. “Clara—”

She turned, brushing past him, her shoulder grazing his as she fled into the dark.

He turned after her. Candlelight caught the sweep of her hair, the rigid line of her spine. He shouldn’t. He knew it. But the need to understand her, to keep her, moved stronger than reason.

His hand closed around her arm, firm but not cruel. She gasped. The candle tilted, its flame leaping wildly as her shawl slipped.

He turned her gently and stilled.

Her eyes were wide, luminous in the flickering light. Her chest rose too fast. Her lips parted, not with protest, but with surrender. The sleeve she had tugged down earlier had slipped further now, exposing the pale skin of her wrist, bruised faintly beneath the linen.

His eyes dropped on it. His grip tightened, then eased.

“I saw the mark,” he said. “You mean to keep hiding that, too?”

Her silence struck deeper than denial. And yet he could not let her go.

“You are danger,” he whispered, “to everything I’ve sworn to protect.”

But his voice broke as he said it because the greater truth was already in him.

He pulled her to him and kissed her, not fiercely now, but desperate and searching. It was not conquest this time, but recognition.

Her lips met his with hunger, not fear. Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. He staggered a half step, his free hand catching her waist, steadying them both as her body pressed close.

The kiss deepened. Her mouth parted, answering him with a fire that burned away every lie between them. He felt her shiver, and it echoed down his spine.

For a moment, the corridor disappeared. There were no shadows, no secrets, no house between them. Only this.

He could stay there forever. But forever would cost him everything.

He tore himself back, his breath ragged, and his hand still at her waist. “Clara,” he whispered, her name breaking against his throat.

Her fingers remained curled in his coat. That undid him more than the kiss.

She stepped back first. Not far, but enough that her hands slipped from him, trembling.

He didn’t move. The flame trembled between them, licking shadows across his jaw. His eyes held hers, not with demand but with a question neither dared voice.

She lowered her gaze.

If she stayed, he would kiss her again. And if he kissed her again, she would tell him everything. And that would ruin them both.

Without a word, she turned and walked the length of the corridor on unsteady legs. The house made no sound. Not even the storm dared speak.

At her chamber door, she paused, not for fear, but because the heat of him still lingered, as if the space they had shared refused to let them go.