Page 60 of A Legacy of Lies

She nodded, then glanced past him, toward the door she must enter, the one that would change everything.

He caught her hesitation.

“You don’t have to face her alone.”

“I think I do.” Then softer, meant for him alone, “But thank you for offering.”

He inclined his head. Not gallant. Not dramatic. Only steady.

She turned toward the door, fingers tightening on the handle.

He reached again, not for her hand this time, but a light brush of his fingers against her sleeve.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “He will not hurt you again.”

Clara blinked fast. Her throat caught. “I know.”

Their gazes held a thousand unsaid things between them.

“Go on, then,” he said gently. “Before I say something foolish.”

She managed a soft breath of laughter. “I think you already have.” She stepped inside.

*

Clara sat in Eleanor’s morning room, though no morning light filled the space. The fire had been lit. A tray waited nearby, untouched. She curled in one of the tufted chairs, her posture too straight to be comfortable.

Eleanor entered with careful steps. Her cane tapped once against the floor before she eased onto the chaise opposite her.

“I see you’ve already declined the tea,” she said.

Clara folded her hands. “I wasn’t sure if it was meant for comfort or interrogation.”

“Can’t it be both?” Eleanor asked gently.

Clara looked up. “You know, don’t you?”

“Only that the man who attacked His Grace tonight came with purpose. And that purpose was not robbery.”

Clara’s voice wavered. “It was my father.”

Eleanor’s nod was slow. “So Nathaniel suspected.”

Clara blinked. “He told you?”

“He didn’t have to. He walked in with mud on his boots, a cut above his eye, and murder in his silence. Your father didn’t come for a chat, I imagine.”

Clara stared at the fire. “He threatened me. Said he could undo me. That he’d already begun.”

Eleanor leaned forward, hands clasped atop her cane. “And has he?”

Clara’s throat tightened. “He left a letter. I dropped it. I think Nathaniel found it.”

Silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the flame.

Eleanor finally asked quietly, “Do you believe him capable of doing what he threatens?”

Clara’s breath caught. “Yes,” she whispered.