Page 48 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore flushed darker. She wished she could cover her face or hide or lock herself in a room. She regretted saying anything at all.

“Well,” she said, aware how pinched her voice sounded. Her stomach ached. “I suppose, after the war—”

“Nore.” He was laughing at her, then he was leaning down, his hands on either side of her hips as he kissed her temple. She wound her arms around him, avoiding his wounds, her hands pressed into the bare skin of his back. “You fool. I’m not going anywhere. And… yes. I’m yours. I will never stop wanting to be yours. If you want to get married, we will. It would be the greatest honor of my life.”

She hid her face against his shoulder. “Good,” she said. “Marry me, and stay—because I will die if you leave.”

He huffed a laugh, the softest breath against the top of her head. “You’re not one for dramatics.”

“I’m not being dramatic. You must do it, for my health.”

“For your health, then,” he said softly, “if you insist.”

It was not often she made private appointments to see the duchess, but she sent a blasé card to the de Roullier residence in their code, requesting a meeting. She received a response within an hour. That afternoon, she told Edith she was required to meet one of her clients for lunch—how easily the lies were coming now—and she hired a carriage to Celestine’s grand house on the outskirts of the city.

She was led to a sun-drenched conservatory, where tea was already set. Nore unpacked the two bottles of decoy wines she’d brought, then seated herself and waited.

The duchess arrived soon after, dressed in cream silk dotted in pink. “Miss Gordon,” she said warmly when Nore stood and curtsied. “How lovely you look in navy.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Nore said, settling back into her chair across from Celestine. She watched as the maids came in, delivered the layered trays of food, and departed again.

“What is it you wanted to speak to me about?” Celestine asked, stirring milk into her tea.

Nore ran her fingers around the edge of the fine plate. She had spent most of the morning in the office, her stomach twisting, deciding and reordering her explanation. “I must make a confession,” she said.

The corner of Celestine’s lips quirked up. “I suppose this has something to do with the dancer.”

Nore’s hand stopped moving. The back of her neck felt too hot, then too cold, then hot again as she looked up and met Celestine’s gaze.

“You cannot hide from me, darling,” Celestine said. She reached for one of the bottles Nore had brought. Celestine opened the bottle and poured each of them a healthy glass. “Sparrow saw you two together on more than one occasion, and they also looked into your living arrangements. A roommate is ill-advised but understandable, of course, but you have only one bedroom.”

Nore took a sip, perhaps too keenly. She could see it all crumbling: she’d lose her job, and maybe Celestine would even hold her in contempt of the crown; and she’d known, always, that Celestine was her benefactor, and if she acted out of line, she would be responsible for the sum. There was every chance she could lose everything: her job, her station, her new identity, her future.

Is Cas worth all of that? a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Angrily, she pushed it away. Yes, she thought. All of that, and more. She could find another job. She could go back to being Nore Arlowe, or become Nore Khari. She could make a new future. As long as she kept Cas, she could lose everything else.

“Your Highness, I know the rules—”

Celestine watched as if she could see this drama play out on Nore’s face. “What rules?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine.

Nore swallowed hard. She wanted to down the glass, but that would not do. She wished she’d made some sort of backup plan, or confessed earlier, before she’d waded so deeply into this mess. “I… Finding my own rooms at eighteen. Not smoking or drinking to excess… not taking a lover… not otherwise embarrassing Edith…?”

“Am I Edith?” Celestine asked.

Nore only blinked at her.

Celestine shook her head. She reached out, laying her hand over Nore’s. “Those rules all belong to Edith, darling. You made other promises to me, and you will make oaths in the future. But you have not told this companion anything of your work for me, have you?”

“I—no,” Nore stammered. “No, he knows nothing of it.”

Celestine sat back. “You can’t believe that my spies remain unmarried and celibate, Elinore,” she said, taking another sip from her glass. “As long as you continue to do your work to the highest standard—and you swear this dancer knows nothing, and will continue to know nothing?”

Nore swallowed hard, daring not to hope. “I swear it.”

Cas. That was the thing, wasn’t it? She had promised, in no uncertain terms, that she would choose Cas.

She took a sip of her tea. “You will not tell Ms. Gordon of your relationship. If you do, I will not be able to confirm that I consented or had any prior knowledge.”