Page 85

And now Theodora. Tessa.

“I’d always wondered…you disappeared,” he said faintly.

“When I learned it wasn’t safe for me on the estate any longer.”

His lips parted. The story she’d told him. Of his father finding her.

She nodded sadly.

He couldn’t believe this.

She slowly traced the top of her wineglass with a finger. “I’d always been curious what happened to that boy. I’d feared… He’d been so broken, so hurt. I knew wherever he came from wasn’t a safe place. I’d feared the worst.”

And her fears had almost come true. If his father had had his way, they would have.

“You’re so different from him,” she whispered. Her gaze lifted back to his. “Yet exactly the same. I’m surprised it took me so long to see it.”

The same notion was dawning on him. There were so many similarities, yet he’d been fixated on one thing. “Your hair.”

A small smile graced her lips. “I was quite blond as a child. It wasn’t until I neared twenty that it started darkening.” She took a sip of her wine. “You were so small. Even for your age at the time. And now…”

He was a behemoth.

His gaze darted away. “I grew quite a bit once I’d left Ironcrest. Once I was fed properly,” he added quietly.

A deep sympathy filled her brown eyes. “Rafe,” she whispered.

“That’s in the past.” Then a bewildered laugh escaped him. “This is unbelievable. You…you saved me back then from the horrors I experienced.” He met her gaze again. “And when I set foot in your office the day I arrived, the walls of that hellish castle closing in on me, and laid eyes upon you… All I could think was that you were going to save me from those horrors that still haunt me. And you did. Again.”

“You give me too much credit.”

He really didn’t think he did. He winged an eyebrow. “Where did the bold Miss Dawson go? The one whose level of greatness few will ever reach?”

Her expression quickly turned solemn. “I forgot myself for a moment there. Distracted by coming face-to-face with a visage from the past.”

They watched each other, something hanging between them.

He stood and offered her his hand. Her eyes didn’t leave his as she slipped her fingers through his. “Ghosts will do that,” he murmured.

He led her to her bedchamber, and she followed silently. She stood in the middle of her chamber, watching him as he closed the door. He stepped up to her, fingers trailing over her bare forearm where her shirt sleeve was rolled up.

“But you’re not a ghost, Rafe.”

“I’m not.” His fingers found their way up to her chin and tilted her face to his. “And neither are you.”

32

Theo

Theo was reeling. Her pulse was a roar in her ears. Rafe was Charlie. The Duke of Ironcrest was Charlie. Her Charlie. There were so many similarities now that she compared the two. The uniquely curly dark hair. The grey eyes that had a permanently lost cast to them. The way each smile was fearful, like he thought there’d be repercussions if he were to let it show.

The last time she’d seen him, he was ten and she thirteen. They’d shared that cave for five years. And then life demanded she abandon her friend. She’d always found it odd that even though she was three years his senior, he’d always appeared older than her; maybe not in height or size, but as if he’d traversed much more of life than she. Now she understood why. He’d had his childhood stolen from him. Even now, it was always a shock when she remembered he was only five-and-twenty.

She lifted her hand to his face, let the pad of her thumb trace his scar. Young would never be a word one used to describe the Duke of Ironcrest. Youth equated innocence. Naivety. Things Raphael Charles Sinclair was certainly not.

His breath coasted over her lips, and the faint scent of Madeira filled her senses. He leaned in, inch by inch, descending until soft lips gently landed on hers. A tremor shook her frame.

His hands came to rest on her stomach, tugging softly at the fabric. “May I?” he whispered against her mouth.