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If he were a better man, he would. But Leander is not a better man. Instead, he raises his head and tightens his grip on her waist. He lifts her up. Genevieve gasps as he spins her, legs dangling briefly over the side of the bridge. He can feel her freezing in his grip, sense her terror and dread, and he knows that part of her thinks he’ll throw her into the water; it hurts that she thinks that, as much as it’s a relief, too, that she knows he’s dangerous. But he doesn’t want to drown her, of course. When he puts her down, he has spun her around so that she is now on the side of the bridge farthest away from the Château—further than he himself has gone.

No longer on Company land.

Genevieve has left the Château. Only by an inch, perhaps, but somehow, she has left.

Her expression is furious. She’s betrayed, and Leander resists the urge to look away.

‘Why?!’ she cries. ‘You terrified me!’

‘I wanted to—’

‘I believed you would throw me in!’

‘Why would I do that?’ he asks her.

‘I do not know!’ she shrieks. ‘It would be as sensical as anything else you have done!’

‘Forgive me. I. . . I didn’t intend to scare you. But don’t you see—you are out now, Genevieve. You are past the halfway point—you have left the Château.’

‘I must return.’ Genevieve steps forward, trying to skirt around him, back the way they came. The bridge is too narrow for her to do so, not without knocking him into the water.

Leander runs a vexed hand through his hair. ‘Please. I’ve brought you this far. If you continue farther into the forest, you’ll reach the commune.’

‘Allow me to pass, or I shall push you into the river.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ he says.

‘You would survive it.’

‘Not without injury.’

‘You think I have yet to see violence, Leander Sterne?’ she demands. ‘I was not a child of the Revolution, but I was one of its lambs. They took me to the slaughter and someone I loved died in my place. Now, finally, I have a chance to atone. For that chance, I will push you in the river. I will take a thousand carriages and climb a thousand mountains. You have proven you do not respect my choices, or my needs—so why should I respect yours? Let me pass and lead me back to the Château. Otherwise, I shall push you into the water, and if that does not work, I will scream and scream until the Company comes to us, since you will not take me to them yourself.’

It is not an empty threat, that much is evident. ‘You’re making a mistake.’

‘I rather think the mistake is yours.’

‘For thinking you’d show sense?’

‘For caring if I did,’ she says.

He flinches. ‘Very well,’ he says, bitter and resigned. It wasn’t as if he’d truly expected another outcome. ‘I will show you the way back. But I can’t bring you here again, Genevieve. If you choose to take this bridge later, you will do so alone.’

Genevieve stares at him expectantly. He turns, and he goes back down the bridge, in the direction from which they arrived. Genevieve follows.

At the tree line, he pauses. He ought to feel triumphant: he got what he needed from this. He has proven his suspicions correct. And yet he is hollow. Tired. ‘I know you’re a liar,’ he says.

Genevieve says, ‘And you are not?’

‘I have never lied to you, and I never will.’

‘You can deceive someone without lying to them.’

He bows his head, huffing a brief laugh. ‘That is true,’ he says. ‘Well, then: deceivers we are, both of us. I concede to you, to the Company. Damn it all. Remain at the auction, if that is your will. Whatever happens, at least I know that I have tried.’

Fourteen

Genevieve misses Devonshire. She misses her grandfather’s house in England, her home, her fortress, her sole refuge while the past lays siege outside. Brambling House is songbirds and orchards and summers without war, her grandfather leaning on her as she walks him slowly around the gardens and describes to him the blooming of the trees. He is blind, and for five years Genevieve has been his eyes, his comfort. She loves him, loves taking care of him. When she takes care of people, she feels less like she is living a lie; less like she owes the world something more than what she has already given it. This place, this Company, even Leander Sterne—they have all denied her that opportunity. She is looking forward to winning, to leaving. She tells herself she will be happy to go. Happy to forget.