Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The Point of No Return
Once the barge pushed away from the bank, the sounds of the city fell back, replaced by the steady lap of water against the hull and the low creak of timber under strain.
The Thames at night was a darker thing altogether—wide, cold, and indifferent.
A faint mist clung to the surface, curling around us as though the river meant to keep its secrets close.
The chill settled into me almost at once. I had dressed for deception, not comfort, and the damp crept through wool and silk alike. I tried to master it, to still the shiver before it could betray me.
Steele noticed anyway.
He drew me closer without a word, one arm firm around my shoulders, his coat folded around me as though I were something he meant to shield rather than restrain.
The warmth of him was immediate and steady, a quiet reassurance against the cold.
I leaned into him without thinking, fitting myself against his chest as naturally as if I had always belonged there.
We did not speak. There was no need. The moment asked for nothing more than this—shared warmth, shared silence, the comfort of another’s presence when the world ahead promised none.
His breath moved slowly, evenly, a counterpoint to the restless motion of the river beneath us.
I felt the strength of him in the simple fact of his stillness; in the way he held me as though he could keep the night at bay by sheer will.
For a few precious minutes, I allowed myself to forget what waited ahead.
The lights appeared first—lanterns bobbing low along the water, their reflections fractured by the slow current. Then the shapes of the barges emerged from the dark, unmistakable even at a distance. There were two of them, just as I’d hoped.
Our barge slowed, easing toward the shadows downstream. We would go no farther together.
Steele’s arm tightened around me, just once, before he drew back. “Are you sure, Rosalynd?” he asked quietly. “It is not too late to turn back.”
I looked at him then, really looked at him, and felt the weight of everything that had led us here settle into place.
“It was too late the moment I saw that young woman at the mortuary,” I said. “The die is cast, Steele.”
His hand rose to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek as though committing the shape of me to memory. The kiss he gave me was tender and unhurried, a moment carved out of time itself, as if the river and the night had agreed to grant us this small mercy.
“Promise you will not put yourself in danger,” he said.
His words caught in my chest, sharp and bright and irrevocable.
I leaned in once more, resting my forehead against him, drawing strength from the closeness while I still could.
“I promise.” Then I retrieved my mask from the cape’s hidden pocket and stood still while Steele secured it over my curls, his touch lingering in a heartbreaking moment.
The barge eased closer to the bank, the oars slowing until we drifted into the deeper shadow cast by the overhanging trees. A short ladder was lowered over the side.
The men stood back to give me room. One of them murmured, “Godspeed, my lady.” Another inclined his head, solemn and respectful, as though sending me into battle rather than toward music and lantern light.
I placed my foot on the first rung.
Before I could descend further, Finch, who’d climbed down to the bank, stepped forward and offered his hand. His grip was firm, steadying. He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “It would kill him if you were hurt.”
I met his gaze. “Then I won’t be.”
Something like approval crossed his expression. Once my boots touched solid ground, he released my hand.
I did not look back. My heart could not have borne it.
I lifted my chin, drew my cape closed, and went to meet whatever future waited for me.