Chapter 9
I dressed for supper in a gown of pale green silk that shimmered like cool mist over a lake. My hands trembled as Nelly fastened the tiny pearl buttons along my spine.
Nelly chattered as she worked, her voice a gentle stream in the dimming light—details of the household routine, dinner hours, the cook’s moods, and the gardener’s reverence for his roses.
I answered with murmured sounds, too distracted, too tired, the weight of the day pooling behind my ribs.
“Mrs. Ashby says His Grace returned not half an hour ago,” Nelly added as she smoothed the skirt over my hips. “He asked that supper be served in the small dining room tonight. Said you might prefer something more… intimate.”
Intimate. The word made my heart thrum with anticipation.
“Thank you, Nelly,” I said, dismissing her with a weak smile.
When I descended to the small dining room, the table was already laid for two, a single candelabra twinkling between silver platters and cut crystal. The scent of roasted herbs hung in the air.
Sylum stood near the hearth, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed as if lost in deep thought. He turned at my approach, his expression softening as his gaze swept the length of me, coming to rest back on my face.
He was so severely handsome that it seemed almost unfair. Even after riding all day, his wind swept hair and sun-kissed skin only added to his air of perfection.
He smiled, that devil-may-care half grin that made my heart race.
“You look lovely,” he said, voice warm and deep.
“Thank you…you as well…that is… you look very handsome.”
He stepped closer, the firelight catching the edges of his dark hair, and for a moment I saw something unguarded in his gaze, something that almost looked like concern.
“How was your tour?”
“It was…a lot,” I answered honestly.
He smiled faintly, guiding me to my seat. “I promise you’ll get used to it.”
The meal began in quiet harmony. Silver cutlery clinked softly and the wind murmured gently against the glass panes. It could have been peaceful if not for the memory of the east wing pressing at the edges of my mind.
At last, I broke the silence. “Did your business in the village go well?”
“Hmm?” He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, just a touch too carefully. “Oh, yes. The village. Routine matters—rent disputes, repairs, nothing of consequence.”
His voice was smooth, but he kept his eyes low, focused on his food with an intensity that felt… evasive.
I took a sip of wine to steady my nerves. “You must have inherited quite a responsibility after your father’s death. The estate, the tenants, the household…”
“And the ghosts,” he finished lightly, a teasing smile not quite meeting his eyes as he looked up at me.
I froze, my glass halfway to my lips.
“Ghosts?” I repeated, setting my glass down. “I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”
“I don’t,” he replied with an easy shrug. “But some of the servants do. Old stories tend to linger longer than the people who tell them.”
“I see,” I murmured, smiling at his tease. “I thought I heard one earlier.”
He looked up sharply and I laughed, the sound coming out a bit too strangled. “It was only Poe.”
He studied me for a moment then reached across the table, brushing his fingers lightly against mine. “I don’t want you to be afraid here, Lucy.”
I swallowed, forcing a reassuring smile. “I’m not.”
His thumb traced the back of my hand, his touch warm, steady. “Good,” he said. “Because there’s nothing in these walls that can hurt you.”
A small, involuntary shiver ran through me. His words thudded strangely in my chest. His reassurance felt too pointed, too deliberate, as if fear was expected of me, or worse, warranted.
I swallowed hard. “Sylum…” I hesitated, the question creeping from me before I could soften it. “Is there something I should be concerned about?”
For the briefest moment, something in his expression shifted, too quick to name, too soft to trust. Then he exhaled lightly, almost amused, his features smoothing back into practiced calm.
“Only the drafts,” he said with a soft laugh. “Blackthorn is an old house. It creaks, it groans, and the servants love to invent ghost stories to make themselves feel braver. Nothing more.”
But his eyes did not quite match the ease in his voice.
I let the matter fall away, realizing that Sylum had no intention of sharing whatever horrible weight he carried.
I would let him keep his secrets… for now at least.
We lingered over what little remained of the meal until even the candles seemed to grow weary of burning. Sylum pushed back his chair at last and rose.
“You’ve eaten almost nothing,” he observed, frowning.
“I wasn’t very hungry,” I murmured.
He circled the table slowly, his gaze tracing my face. When he reached me, he extended a hand. “Come, I’ll walk you to the stairs.”
I hesitated only a moment before placing my hand in his. His fingers were warm, his grip sure. The air in the corridor was cooler, scented faintly with old stone and candle wax as we stepped from the dining room into the vast hall beyond.
Neither of us spoke at first. The silence between us seemed fragile, almost sacred. The house had gone still again.
When we reached the base of the staircase, Sylum stopped.
“Lucy,” he said quietly. My name in his voice did something to me. It trembled through the air like a secret prayer just for me.
“Yes?”
He turned to face me, his expression unreadable in the half-light. Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing along my jaw. “Please don’t wander the halls tonight,” he pleaded softly, attempting to take the edge off of what I knew to be a command.
His touch sent a warmth spiraling through me, deep and dizzying though it did little to calm the annoyance growing within me. “Very well,” I agreed tightly.
“It’s for your safety,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the faint line of my scar. “You must know that I hold myself responsible for Elizabeth’s death, but I think I wouldn’t survive if anything happened to you.”
I closed my eyes, melting into his touch as his hand moved to the back of my neck. When his lips met mine, my treacherous body ignored the anger that had been simmering. It was gentle at first, hesitant and almost careful, as though he feared I might break. But the restraint didn’t last.
The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his breath mingling with mine until I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began. My hands found his shoulders, the fine fabric of his coat soft beneath my fingers, the heat of him startling against the cool air.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath unsteady. “Lucy,” he said, “if I could undo the years between us… I would.”
“Then don’t waste any more of them,” I urged softly.
He looked at me then, and something unspoken passed between us. The world beyond that dim corridor ceased to exist.
“Come to my room tonight,” I said, surprising myself with the words. My voice shook only slightly.
For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes searched mine, dark and unreadable.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the inside of my wrist lightly, as though sealing a promise.
“If I come to you once,” he said, his voice low, “I fear I shall never want to stop.”
“Then I hope you do,” I breathed.
He released me slowly, as if he had to force himself to do so.
“I’ll be up soon,” he said, his smile wicked as he turned to walk away.
I stood there long after he’d disappeared, my pulse thrumming, my lips still tingling where his had been.
When I finally turned to climb the stairs, a voice brushed the air behind me, faint, rasping, almost playful.
“Two shadows. One bone.”
It was unmistakably Poe’s voice.
But when I turned, the hallway was empty.