Chapter Twenty-Six
Henry finished his lesson with a burst of confidence so bright it warmed the entire room.
“I kept the whole first line!” he announced.
“You did,” Lila said, pride softening the tired edges of her composure. “And tomorrow you will keep a little more.”
Henry, triumphant, raced to put away his music book.
Marcus watched Lila carefully. Her smile was real. Her composure held.
But when she reached for the loose pages, her fingers betrayed her. Not a shake a child would notice. Enough that it echoed in Marcus’s chest.
Fenwick followed her.
The thought had not left him since she whispered it.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon appeared in the doorway, leaning lightly on her cane.
“Miss Edgewood. Lord Wolfton,” she said, eyes sweeping over them. “Do not linger in the Lyon’s Den.”
Lila stilled. “Has something happened?”
“Nothing,” Bessie said.
Which, in her tone, always meant something had already begun.
Marcus stepped closer. “Did Fenwick send word?”
“Not directly.” Bessie angled her head, assessing him with twitching interest. “But one of my footmen reported a man asking after Miss Edgewood’s movements.”
Lila’s breath tightened, caught just short of showing.
Marcus’s jaw hardened. “Describe him.”
“Tall. Expensive coat. No manners.”
Fenwick’s silhouette.
Fenwick’s impatience.
Marcus’s voice dropped, the sound controlled and dangerous. “He is escalating.”
“Exactly,” Bessie said. “Which is why you will take Miss Edgewood home. Quickly. Quietly.”
Lila’s cheeks warmed, color rising with gratitude and humiliation. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I do not want to—”
Bessie cut her off with a single click of her cane. “Child, you have already learned that wanting has nothing to do with necessity.”
Lila lowered her gaze.
Marcus stepped forward. “We’re ready.”
Henry came running. “Are we walking Miss Edgewood home?”
“Yes,” Marcus said.
His voice carried no hesitation. No apology.
Henry beamed.
Lila swallowed. Small. Careful. As if she feared even that motion might betray her. Marcus felt it like a pull beneath his ribs.
Outside the Lyon’s Den, the three stepped into the bustle of Covent Garden.
Marcus took his usual place beside Lila. But today, he walked closer. Not improperly. Not possessively.
Deliberately.
Close enough that any man watching would think twice.
Henry hummed as he skipped between them, blissfully absorbed in the small, ordered world these walks created.
Lila’s hand tightened around her portfolio as they turned onto Bow Street.
“Miss Edgewood,” Marcus murmured. “Tell me honestly. Are you frightened?”
She hesitated. Then, quietly, without embellishment or apology. “Yes.”
The admission settled between them, fragile and brave.
He slowed his stride, lowering his voice further. “You are doing remarkably well.”
Her eyes shimmered, something fragile surfacing before she mastered it. “I feel… foolish.”
“Bravery often looks foolish to the unkind,” Marcus said. “That does not make it less brave.”
Lila blinked once, hard, and kept walking.
And Marcus understood, with a clarity that left no room for retreat, that whatever Fenwick intended to take from her, he would not succeed.
Not while Marcus Wolfton still drew breath.
As they stepped into the narrower end of the Bow Street crossing, Henry suddenly stopped.
“Miss Edgewood… is that man your friend? He’s staring at you.”
Marcus followed his gaze.
A man leaned against a cart.
Not Fenwick, but someone in Fenwick’s orbit.
A runner, perhaps. A watcher. The sort of man who kept company with power in darker corners.
His gaze slid over Lila with a butcher’s dispassion, as though calculating cost rather than consequence.
Marcus stepped forward at once, positioning himself fully between the man and Lila.
“Keep walking,” he murmured.
Lila obeyed without hesitation.
She did not glance back, but the subtle alteration in her stride told Marcus she felt the tension rise behind them.
Henry reached for her hand, gripping it with earnest force, as if anchoring her by sheer will.
Marcus shifted behind and slightly to the side.
A protective angle.
The old instincts woke fully.
Sharp. Clean. Decisive.
Fenwick, foolish, arrogant Fenwick, had awakened them.
Lila turned to Marcus at the bottom of the steps to the boarding house. She did not curtsy. She did not look away.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He did not bow. He did not soften. “You do not owe him anything,” he said.
Her breath caught. She nodded.
Henry hugged her, quick and fierce, uncompromising. “I will keep all the music, Miss Edgewood.”
She pressed a trembling kiss to his hair. “I know you will.”
Then she looked at Marcus. Uncertain. Hopeful. Afraid. Trusting. All at once.
“Tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
She slipped inside. The door closed softly.
Marcus remained in the street, studying the quiet facade as though committing it to memory.
Henry tugged his hand. “Papa, was that man dangerous?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. “And he will not come near her again.”
Marcus was done observing. Done retreating. Done waiting.
Fenwick had made a mistake. He had stepped into Marcus Wolfton’s world.
And Marcus intended to answer him on his own ground.