Chapter Forty
They left before Fenwick stirred.
Marcus untied the horse where he had hidden it and helped Lila into the saddle. She was not fragile. She was not trembling. But the rush had ebbed, leaving a fine persistent tremor she tried and failed to conceal. Marcus shifted without comment and drew her back against his chest.
“Lean on me,” he murmured.
“I’m steady.”
“I know,” he said. “Lean anyway.”
She did.
Her back settled fully against his chest, the line of him solid and warm, his breath steady at her temple. The horse adjusted beneath them, and Marcus’s arm tightened just enough to say I have you.
For the first time since the carriage doors had closed on her, the ground beneath her felt certain again. And Marcus’s arm around her made it steadier still.
The night air tasted cold and metallic as they turned into the narrow lane. The city thinned to fragments. A drunk singing a broken ballad. The distant roll of carriage wheels. A dog barking in some unseen courtyard.
Marcus rode toward the main road. He did not rush. He kept an even, deliberate pace.
“He wanted you,” she said after a long moment. “Not me.”
Marcus exhaled through his nose. “He wanted revenge. He chose you because he believed you were the way to hurt me.”
Her voice barely lifted. “Was he wrong?”
He did not answer at once.
She turned, the lantern light catching the shadows beneath his jaw, the tightness around his eyes, the bruise darkening near his temple.
Marcus held her closer. “No,” he said at last. “He wasn’t wrong. But he made a far greater miscalculation.”
Her pulse fluttered. “Which was?”
“He thought you were a weakness.”
A shiver traced her spine.
Marcus lifted his hand, slow and careful, and brushed a curl from her cheek. “You are not,” he said. “You never were. You fought him. You misled him. You gave me the opening that brought him down.”
Heat rose, tight and sudden, in her throat.
“You saved me,” he added quietly.
She swallowed. “You saved me, too.”
“Yes,” he said. “But that is not the same thing.”
His gaze held hers. Intent. Unwavering. So honest it hurt. The kind of honesty that asked nothing and demanded everything.
“It has been a long time,” he said, “since anyone stood at my side instead of behind me.”
“Then let it not be the last.”
The words surprised her, but she did not draw them back.
Marcus’s breath caught, his lips parting as if she had reached into his chest and touched something raw and unguarded.
A carriage rattled nearby, breaking the moment.
“We need to get you home,” he said, his voice rougher now.
“Rosehaven—”
“No.” Too quick. Then softer. “Not tonight. Wolfton Hall is closer. Henry is waiting.”
Her chest tightened. “Is he all right?”
“No,” Marcus said. “Not until he sees you.”
They rode the last streets in silence. Not awkward. Not strained. Full of everything neither had yet dared to say.
The lamps at Wolfton Hall still burned when they arrived. Marcus helped her down and instructed the stable boy to return the mare in the morning.
They reached the door. It opened before Marcus touched the handle.
Mrs. Pritchard stood there, pale with worry.
Henry burst past her like an arrow loosed. “Miss Edgewood!” he exclaimed.
Before Lila could brace, he flung himself at her waist, hard enough that she had to step back into Marcus to stay upright.
Marcus steadied her, his hands firm at her shoulders.
Henry clung to her. “You’re safe, you’re safe. Papa said he’d find you. I didn’t know. I didn’t know—”
Lila bent and cupped his face. “I’m here. And you were brave.”
Henry sniffed, fighting tears. “I should have stopped them.”
Marcus went utterly still.
Lila shook her head at once. “No. Absolutely not. You did exactly what you should. You ran to safety. That is the bravest thing a child can do.”
Henry blinked up at her. “You’re sure?”
“I’m certain.”
Marcus’s expression softened, just a fraction, at the steadiness of her voice.
Mrs. Pritchard guided Henry back a step. “Let Miss Edgewood breathe, sweetheart. She must be exhausted.”
“I’m not,” Henry insisted, though he loosened his grip.
Lila smoothed his hair. “I’ll sit with you for a little while.”
“You will stay?” Hope brightened his eyes.
Marcus answered for her, gently, without claiming. “She will. Tonight.”
Lila looked at him.
Marcus held her gaze without flinching.
Something settled between them. Quiet. Irrevocable. Not gratitude. Not relief. Recognition.
Mrs. Pritchard led Henry toward the drawing room.
Lila followed, but Marcus caught her hand lightly.
She paused.
“Lila,” he said, his voice taut now with everything he had held back. “Don’t wander off again tonight.”
She almost smiled. “I was taken, Marcus.”
His jaw tightened. “Yes. And if it ever happens again, I will tear this city apart brick by brick.”
Her breath trembled. “I know.”
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “Say it.”
“I’m safe.”
“And I can breathe again.”
Her heart twisted.
They stood too close for too long until Henry called her name again.
She turned. Marcus let her hand slowly slip from his.
“Goodnight for now,” she said.
“Not goodnight,” he answered. “Not yet.”