Chapter Forty-Five
Eliza did not return to her rooms after the confrontation in the West Wing. She couldn’t. Her nerves were stretched taut, dread and determination knotted together.
Instead, she sought the only place that felt honest tonight, the music room.
The hearth offered low warmth, barely enough to illuminate the carved mantle. She lit no lamps. Hartleigh had dimmed itself to match her mood, its shadows gentle rather than oppressive. She stood near the window, palms pressed to the cool glass, watching the path Thomas would take from the stables.
The house seemed to wait with her. Every creak of timber felt deliberate, every shift of the wind against the shutters precise.
She closed her eyes briefly. Please let him come back unhurt.
Half an hour passed. Then another.
When the latch finally turned, she exhaled so sharply her knees weakened.
Thomas stepped inside, rain dampening his shoulders, hair tousled by wind. His eyes found hers instantly as though he’d known where she would be.
“Eliza.”
Just her name. Quiet. Raw.
She moved toward him, stopping only when mere inches separated them.
“You’re hurt,” she breathed, seeing the tension in his jaw, the guarded way he held one shoulder.
He shook his head. “No. Only rattled.”
But his voice betrayed what his body did not. Ashwood had shaken him.
Her hand lifted before she could think better of it. She hesitated, propriety tugging her back, then brushed her fingers lightly along his sleeve.
He closed his eyes.
That simple touch undid him more than any injury could.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Thomas opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with steady intensity.
“He wanted to corner me. Rattle me. Accuse without naming the accusation.”
Eliza’s breath quickened. “Did he?”
“No. But he tried.” Thomas hesitated, choosing his words. “Eliza… he is not as in control as he believes. The house does not respond to him.”
She nodded. “I’ve felt it too.”
Thomas stepped closer, lowering his voice. “And he knows the house favors you. That is making him reckless.”
Her fingers curled gently into his sleeve. He covered her hand without thinking, their hands fitting together too naturally.
“Tell me the truth,” she whispered. “Are you frightened?”
He didn’t lie.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “For you.”
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice steady but low. “If he turns desperate, he will not come for me first. He will come for whatever he believes weakens me.”
“You,” she finished.
He nodded once.
“Eliza, you must stay close to the west corridors. Do not walk the grounds alone. If anything feels wrong, go to Eleanor or Clara. Stay where the house’s presence is strongest.”
“And you?” she asked.
A faint smile, tired, wry, utterly Thomas, lit his face.
“I will manage.”
Her throat tightened. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“It’s not,” she whispered. “Not when you bear the burden alone.”
He closed the remaining distance, near enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, even through rain-damp wool.
“Eliza,” he said softly, “let me stand with you. Let me shield what needs shielding.”
Her breath trembled. “And who shields you?”
His expression softened in a way that felt like a revelation, as though no one had ever asked him that question before.
“Eliza…”
She lifted her free hand slowly, carefully, placing it against the center of his chest. Not an embrace, but something deeper. A pledge. A declaration without words.
His heart beat beneath her palm. Strong. Steady. And then, unmistakably, faster.
Thomas swallowed hard.
“Eliza,” he murmured, as if her name alone steadied him.
The house groaned gently around them, not threatening, only present. A candle wick flared without flame, then dimmed again, as if exhaling.
She didn’t move her hand. He didn’t move his.
Their breaths mingled between them.
Thomas lowered his forehead until it rested against hers.
Not a kiss. Far more intimate.
His voice was barely audible. “If anything happens to you—”
She shook her head softly, her forehead brushing his. “Don’t. Not tonight.”
His breath caught, half a laugh, half a shudder. “You undo me.”
She whispered, “You steady me.”
And for a long, quiet moment, they simply stood there, joined by breath and fear and something fragile and fierce neither dared name.
When he finally stepped back, it was slow, reluctant, controlled.
“I should go before the house gives us away,” he murmured.
She nodded, but her eyes held him for a beat longer.
“Thomas,” she said softly. “Come back to me tomorrow.”
His voice warmed, a low promise. “Always.”
He slipped out the door quietly, but she remained where she stood, hand still pressed to the place where his heartbeat had lingered.
Behind her, the house creaked again, not a warning this time, but an answer all the same.