Chapter 22
AUGUST
The door to my house was already unlocked when I stepped inside. That was the first sign something was wrong.
Adeline stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, her expression too neutral.
I stopped just inside the door, scanning the room. The house was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire in the drawing room. But something was off, like a conversation had just ended the second I walked in.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Adeline’s tone was casual. “Taking a bath.”
I studied her for a moment, climbed the steps and stepped past her, heading toward the washroom.
“She’s had a long morning,” Adeline called after me. “I’d let her be.”
I needed her where I could see her, almost as much as I needed my own pulse steady again.
I knocked once before pushing the door open.
Lily lounged in the tub, damp red hair slick against pale skin. The water was murky with dirt, but not enough to obscure the shape of her—the curve of her breasts, the slope of her waist, skin pale beneath the clouded surface.
Heat crawled up my neck. I dragged my attention higher, to where the bandage should have been at her throat.
The bruises were gone. Completely gone.
She didn't flinch when I entered. Just lifted her chin, daring me to speak, blue eyes hovering between exhaustion and defiance—as if she knew exactly what I'd seen and refused to be ashamed of it.
My grip tightened around the doorframe. “What happened? How is your bruising gone already?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Behind me, Adeline sighed. “August, really. . .”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.” I cut her off without looking at her.
Lily’s fingers curled around the edge of the tub. Her eyes flickered—just for a second—before she lifted her chin. “Quick healer.”
I stepped closer. “That’s bullshit, you look like hell.”
Her jaw tightened. “Gee, thanks. You sure know how to flatter a naked girl.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t move. “Did something happen?”
She hesitated. A fraction too long.
Then, she exhaled and sank lower into the water. “No.”
Lie.
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
Adeline stepped into the doorway, arms crossed. “She just needed a bath, August. Surely you can let a woman have that much.”
She was covering for her. That much was clear.
I glanced back at Lily. “You didn’t leave the house?”
She blinked, slow, deliberate. “No.”
Another lie.
I opened my mouth to press her further, but before I could, she exhaled loudly, rolling her eyes.
“Saints, you’re insufferable,” she muttered. Then, with all the irritation of someone discussing the weather, she deadpanned, “If you must know, I’m bleeding and unless you intend to ask me about the details of my courses, I’d appreciate some damn privacy.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I went rigid, my entire body locking up in an instant.
Adeline coughed, poorly disguising a laugh.
Heat crept up my neck. I had been raised in a household of men—this wasn’t a subject that was ever spoken about, much less thrown at me in the middle of an interrogation by a naked woman in a bath.
The words rose to my lips. . . then faded before they found breath.
Lily smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Anything else you’d like to know? How often? How heavy? Should I describe the—”
I turned on my heel, striding out of the washroom without another word.
Adeline definitely laughed this time.
I descended the stairs grabbing my coat from the rack.
Adeline’s voice followed me. “Where are you going?”
“To get her monthly necessities.”
I reached for the door handle, intent on getting out of the house and as far away from this conversation as possible. But before I could step outside, Adeline’s voice rang out behind me, thick with amusement.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
I froze.
“You wouldn’t last two minutes buying women’s supplies.” She stepped around me, plucking my coat right out of my hands. “I’ll take care of it.”
I shot her a warning look. “I can handle it.”
She smirked. “Oh, I’m sure you could. But I’d hate to see you get any redder than you already are.”
I clenched my jaw. The heat still burning at the back of my neck wasn’t helping my case.
She shrugged into her own coat. “I’ll be back soon.”
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face. “Fine.”
“Good.” She grabbed the door handle, then paused, glancing back at me. “Oh, and August?”
I turned, already regretting acknowledging her.
She grinned. “Try not to interrogate her again while I’m gone, hm?”
And with that, she was out the door.
I stood there for a long moment, the house settling into silence around me.
Then, with a frustrated sigh, I stalked toward my study. Saints help me; I needed a drink.
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. The study was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the flames. It should have been enough to steady my thoughts—to drown out the day’s events, the unraveling, the questions I shouldn’t be asking.
But it wasn’t.
I took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in my chest. I had come here for clarity, but all I found was a tangle of thoughts I couldn’t untangle. Elias’s certainty. The Weaver’s final look.
I swallowed hard, as if that might steady the storm beneath my ribs.
A soft click of a door echoed from upstairs. Light footsteps followed down the stairs, almost hesitant.
I turned my head. It was Lily.
My grip tightened around the glass.
She stood in the doorway, red curls damp and clinging to her bare shoulders, a towel wrapped loosely around her body. She must have heard me come in here. Must have decided to follow. She should have looked vulnerable like this—exposed.
But she looked bold. Unbothered.
Her gaze pinned me—too sharp, too still. Like she already knew the shape of the thoughts I was trying not to think.
Heat licked at my skin, and I didn’t dare look lower, didn’t dare want more.
Lily didn’t move right away. She just stood there, watching me like she was testing something—pushing something. And damn if I didn’t feel it.
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my jaw, keeping my expression unreadable. Controlled. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Enjoying what?”
I didn’t answer. Just let my gaze flick—only once—to the way the towel was barely hanging onto her frame.
Her smirk deepened. “Oh, don’t look so pained. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
My grip tightened around the arm of my chair. “Get to your room, Lily.”
She stepped away from the doorframe, slow and unhurried, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders.
No hesitation in her step. But something flickered in her eyes when she passed.
Water traced the hollow of her throat, trailing down her collarbone before vanishing beneath the fold of the towel like secrets slipping out of reach.
My patience stretched thin. Dangerously thin.
I stood, my chair scraping back against the floor, but she didn’t step back. Didn’t retreat.
Of course she didn’t.
Instead, she walked straight past me.
I blew out a tight breath, forcing my pulse to settle, only to realize where she was headed. The sideboard that housed my brandy.
She slowly poured herself a glass, then turned, making her way back toward the door.
I never knew true suffering until she reached the middle of the room and let the towel drop.
It hit the floor in a damp heap, and Lily didn’t even pause.
Every muscle in my body locked. The firelight painted her skin gold. . . the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the—
I forced my gaze to the fire. To anywhere but her.
She walked, bare and unbothered, straight out of the study, completely unaffected.
But I'd seen enough liars to recognize bravado when it walked past me naked. Whatever had happened today—whatever she and Adeline were hiding—this was her way of reclaiming control. Of reminding herself she still had power.
The fact that she'd chosen to wield it against me should have been insulting.
It wasn't.
Because I understood it. Understood her. And that understanding didn't protect me from the effect.
I was wrecked. Heat licked up my spine. My hands fisted at my sides, nails biting into my palms—anything to keep from reaching for her. I didn’t move. Didn’t trust myself too. I kept my eyes on the fire. At least until she reached the hallway, and she glanced back over her shoulder.
A slow, knowing smile curled at her lips. “Careful, Mr. Hawthorne. If you keep staring, I might start to think you like what you see.”
And then she walked out of view. The only thing remaining of her was the soft pad of footsteps up the stairs and the ache of want that remained.
Saints help me, I should have looked away. But I didn’t. This wasn’t a battle I was used to fighting. Not one with swords or strategy, but with restraint. With willpower.
And I was losing.
The Weaver’s final look haunted me. But not as much as Lily’s—that slow, knowing smile before she disappeared up the stairs.
She'd stripped bare in my study and walked out like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. The worst part—the part that unsettled me more than anything else—wasn’t that she had done it. It was that I wanted her to do it again. And that terrified me more than anything my father could do.