Page 55

Her eyes lifted to his, shadowed by something unspoken. “The blackguard who attacked you in the street … I glimpsed this pattern. What does that mean? That he is part of a regiment?”

Julius frowned, shifting his gaze to the page and the caption. “Perhaps. Or he might be connected to Clan Campbell.”

“Does that mean something?”

His thumb found the edge of his signet ring, turning it absently. A memory stirred at the edge of his thoughts, indistinct and elusive. “I do not know.”

“Is it a clue?”

He closed the book gently, as though not to disturb the memory too much. “It might be. If Campbells are connected to one of the suspects. Or it could be nothing, merely that the attacker himself has Campbell blood. Or simply liked the pattern and purchased it. Do you know what it was you saw?”

Audrey shook her head. “It could have been a scarf, or lining, even a coat. I just saw a great overcoat and a hat, but when he moved, I caught sight of this somewhere in the vicinity of his collar.”

Julius replaced the book and drew the sheet back over the case. “I will inform the others when they return. I cannot say what it means, but it is more than we knew until now. It is shameful that I missed it.”

She laughed, the sound lifting his spirits, her blonde lashes sweeping down to the curve of her cheek.

“That may have had something to do with fighting off a knife attack with only a walking stick to protect you.”

The glow of her laughter lingered in the space between them, tender and fleeting, like sunlight caught in glass.

Julius did not hear what she said at first, for something in the way the light caught her hair had rendered him utterly still. Her flaxen locks had begun to tumble loose from their pins, as they often did, and the temptation to reach forward, to catch a single strand between his fingers, left him breathless.

A part of him longed to see her hair fall fully, to watch it spill like sunlight down her back.

Audrey looked up, alerted by his silence. Her gaze met his, and in that heartbeat, the air between them seemed to still. He could not look away.

The soft lines of her face, the way her lips parted as if to speak and yet no words came arrested him entirely. His heart beat louder, unsteady in his chest, and he became acutely aware of how near she was.

She trusts me. She came here to help me. And here I stand, too full of things I cannot say aloud.

She had tended him through pain, through fever and blood. And now, in the quiet aftermath, he found himself utterly undone by the way she simply stood there, looking at him as though she saw every part of him and did not turn away.

Audrey’s gaze drifted lower, to his lips, just as he moistened them unconsciously, and he realized her breathing had quickened.

This cannot happen. If I fall for her⁠—

He dragged in a breath, heavy with restraint, and struggled to calm the thoughts clamoring in his mind.

From the hallway, the sound of approaching footsteps fractured the spell. They both blinked, as though waking from a reverie.

Audrey swallowed hard. “Patrick, I think.”

“Aye.” Julius rubbed the back of his neck, grateful that the servant’s timely arrival had provided a reprieve. Audrey affected his composure more than anyone ever had. And though he might never admit it aloud, she had become the one person in the world capable of unmaking him with nothing more than a look.

Later that evening, Audrey sat once more at Julius’s bedside. She tucked the end of the fresh bandage, her eyes drifting to the sculpted lines of his chest, the evidence of strength beneath the wounds. A quiet stillness fell between them, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the bandage.

Then, she faltered, unable to name the ache within her, the fear of time slipping away before she could name it.

Julius reached for her wrist, his fingers warm and steady. Slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss at the delicate skin just beneath her palm. Audrey gasped softly, not from surprise, but from the way the tenderness of that gesture fractured something deep within her.

“Can I stay here with you?” Audrey gestured at the empty place on the bed. “I will sleep above the counterpane. She was not ready to be parted. Time was running out and she just wanted to be near him a little longer. Near the man she loved.

The man I love!

The thought startled her with its own force. Julius Trafford’s looks and singular charm might have ensnared many a heart, but it was his constancy and the quiet way he accepted her that had drawn her, helpless as a moth to a candle.

Audrey waited, biting her lip, second-guessing herself. Perhaps she had been too bold, too presumptuous. But even uncertainty could not quell the overwhelming ache in her chest, the inexplicable yearning to spend a bit more time in his company.

“Audrey,” he breathed, “if I were a better man, I would tell you to leave. But I am not. And I cannot.”

He reached for her hand, curling his fingers gently over hers and tugging her over to the bed so she might lie down. He rose and quickly pulled on a nightshirt and then insisted it was he that would sleep above the counterpane.

Through the sheets, Julius gathered her into his arms and held her. There were no words, no expectations—only quiet, suspended time as he held her close. And in that moment, with the night settling around them, Audrey understood that this was love. The precious, fragile thread of trust woven between two wounded souls.

The candle on the dressing table flickered, its golden light painting a warm halo around them as they fell asleep.