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Then, he picked up the book again and opened it.

Lydia paused, the sponge midway to her arm. “Are you going to read to me?”

He cleared his throat. “If you want me to.”

She was more relaxed now than when they had entered the house, but tension still lingered in her posture. He wanted it gone.

Perhaps, if unpleasant memories had unsettled her, pleasant ones would soothe her. And his most pleasant memory was reading to her in the library.

She nodded slowly.

Thorn gave her a small smile, propped himself against the tub, and started reading.

At first, his voice wavered—it had been a long time since he had read aloud. But soon, he settled into it.

He hadn’t realized that as much as she had been panicked, he had been nervous too. Agitated.

This place, this house—it held so many memories. Some were pleasant. Most were wrought with anguish.

He hated this place.

Would Lydia ever learn to love it?

Would he?

This was his home. And soon, it would be hers, too.

Or… perhaps they would go to France and never return.

The prospect was appealing.

He turned the page, continuing to read, though the words barely registered as his mind wandered.

The sound of Lydia bathing was soothing.

She was here. She was with him. The rest…? They would figure it out together.

There was a knock at the door.

Lydia shuddered and Thorn placed a soothing hand on her arm. “It’s probably just a servant bringing more candles.”

He stood, kissed her lips, and walked to the door.

He opened it and wished that he hadn’t.

How could I have forgotten?

Rosemary. His step-witch stood before him in a semi-transparent silk nightgown that barely covered her body. Her beaded nipples pricked against the sheer fabric as she proudly thrust out her chest. Thorn resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Welcome home, son,” she purred, craning her neck to peek inside the room.

Thorn stepped across the threshold and shut the door behind him, staring her dead in the eyes. “What do you want?”

She shrugged. “No need to be so rude. I heard you’d returned and wondered why you hadn’t come to greet me.”

“Why would I?” he ground out.

“Well, it would only be polite,” she said, twirling a curl between her fingers. “I also heard you aren’t alone. Did you bring a bride with you? Now wouldn’t that be lovely? Your father will be so pleased.”