“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.