Chapter Eleven

Juliette froze as Castlebury pushed his way into her closed modiste shop with a determination that shocked her. The contrast between the rugged, imposing figure of the Bow Street Runner and the feminine space of her shop was stark. The scent of fabric and delicate perfumes mingled with the undeniable aura of a man used to navigating the grittier corners of London.

He smelled like wet cobblestones and parchment.

It was… appealing.

"Captain, you can't just barge in like this!" she protested again, surprised and flustered. She watched as he surveyed the surroundings, his eyes sharp and vigilant.

"I can and I will," he repeated, his tone unyielding. "I won't let them catch you unguarded. These Revivalists mean business, and I'm not taking any chances."

Her protest died on her lips as he moved with a certain familiarity through the space. The dainty fabrics and elegant gowns seemed to shrink in comparison to the masculine presence that now filled the room. Juliette found herself torn between irritation and a strange sense of reassurance.

"What about my business? My customers?" she demanded, though the words came out more as an exclamation of disbelief than a coherent question.

"They'll have to manage with me here," he replied, not bothering to soften the blow. "This is about keeping you safe, Juliette."

Her name spoken in that authoritative tone sent a shiver down her spine. The reality of his intrusion settled in, and she felt frustration but also a strange gratitude. The shadows of the recent threats lingered, and having him in her shop felt like a shield against the encroaching darkness.

As he moved further into the space, a sense of vulnerability swept over Juliette. "You don't get to decide everything, captain," she said, trying to assert some semblance of control. "This is my shop, my life." Not that she hadn't realized earlier how much she needed his help. It was just that it mattered, having a say in things.

Catamount turned to face her. "And I won't stand by while they threaten it. Whether you like it or not, we're in this together now."

"Well, captain, if you're going to invade my space, at least do it with some finesse. You can't just barge in and declare martial law," she challenged.

He raised an eyebrow, a wry smirk playing on his lips. "Finesse is not exactly my specialty, mademoiselle . I prefer the direct approach."

She rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smile. "Direct, invasive—it's all the same to you, isn't it?"

Castlebury chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through the small shop. "When it comes to keeping you safe, yes. I don't have the luxury of finesse."

Juliette crossed her arms. "And what makes you think I need saving? I've managed just fine without a hulking Bow Street Runner barging into my life."

"The broken window and shattered glass tells me you need saving." His eyes locked on to hers, his gaze intense. "These Revivalists are not to be trifled with. You're not safe from their reach."

We know who you are.

A flicker of vulnerability flashed through Juliette before she masked it with a defiant tilt of her chin. "I can handle myself, captain. I don't need a protector."

Oh, but she did. She knew she did. Her broken window was proof.

Catamount stepped closer, his shoulders impossibly broad. "Humor me, Juliette. I've seen too much darkness to stand by idly when I can do something about it."

She sighed with resignation. "Fine. But you can't just move in without any ground rules. This is still my shop, my home."

He inclined his head, a smile playing on his firm, serious lips. "Agreed. As long as you understand that I'm not here to play tea parties. We're dealing with dangerous individuals."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

Catamount surveyed her shop. "Walk me through what happened here," he demanded, his tone no-nonsense.

Juliette hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I was upstairs when it happened. Bricks came crashing through the shop window, and there was a note."

"Show me the brick with the note."

Leading him to the damaged window, Juliette pointed to the brick on the floor. Catamount picked it up, examining it with a furrowed brow.

"Did you touch this?" he asked sharply.

"No… Well, yes. But I left it exactly where it fell," Juliette replied, her eyes tracking his every move. "I only picked it up to read what it said and then I returned it to where it landed."

Catamount turned his attention to the note. She watched on as he scanned the taunting words, and his expression darkened. "They're watching you closely," he muttered, pacing back and forth. "We need to take this seriously, Juliette. These threats are not to be ignored. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Captain—"

"Catamount." He raked a long-fingered hand through his hair, looking almost frazzled. "Devil's bollocks, just call me Catamount. Or Cat. Just nothing so formal, since I'm moving in with you."

"I can handle myself, captain . I don't need a watchdog. A helping hand, certainly. But not a guard."

He shot her a stern look. " Catamount . This is not a game. We're dealing with dangerous individuals. I need you to follow my lead on this."

Fine . She could drop the formality for now.

Catamount's piercing gaze softened as he looked into her eyes. His voice, usually gruff and commanding, turned low, warm, and intimately close. "I won't lose you again, Juliette," he murmured, a promise hanging in the air between them.

Juliette's heart fluttered in response to the sincerity in his eyes. There was a vulnerability in Catamount's expression that transcended the stoic exterior he often wore. For a moment, the world outside their bubble seemed to fade away. In that quiet assurance, Juliette sensed a connection that surpassed the immediate threats surrounding them. Catamount's declaration echoed with a depth that resonated within her, touching a place she hadn't realized existed.

The modiste shop, usually bustling with creativity, now became a backdrop for a more personal revelation. Catamount's impending move-in, initially met with resistance, took on a new dimension. It wasn't just about protection; it was a declaration, an acknowledgment of something unspoken.

As if compelled by an irresistible force, Catamount enveloped her in his strong arms. The weight of his protective embrace felt like a shield against the looming threats outside. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and she found herself yielding to the intensity of the connection between them.

The kiss lingered, a fusion of longing, assurance, and the uncharted territories of their intertwined destinies. In that stolen moment, the troubles that shadowed them seemed to recede, replaced by the warmth of shared emotion. The chemistry between them crackled.

Juliette, caught in the heat of the moment, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with every ounce of feeling for him she didn't realize she had.

He held her in a protective embrace, the warmth of his presence both comforting and electrifying. In that intimate closeness, his green eyes bored into hers, searching. "You taste the same," Catamount said in a low, warm murmur, his breath mingling with hers in the charged air. The words hung between them, carrying the weight of shared memories she couldn't recall.

As he murmured, "Julie," against her lips, a shiver ran down Juliette's spine. The familiarity in his voice stirred something deep within her—a resonance that echoed through the recesses of forgotten moments. Time itself seemed to hold its breath as the past and present converged in that tender, stolen moment.

Catamount's lips took hers with a depth of feeling that transcended words. The air crackled with a potent blend of intimacy and longing. As he kissed her again, the connection deepened, a magnetic pull that stirred echoes of familiarity within her. The depth of the kiss sparked jolts of recognition, zinging through her like an electrifying current. She felt it—the inexplicable familiarity in the way his lips moved against hers, the sense of his touch.

Exactly like her impossible vision from earlier.

Keeping those jolts of recognition to herself, Juliette surrendered to the moment, allowing the kiss to weave a tapestry of emotion that defied the gaps in her memory. Wrapped in the arms of a man who felt both known and unknown, she fell into the undeniable pull of the present.

With a reluctant expression, Catamount pulled back, his eyes holding a resolute gleam. "I'll send for one of my men to collect my things," he stated.

Juliette sighed inwardly and chided herself for finding his determination attractive. As the reality of Catamount moving in settled in, she nearly laughed. Two weeks ago, she would never have guessed this was where she would be.

Strange how life changed.

As she led Catamount upstairs to her modest living quarters, she was acutely aware of the intimacy of her small, private space. As they entered her bedchamber, she hesitated for a moment. "I'm afraid there's only one bed. You'll have to make do on the floor for the time being," she said.

He nodded. "Not an issue. I've slept in worse places."

A complicated blend of relief and disquiet rushed through her. She wanted to maintain a professional distance, yet the reality of sharing such an intimate space with him stirred conflicting emotions within her. The air in the room seemed charged with so many possibilities. "There are blankets in the armoire," she said, her voice unsteady as she sought to redirect her focus to practical matters.

"Appreciate it," Catamount replied, his eyes meeting hers with a directness that sent a shiver down her spine.

As Juliette left him to settle in, her thoughts swirled with curiosity. What did he think of her modest bedchamber? Did he notice the subtle fragrance of lavender in the air—just a touch that lingered from her favorite candle? Her gaze flitted to the small shelf filled with cherished books and trinkets, and she wondered if he took note of the personal touches that spoke of her life beyond the modiste shop. If so, what did he think of them?

What were his impressions—of the delicate lace curtains that allowed a gentle stream of moonlight into the room, of the worn rug beneath his feet, of the very bed where she slept alone?

As she busied herself in the small kitchen, preparing tea and organizing her thoughts, Juliette couldn't shake the awareness that, beneath the surface of their chatter and shared purpose, there was a delicate dance unfolding—one that held the potential to reveal desires that lingered in the quiet spaces between their breaths. That kiss had destroyed everything she thought she'd known about kissing. About feeling .

As she returned with a tray carrying two steaming cups of tea, she found Catamount in the middle of settling down for the night. A gasp caught in her throat as her eyes traced the contours of his shirtless form. His well-defined muscles played beneath the surface, sculpted by a life lived outside the ballrooms of Mayfair. The flickering lamplight cast intriguing shadows across his broad shoulders and the rugged terrain of his back as he made a bed from blankets he had retrieved from her nearby armoire. Juliette struggled to maintain composure as she drank in the sight of him, her grip on the tray faltering for an instant as she tried without success to avert her gaze.

Catamount, sensing her presence, looked up from his bed with a hint of amusement in his liquid green eyes. "Tea, mademoiselle? Or are you just here to admire the view?"

Juliette's cheeks flushed, and she attempted a smile. "Tea, of course. You can keep your ego leashed."

He chuckled, the rare sound sending a warm current through her belly. "Ego? I am just a humble Bow Street Runner trying to get some sleep."

As she handed him a cup of her finest chamomile and lavender blend, their fingers brushed briefly, and Juliette couldn't deny the jolt of awareness that passed between them.

Catamount, with an uncharacteristic grin, took a sip and sat at her tiny table next to the fireplace, his gaze lingering on her face. "What's on your mind, Juliette? You seem a bit flustered."

She bit her lower lip, feigning nonchalance, though in truth she was rather flustered. She had a half-naked man in her bedchamber! Any sensible woman would be flummoxed. "Nothing, captain, er, Catamount. Just… surprised to find a shirtless detective in my home." And it felt oddly new and not new at the same time. It somehow felt… right .

Catamount's eyes suddenly heated with something that looked a lot like affection as he gazed at her. Perhaps even love. He didn't love her, though, so it couldn't be that. But it was something .

And she didn't object to it.

He glanced down at his flat, chiseled stomach, and grinned. "A hazard of the job, unfortunately. Terrible stain of unknown origin on that tunic I was wearing that smelled vaguely of vomit from a vagrant I arrested earlier. I couldn't stand the smell of it near my nostrils for another moment—and certainly not overnight. Honestly, I have changes of clothes stashed around half of London. My flat, my brother's place in Belgravia, the family shipping company's office at the docks. As well as my office at Bow Street. Because Runner work is entirely lacking in glamour, and I often end up smelling of something unpleasant. Now, shall we enjoy our tea, or do you want me to come up with more surprises?"

Juliette put down the tray and sat across from him, attempting to regain her composure. "Tea it is. No more surprises for tonight, thank you."

As he leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked on to hers with a sudden intensity that sent shivers down her spine. The playful flirtation lingered in the air like a thin veil, masking the underlying currents of something deeper, something that had started to unfurl between them. How was she supposed to even begin focusing on what that might be, however, when he just sat there across from her, bare chested and glorious, like it was the most natural thing in the world?

Catamount's voice, low and velvety, broke the brief silence. "You know, this might be the quietest room in all of London. A bit too quiet, don't you think? Why don't you tell me about yourself? I want to get to know the woman who managed to turn my world upside down with a single look."

The atmosphere between them crackled with strange tension, and Juliette nearly shook with excitement and trepidation. The small table they sat at seemed to shrink even further, closing the distance between them. "I-I don't know what you mean," she stammered.

Catamount set his tea aside, his gaze never leaving hers. "Tell me, what's beneath the surface? What secrets are you hiding behind those extraordinary hazel eyes?"

She hesitated for a moment, pricked by a rush of vulnerability. "We all have our secrets. Some are just better at hiding them than others."

He leaned forward. "I'm not one to shy away from a challenge. When there's a mystery, I'm determined to unravel it. It's what I do."

Juliette, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze, felt a surge of conflicting emotions. "I assure you, there are no secrets to unravel here," she replied, attempting to sound confident, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes and heart.

Catamount leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his rugged features, and he scratched lazily at an itch on his lower belly, drawing her attention. But she refused to look. It was too dangerous. Too… enticing.

"Everyone has something to hide, Juliette," he said. "It's always only a matter of time before the truth comes to light."

The mention of truth sent a shiver down her spine. Unbidden images flickered in her mind—flashes of a terrifying, fuzzy past intertwined with the terrible presence of the Revivalists. Juliette felt a knot tighten in her stomach, a sense of foreboding that she couldn't shake. Her palms went sweaty.

"I've seen my fair share of mysteries in the dark corners of this city," Catamount continued. "If there's something you're not telling me, it's better to bring it to light now."

She hesitated, caught between the desire for transparency and the fear of what those buried memories might reveal. "I… I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a modiste trying to make a living. No mysteries here." Other than the one about why she couldn't remember her own life. Small thing, that.

He nodded, as if he'd expected resistance. "Very well. But remember, when the truth catches up, it's best to face it head-on. I'm here to help, whether you believe it or not." He stood, his body powerful and sleek and mesmerizing.

The room fell into a hushed stillness as Catamount settled onto his makeshift bedding, and she stripped to her shift behind a screen and then settled onto hers. The dim glow of a lone lantern cast shifting shadows along the wall, heightening the tension that already seemed to crackle in the air. As his gaze met hers, a softness crept into his eyes—a vulnerability that seemed at odds with the hardened detective she had come to know recently. He whispered, "Goodnight, Julie."

The simple endearment, spoken in the privacy of her home, carried a familiarity that tugged at the edges of her consciousness. Her heart squeezed in response. "Goodnight," she replied, her voice a breathy murmur.

The cadence of Catamount's steady breathing created a lulling rhythm in the quiet confines of her flat. As she surrendered to the embrace of her own slumber, two realizations crystallized in the recesses of her mind.

First, she hadn't corrected him when he used the wrong name. The slip lingered like a silent agreement, a tacit acknowledgment that in that moment, "Julie" had felt right. It was a subtle thread connecting them on a more personal level. One she no longer fought against.

Second, Catamount's presence beside her, the simplicity of shared breaths and soft sounds of sleep, resonated in her chest with a peculiar sense of longing. The night, usually solitary and silent, held a different texture—a warmth she had unknowingly craved. The intimacy of their proximity cocooned them in the darkness.

As Juliette drifted into the realms of dreams, the mysteries of her past and Catamount became threads woven into the fabric of her consciousness, awaiting unraveling with the dawn of a new day.