31. Finding Her

FINDING HER

A fter Northwoods' abrupt departure, the remaining gentlemen exchanged a few clipped remarks, but with Sir Percival hovering like an overcurious crow, any meaningful discussion was out of the question. They drained their glasses with brisk efficiency before making their way to join the ladies.

Malum trailed behind, his gaze sharp as he entered the drawing room, sweeping it with practiced precision.

No Melanie.

“Your Grace.” Lady Standish’s voice caught his attention, her smile pleasant, almost idle. “The courtyard offers a lovely reprieve on evenings like this. Quite cool compared to the rest of the house.”

Malum inclined his head in acknowledgment, already moving toward the door.

But not for the reason Lady Standish seemed to think.

No. Definitely not.

But for the faint trickle of a fountain, the courtyard was mostly silent.

Malum stepped outside, scanning the shadowed space. It seemed empty at first, deceptively so. But then, movement—a shift of fabric—drew his eye to a secluded corner.

There, lying on the cool grass, she was flat on her back, staring up at the sky. Her dark hair fanned out like spilled ink, catching the glow of the lanterns and the faint light of the stars. The delicate curve of her face, framed by the night, held him utterly transfixed. She looked… otherworldly. There was something about her in this moment—unbound, unguarded. Deep inside, he had wondered… No. He had known this side of her existed.

He should have walked away.

Each step closer to her felt like a betrayal of his own rules. Rules that had served him well, keeping him in control, focused. But control seemed to slip through his fingers whenever she was near. The worst part? He didn’t even care. Not really.

And that realization should have concerned him more.

“Melanie,” he murmured, reluctant to break the spell but wanting to touch her with his voice.

Her head turned and her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“I couldn’t stay inside,” she said. Her voice carried an almost dreamlike quality, and he couldn’t imagine never hearing it. “Not after that dinner. And once I came out, the lawn seemed inviting.”

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes still drinking her in. Control. He needed to hold on to it. There were too many threats circling like wolves in the night. Northwoods knew something. She might know something. And Crossings was likely behind it all.

And yet, here he was, standing in the dark, utterly captivated by a woman he had no business bringing into his life.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he finally said, though his tone lacked any admonition. Stepping closer, he noticed that she’d removed her shoes.

“Why not? This is my brother’s house.” She shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. “And the grass is cool. I was feeling… warm.”

A hushed quality in her voice implied that she wasn’t referring to the temperature, but she didn’t elaborate.

“You’ll ruin your gown,” he said gruffly, lowering himself to crouch beside her, ignoring the temptation to reach out and run his fingertips over her hair.

“It’s only a gown,” she said. “And I needed this. I forget how freeing it is to be outside, alone—not as a performance, but simply to… be.”

Freeing. He almost scoffed at the word. Nothing about his world, or hers for that matter, allowed for freedom. He’d shed one set of duties for another, and in seeking justice, he’d set himself on a seemingly endless quest.

Resting his wrists on his knees, Malum watched her expression.

He had questions. Questions she might have the answers to—answers she’d kept locked inside.

In light of today’s events, a serious, private conversation was in order, and this was as good a time as any—if, that was, he could keep himself in check.

“Is that why you came outside?” she asked. How the hell did her smile, a slightly crooked one even, manage to dissolve his rational thoughts? “To keep me from ruining my gown?”

“You’re impossible.” Malum shook his head.

“And yet, here you are,” she whispered, her gaze locked with his.

“Here I am.” Was his answer a warning, or was it a surrender?

“Lie down with me.” Was it possible she could be completely unaware of the images her words stirred in him?

An almost silent choking sound escaped his throat.

“The sky doesn’t sparkle like this every night,” she added, patting the grass beside her. “Just for a moment.”

It would be a mistake. Malum knew it. And yet, as he looked into her eyes, seeing a mixture of mischief and sincerity, he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

“It’s… grass.”

“That’s the point.” She laughed. “One must be outside to see the sky.”

His lips quirked, and against his better judgement, Malum lowered himself, sitting—not laying—draping his arms over his knees, his posture casual despite the air thrumming between them.

The feigned affection, her idea from the start, had begun as a practical ruse—a way to smooth the edges of their hastily arranged engagement. Was it even an act anymore? Not all of it. Not for him. At some point, they’d blurred the line between pretense and reality, and he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

And now, here she was, stretched out beneath the open sky, claiming the air had felt too warm indoors. And even after the chill of Northwoods’ admissions, with the shadow of Crossings looming in the background, Malum was anything but cool. The fire simmering beneath his skin was entirely for her. It was an ache he needed to extinguish.

Lie down with me.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he said, his voice low.

Controlled.

“Fair enough,” Melanie replied, her gaze flitting briefly to his profile before returning to the heavens. “But you’re missing the view.”

Malum tipped his head, intending only to humor her. But as his eyes lifted to the sky, something inside him stilled. The stars were the same as always, scattered and distant, yet tonight they seemed… closer.

He felt small under their endless stretch, their quiet brilliance making his usual concerns seem almost laughable. The universe didn’t care about scheming, revenge, or the powers that be.

For a man who prided himself on control, the thought should have been unsettling. Instead, it was strangely soothing.

He scoffed at himself, half-amused. Trust Melanie to make him notice something so absurdly poetic. And worse, trust himself to let her.

“Happy?” he asked after a moment, his tone laced with irony.

He waited to hear her laughter, but there wasn’t any. When she sighed, he dropped his gaze from the sky.

“Not really.” Her answer caught him off guard.

“Well,” Malum said, and then shifted, stretching his legs out in front of him. When he leaned back on his elbows, he added, “I’m listening.”

“I think you are right about Northwoods,” she said. “He is horrible for my sister.”

She was figuring things out, but not quickly enough.

And, unfortunately, neither was he.

“He is,” Malum agreed, staring at the toes of his shoes. “And far too interested in your circumstances.”

She glanced over at him and frowned.

“Because of our engagement?” she asked.

Our engagement…

Malum cleared his throat. “I thought so, initially. But not now. He mentioned the difficulties you’ve had with your speech—your memory—almost as though he has a stake in it somehow…” He watched her eyes as she considered this information. “He mentioned the fire. And the investigation…”

Malum didn’t know quite what to make of it, but he had a feeling that he was right about this, about her needing protection. There was something important locked away in her memories.

He’d come to this dinner without a well-thought-out plan, expecting it to be little more than an opportunity to spend time with Melanie’s family and further convince them of this charade. But now, he couldn’t help but consider that she might be in very real danger. Perhaps they should put an end to this so-called engagement and get her as far from London as possible.

She was staring at the sky again.

And then, God help him, she licked her lips.

He should send her back inside. Then, he should go to her brother and insist he and his family leave London for the remainder of the Season.

But then she turned her head, and her gaze, luminous and…hungry, flicked from his eyes to his mouth.

She licked her lips again.

“This—” He broke off, his voice rough, low. He wasn’t even sure what he intended to say—maybe to remind her that this was a bad idea.

But the words never came.