45. Not Alone

NOT ALONE

F eeling unusually lethargic, at first, Melanie didn’t move. Her body ached, gradually bringing her to remember the events of that day. Her throat was dry and her head throbbed, but all was blissfully quiet—safe.

Slowly, fragments came back, pieces of an unbelievable dream. That horrid man with the gun—the Duke of Crossings. The fire. The letters, and the memories of her father…

And then, Harry.

Her breath hitched at the memory of his steady voice calling to her, urging her to keep climbing down that trellis.

“ I love you,” he had said.

If it had been anyone else, she might have dismissed the words as mere encouragement—a lifeline to keep her moving despite the splinters digging into her palms, the ache in her legs threatening to give way before she’d even reached the halfway point.

But Harry wouldn’t do that.

Those words hadn’t been spoken carelessly; they had been rather blunt, actually, as solid as the man himself.

And if she’d had any doubts, he’d told her again, after bringing her…

Her eyes fluttered open.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glimmer of a single candle on the nightstand. At some point she’d heard someone mention that this was the duke’s chamber—Harry’s. Her eyes focused, and as her senses returned, she became aware of the weight on her hand—a warm, smooth weight. Someone was holding her hand.

Turning her head, Melanie’s heart skipped a beat.

Harry was seated in a chair beside her bed—no, it was his bed—his head resting on the bedclothes near her hand, his dark hair unruly, falling across his forehead. One of his hands enveloped hers, his grip firm even in sleep.

Was this a dream?

The sight of him, bent over and vulnerable, had emotion squeezing her chest. This man, who was feared by half of London, had stayed at her side.

Her fingers twitched, and his grip tightened reflexively, almost immediately. Even in sleep, he refused to let her go.

She let her eyes wander over his face, so very precious in the flickering light. The sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw seemed gentler now, and the tension in his brow was gone. He looked younger like this.

And yet, even now, he didn’t seem fully at ease. There was a tightness around his eyes and mouth, as if worry followed him into his dreams.

Her heart twisted for him. He’d been there for her, unwavering in his determination to save her, and now…

He was here. He had come back to her, to watch over her while she recovered, while she slept.

Slowly, carefully, she shifted her fingers so she could stroke his hand with her thumb, but that small movement was apparently enough to wake him.

Harry jerked, his dark lashes fluttering open. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, his silver eyes darting to her face, widening when they met hers.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, sitting up.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re here.” It was little more than a whisper.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, oh, so gently.

“Catching villains? Tracking Northwoods down?” She barely recognized the raspy sound of her own voice.

His grip on her hand tightened briefly as he sat up straighter, but then, rather than reply, he turned away. When he faced her again, he had a glass of water in one hand. “Drink.” He lifted it to her lips. “Your throat’s going to be sore for a while. From the smoke.”

The water helped, though she still felt a little as though she’d swallowed sand. But he’d gone suspiciously quiet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Harry just shook his head. “Not now, later. Once you’ve recovered.”

But she hated being in the dark. Pushing herself up, she watched him closely. “Tell me,” she insisted.

He stared at her, a thoughtful, tender look in his eyes, and then, with a dip of his chin, exhaled.

“You were right about Northwoods starting the fire at the hunting lodge, but…” He shook his head. “He did so much more.”

Melanie tried to sit up, but he pressed a hand to her shoulder, gently coaxing her to stay put. “I’ll tell you everything,” he murmured. “As long as you stay calm.”

“Harry…” Her voice came out raspy, and she winced, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. He quickly helped her take another sip of the honeyed water.

When she’d recovered enough to speak again, she searched his face. “What happened? Is everyone all right? Did you—” She broke off, seeing his brows shoot up.

“Is this you being calm?” he asked.

Melanie rolled her lips together in a silent promise and waited.

“Everyone’s safe,” he assured her. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

But Melanie disagreed. It was important, yes, and she was thankful that everyone was alright, but that was not all that mattered. “What happened?” she asked again, her fingers tightening around his. “Just tell me?”

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was low and, of course, deliberate.

He told her an almost unbelievable tale about Goldie’s father, the Duke of Crossings. It involved Goldie’s older sister, Gardenia, and it involved Caroline and Lord Helton, along with a few other gentlemen who were friends to Reed—and to Malum, though he didn’t say as much outright. It even involved that horrible nursemaid, Mrs. Green, who hadn’t, as it turned out, been sent by the agency. Whenever Melanie tried interrupting with a question, he went silent, so eventually, she gave in and simply listened.

After a while, she found herself content just to study him, her heart filling with overwhelming affection at the smallest of things. The way his eyes tracked hers, the faint movement of his mouth as he considered his words, the shadow of barely-there whiskers that hinted at an overdue shave. It was enough simply to watch and listen, almost believing that he was hers.

Dearly. Passionately. Desperately…

“The bad news,” he said at last, looking both frustrated and a little guilty, “is that we lost Northwoods.” He looked away briefly before continuing. “He managed to board a ship bound for America. We’ve already sent someone after him, but…” His shoulders were bunching up with the tension, his jaw ticking. “America’s bloody massive. He’d be a fool to come back to England, but the man deserves to rot in jail just as much as Crossings. I should have known. I should have realized what he was capable of before?—”

“But why?” Her throat burned, but she couldn’t hold back. “Why you?”

Malum’s gaze dropped, then a faint, almost bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. “The crown would never pursue a duke, and I needed… I need him behind bars.”

“But why?” Her thoughts churned. Why would he take on such a monumental burden? Why risk everything for something that didn’t even seem to touch him directly?

His silver eyes flicked back to hers. In his eyes, she felt he was baring emotions that had been buried for years. “So my brother can come home,” he said softly.

The words hit her like a revelation. She studied him, her chest aching at the quiet pain in his voice. It wasn’t enmity that had driven him—it had been love. A deep, unyielding loyalty that she understood all too well.

The name formed on her lips before she could stop herself. “Reginald Preston? But he was lost at sea?—”

“No.” Malum shook his head, the motion slow, deliberate.

He paused, his gaze distant, as though recalling a bitter memory. “Before my father died, he gave Reggie an ultimatum: learn to captain a ship while overseeing some ‘special shipments,’ or be cut off entirely.” His jaw ticked. “Reggie wasn’t even twenty. By the time he realized what those shipments actually were, it was too late. He was already in too deep, with no way out.”

Harry exhaled. “When he wrote to me asking for help, I made arrangements—ensured it looked as though he’d drowned. It was the only way to protect him.” He met her gaze, looking almost… vulnerable. “We’ve kept in touch, and now… he’s finally free.”

“So this wasn’t about revenge?”

“Not at first.” The corner of his mouth lifted, a hint of self-deprecation in his expression. “But Crossings slipped through my fingers too many times. I didn’t act when I should have. If I’d just stopped him—if I’d taken him out—or realized Northwoods posed such a real danger, I might have prevented what happened to your father, your family…” His voice faltered as he dropped his gaze. “I made too many mistakes.”

“No.” Melanie touched a fingertip to his lips, her voice hoarse but resolute. “You are not a murderer.”

She saw his throat work as he swallowed hard, the weight of his emotions so heavy she could feel them.

“You saved me,” she added, her words raw and uneven.

“No.” His silver eyes lifted to hers, filled with a torment she wanted so desperately to ease. “You saved yourself.”

“Maybe,” she rasped, her throat burning with the effort.

But in the silence that followed, she remembered the way her brother had looked to Malum, the way Helton and the others had fallen in line without hesitation. She’d seen it in the chaos of the fire—the steady, commanding presence that had rallied people, even in the face of despair.

And then there was his voice. She could still hear it, the way it had cut through her fear on that trellis, refusing to let her give up.

He wasn’t just any man. He was a force—a leader who made the impossible seem within reach.

Her lips trembled as she looked at him, her heart aching at the burden he carried. “You didn’t just save me, Harry. You saved everyone who needed you. That’s what you do.”

He swallowed again, obviously struggling to dismiss the responsibility he felt for all of it.

Melanie’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her voice soft but teasing. “It’s my job to keep you from blaming yourself, isn’t it?”

Harry stilled, surprise flickering across his face. Then doubt crept in, so quickly, she almost missed it.

“If you want it to be,” he said after a beat, his tone low, almost uncertain.

Melanie bit her lip, and then, “You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked, not caring that her voice sounded rough. “You meant every word, didn’t you?”

She didn’t need to specify which words.

“Yes.” Harry sank to his knees beside the bed, his hands holding hers reverently. “Every damn word.” His voice came out husky, but filled with conviction. He lifted their hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You will marry me, won’t you?”

Tears—happy ones—welled in her eyes. “For love?” she whispered, needing to know for certain that this wasn’t about honor. It wasn’t about duty or guilt.

“For love.” He chuckled softly, his smile breaking through the tension. “As long as you remember all of this tomorrow.”

“I’ll remember.” A laugh bubbled out of her, light and free. “I love you, Harry,” she whispered.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered back. Leaning forward, he kissed her, and Melanie sighed into it.

He tasted of whisky and smoke and… Harry.

This was exactly what she needed. He , it seemed, was exactly who she needed.

When Melanie pulled him closer, the kiss deepened.

Talking was no longer necessary. Instead, they would convey unspoken feelings with all manner of intimate gestures—affection.

Friendship. Protection. Need. Want. Love.

And still, somehow, so much more.

“Harry,” Melanie breathed, and gentleness gave way to urgency.

She felt his hand cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, and she clenched her thighs together.

Tightening her arms around his neck, she pulled him onto the bed. He dropped his weight beside her, but when she turned to face him, he pulled away a little.

Then, with a low, regretful sound, Harry rested his forehead against hers.

“We can’t,” he murmured, his voice unsteady but firm. “I can’t. Not yet. You’re still recovering.”

“But…” She sighed, wanting to protest, but when she realized that she was too tired to know where to begin, it occurred to her that he might be right.

On top of that, aside from however long he’d rested while sitting at her bedside, Harry himself looked like he hadn’t really slept for days. “Very well,” she conceded. As long as he didn’t think she’d give in this easily next time. “You’re exhausted, too.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “A little,” he said.

He leaned closer, his lips on her forehead for the briefest moment before he pulled back, his silver eyes never leaving her face. “Get some rest, Melanie. You’re safe now, and we have all the time in the world.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled her into his arms, snuggling up beside her.

And as she closed her eyes, she felt it—not just the safety of his presence, but the certainty of his love.