"Is complicated. I know."
"More than complicated." He ran a hand through his hair, destroying the perfect styling. "You're Daphne's best friend."
"And you're her brother."
"Precisely."
We looked at each other for a long moment, both acknowledging the impossibility of the situation. The invisible lines we couldn't cross without destroying things that mattered.
"I'll be staying in London for the next few days," he said finally. "Work."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
There was something in his voice—hope? Regret? I couldn't tell.
"I understand that some things are more important than what we want," I said quietly.
He nodded slowly. "Yes. They are."
But as he left the library, pausing at the doorway for one last look, I caught something in his expression that told me he was no more convinced of that than I was.
After he'd gone, I sat back against the cushions, staring at the clematis book without seeing it. The memory of his almost-touch lingered on my skin, and despite everything logical and sensible,I found myself hoping his work wouldn't keep him in London too long.
Because whatever was building between us—forbidden or not—was far from over.
And we both knew it.
Evening had settled over Grosvenor Manor like a silk curtain, all purple shadows and golden lamplight. I'd spent the rest of the day trying to distract myself with gardening books, a FaceTime call with Mama, and helping Daphne plan some charity gala that sounded more complicated than a space launch.
Now I stood in my bathroom, staring at my reflection as I brushed my teeth. My mind kept drifting to Edward—the way he'd said my name, the heat in his eyes when our fingers touched. I'd been replaying that conversation so many times I could probably recite it word for word.
Personal complications.
What had he meant by that? Was he talking about me?
I spat out the toothpaste and was reaching for my face wash when I heard it—the low rumble of a car engine. Not unusual, except it was nearly midnight, and the engine sounded expensive. Familiar.
My heart skipped. Surely he wouldn't come back so late?
I told myself I was imagining things as I finished my skincare routine. But then I heard footsteps in the hallway—measured, deliberate footsteps I recognized. They paused outside my door for a moment before continuing toward the main house.
I pressed my ear to the door, straining to listen. The footsteps stopped. Then started again, slower this time. Like someone pacing.
Before I could lose my nerve, I cracked open my door.
Edward stood in the hallway, still in his suit from this morning but rumpled now, his tie loose around his neck. He held a tumbler of what looked like scotch, and when he saw me, his eyes widened.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I was trying not to wake anyone. I just..."
He trailed off, looking lost in a way that made my chest tight.
"Couldn't sleep?" I guessed.
A bitter laugh. "Something like that."
We stood there in the dim hallway, him by the window looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, and me clutching my doorframe like it was the only thing keeping me upright. The tension between us was thick enough to cut with a knife.