Page 48

L ark jumped in the air, a quiet yelp erupting from her throat as she swiveled to see who had snuck up behind her.

Fear caused her brain to delay recognition, but as the outline of broad shoulders greeted her, and the deep, soft voice finally settled in her mind, she knew at once who it was.

“Mr. Branok,” she breathed.

Her limbs felt like gelatine as relief rushed through her to know it was not a burglar in the night.

Then all at once, indignation ignited. “How dare you startle me in such a way?” she said in a harsh whisper, reaching forward to give him a whack on his arm.

He chuckled in the darkness. “How dare you become angry with me when I am merely out here to look after your well-being?”

“Fine job you’re doing at it. You nearly scared me to death.”

She could just see the flash of his smile. “My apologies. But truth be told, you really should have expected me.”

“How do you figure that?”

“After those cryptic smiles you were attempting to keep to yourself earlier, anyone with half a brain could see you were concocting a plan to sneak back out here.”

Lark stared. “Very well, perhaps I was not as discreet as I ought to have been. But I thought I did a fine enough job at keeping it from the others. I daresay my uncle was not aware of my desires.”

“That would not be the first time, would it?”

He’d spoken the words without guile, but he’d made his point.

For just a moment, matters between them had felt like before, when she could speak comfortably with him, playfully. But too soon, Lark was reminded of all that had happened between them—and it was too much to pretend like it hadn’t.

“Well,” she began, smoothing out her pelisse, “I thank you for your efforts to look after my well-being, but I assure you, I am quite well. You needn’t concern yourself over me any longer, Mr. Branok. Goodnight.”

She turned on her heel and made her way through the darkness, but he caught up with her, running around to stop her with both hands raised in a disarming motion. “Miss Fernside, please. Forgive me. I did not mean to cause offense. I simply have kept silent for so long, I only want…”

She stopped, folding her arms. “What, Mr. Branok? What is it you want?”

He hesitated. “A single moment of your time.”

The pleading in his tone, the softness of his words, tugged at her defenses, just like they had by the fireside when he’d first begged her forgiveness.

But she could not tear them down this time—not when her heart still needed protecting.

“I do not know if that would be wise,” she answered truthfully.

“Because you do not care to hear what I have to say?”

“No, I do care.”

“Then, why?” he pressed.

“Because my uncle thinks it unwise.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, and she could only guess what words he was withholding. “And what do you think?”

“It matters not what I think.”

“It does to me,” he answered promptly.

Lark could no longer meet his gaze. She wanted to believe him, but whispers of doubt echoed in the deepest recesses of her heart—doubt that had been planted there by Mr. Yates long ago.

Mr. Yates had partially hidden his sharp teeth and cruel claws until she’d finally dared to speak her mind.

“I cannot marry you, Mr. Yates. I will not,” she’d said.

He’d let loose in a rage, criticizing every inch of her personality and soul, then moved on to her family. She’d been crushed in the moment, but over the years, she’d discovered that the words—while unpardonable—were spoken out of his own insecurities and had nothing to do with herself.

And yet, the unsettling feelings borne from Mr. Yates’s cruelty returned to plague her. Was she truly unlovable? Was she really so strange that no one could bear to listen to her?

She hadn’t realized she’d shaken her head until Mr. Branok dipped his chin to meet her gaze.

“Do you not believe me?” he asked.

When put so plainly, she couldn’t deny it. She did believe that he cared what she thought. Ever since they’d first met, he’d listened to her and welcomed her conversation. He was the first man, aside from Father and Uncle, who genuinely seemed interested in what she had to say.

But she still couldn’t comprehend why .

“I believe you,” she responded. “But I cannot understand it.”

“You cannot understand what?”

“Why my opinion matters to you.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Because you matter to me, Miss Fernside.” He drew a step closer, his softened features just visible in the light of the moon slipping through the trees.

“I cannot tell you how I have missed your company and your friendship. I have spent the last fortnight crushed, knowing how poorly you must think of me, and I cannot bear to live another moment without at least attempting to modify those thoughts.”

His words filled every bit of her. Her defenses dispelled, making room for a poignant twinge of regret at not allowing herself to listen to him before now.

She’d promised Uncle she wouldn’t, but what good had that done? Uncle was still filled with fear concerning Mr. Branok, Mr. Branok had clearly been hurt by her actions, and Lark? Lark was more miserable than ever because she was being told what to do and what to think again .

From the moment she’d met Mr. Branok, she’d been unapologetically herself—snapping at him, correcting him, and speaking her mind—and he had responded in stride, unafraid to speak the truth back but always willing to apologize when he had been in the wrong.

And, despite it all, he still accepted her. He still wished to be near her. He had been nothing but honorable and gentlemanly from the start.

And Lark was tired of being told to believe otherwise.

“I will leave you if you still wish it,” Mr. Branok said, taking her silence as a dismissal.

But she shook her head. “No, I should like to listen to what you have to say. In truth, I have wanted to do so for weeks.”

He hesitated. “Forgive me, but if that is true, why did you not allow me to do so before now?”

Ashamed, she hung her head. “I was confused. And fearful. Uncle said many things.”

“About my alleged friendship with Mr. Drake? Or about why I was blackballed?”

“Both,” she admitted. “I was afraid that everything Uncle said was true.”

Mr. Branok was silent for a moment. “Was afraid?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin. “No matter what the truth is, no matter what Uncle says, no matter how you vex me…I cannot think poorly of you, Mr. Branok.”

His lips formed into a small smile. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that, Miss Fernside. However, I should like to address your concerns if you are so inclined.”

She nodded in silence. She was more than inclined—she was ready.

Mr. Branok drew a deep breath. “Firstly, concerning Mr. Drake—I have not spoken with the gentleman above a handful of times. After you left us at the ball, he admitted to his proposal, and while I do not know his reasons behind his actions, he appeared truly regretful for causing you any discomfort.”

A soothing warmth wrapped round Lark’s heart at the words. She had already forgiven Mr. Drake’s actions. But now…she was healing from Mr. Drake’s actions.

“Until that evening,” Mr. Branok continued, “I was entirely unaware of his desire to marry money—and entirely unaware of his connection to you.”

Further peace seeped through Lark’s limbs. She’d known the truth all along, but hearing the words from his mouth was more than validating—it was comforting.

“As for why I was blackballed,” Mr. Branok continued, “I should have told you from the start. But I was frightened of admitting to my behavior, afraid that I might disappoint you. I can only assume now that you have heard of the articles.”

Lark held her breath unconsciously, nodding. So he had done something—something that might disappoint her. But could his actions be as bad as Uncle had said, spreading false rumors and injuring others?

At once, she pushed the worrisome thoughts away. She was finished listening to words born from fear and mistrust. Instead, she would listen to her heart, to the words that brought peace to her mind—for that was how truth was distinguishable from lies.

And being around Mr. Branok always brought peace to her life.

“I did write the articles,” he began softly.

“There is no excuse for my penning them, but I will say that I was young, my parents had only just died, and I was in a very dark place. You recall me telling you how my friend was denied membership to White’s, resulting in me losing all desire to join myself? ”

She nodded, and Mr. Branok ducked his head, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck.

“Well, I did not simply lose a desire to join. I found a desire for retribution. In an act of solidarity—and I admit a hearty helping of pride—I took it upon myself to write a series of articles about the clubs in London, likening them and their members to a murmuration of starlings. Territorial. Ravaging all in their wake. Mimicking other birds and having no individual thoughts of their own. Screeching loudly so no other sounds can be heard. That sort of thing. I admit, it was childish, but it did the trick. I was blackballed from every club. Not soon after that, Lord Blackstone sought me out.”

He looked down at Lark again, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Had I known it would ever lead you to think less of me, I assure you, I would have stopped myself from publishing the articles. But I cannot regret doing so. Not when it led me to the life I’ve been able to lead thus far.”

He finished, and Lark stared up at him. Was that it? Was that all he had done?

“Are you so very appalled?” he asked with a sort of wince.

To her own surprise, Lark laughed. “Appalled? Certainly not. I’m intrigued. And, frankly, I should like to see a copy of these articles myself.”

Surprise registered across his features, then a grin spread upon his lips. “I may or may not have kept a few for posterity’s sake.”

She laughed, relief overcoming her. “That is truly all you did? No vicious rumors spread, no cruel untruths said about any individual?”

Mr. Branok pulled back. “Of course not. The articles were entirely in metaphor. I shared no lies and mentioned no names, only clubs in general. The worst thing I said was that starlings were known to suck the eggs of other birds, likening the clubs to sucking the lives from gentlemen before they could even begin to participate in the club.” He gave an awkward sort of smile.

“I took the metaphor a bit too far in that regard, I suppose.”

But Lark’s smile only grew. She knew it. She knew it. She knew the rumors had been untrue, that Mr. Branok could never do anything so unkind.

A lightness continued to fill every inch of her, an airiness lifting her heart to soaring.

“So,” Mr. Branok said, peering into her eyes through the darkness, “you are still willing to associate with me despite all of this?”

She beamed. “More than willing, sir.”

“Even if your uncle does not approve?”

“ Especially if.” Uncle Francis would simply have to take her word for it from this point forward. Mr. Branok was in her life to stay.

“Excellent,” Mr. Branok said. Then he sobered. “However, there is still one matter we must resolve.”

“What matter is that?”

“That of our challenge ending early.”

Her stomach dipped. “Oh, I see.”

All at once, her joy and elation dissipated like smoke in the air.

India. She’d forgotten about India.

He would be gone in four days’ time, and she would be left alone again.

How could she have been so stupid? Here she was, thrilled to be talking with Mr. Branok once more, to be back in her fantasy world the excursion had provided for her…only for the gentleman to be stripped from her presence again in less than a week.

How had she allowed herself to become so wrapped up in this relationship that she couldn’t even think straight? That she couldn’t protect her heart enough to shield what would inevitably damage her more than anything—being physically and emotionally separated from Mr. Branok?

She knew the reason. Her heart knew the reason. But she couldn’t admit to loving the man aloud. That would only make saying goodbye more painful.

This was why she never should have allowed herself to fall for him. This was why she’d wanted to remain single. All of this heartache, this regret, could have been avoided had her heart simply behaved.

“Do you still wish to cancel the challenge?” he asked.

Lark turned away, grateful for the darkness that provided her emotions time to settle. Yes, she loved the man. Yes, she longed for a perfect world in which she could marry him, and he could marry her—where both of their dreams could be fulfilled and carried out without issue.

But such a world did not exist.

A world in which their friendship continued, however, did exist.

With a deep breath, she faced him again. “We can continue the challenge and see who is victor on the day you leave…on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You must let me know the moment you publish your book about all your bird findings in India so I can be the first in line to purchase it.”

She’d expected a smile from him in return. Perhaps a chuckle. But when his features softened, and he fixed his attention on her, a fissure of delight stirred in her stomach.

“Miss Fernside,” he said, “have you any notion how fortunate I am to simply know you?”

A sudden emotion washed over her, a perfect mixture of love and sorrow.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them swiftly away.

She shouldn’t be feeling any more attraction to Mr. Branok.

She shouldn’t be falling in love with him any more than she already was.

But how could she not when he spoke such lovely things to her?

He took a step toward her, his intent clear as he closed the distance between them. He reached his hand to her cheek, her skin tingling with anticipation.

Snap!

A twig broke behind them, followed swiftly by voices, and Lark’s heart jumped to her throat.

They were not alone out there. If she and Mr. Branok were to be discovered…

She shot a look toward him, but he was already in motion. He seized her hand and pulled her deep into the woods.