“Not all night, I hope,” Lila said, finding a smile she could manage.
“Almost.”
She laughed softly. The first full breath she had taken since dawn.
Marcus watched her closely, his attention steady and unwavering, like warmth held just shy of touch.
The lesson began.
Henry was brightertoday, more confident, more fluid. Lila guided him through a new pattern, her voice as gentle as the light falling across the keys.
Marcus should have been watching only Henry. He noticed everything else.
The way Lila’s shoulders tightened when footsteps shifted beyond the door. The faint tremor when she adjusted the sheet music. The glance she sent, quick and involuntary, toward the corridor’s shadows.
When Henry attempted a difficult transition, she leaned forward, demonstrating with careful grace.
“Float here,” she murmured. “Let the hand follow your breathing. Yes… like that.”
Henry tried again, and the notes smoothed into something close to music.
Lila clapped once with delight. “Perfect.”
Henry beamed.
Marcus’s chest tightened painfully. This room, this woman, had given Henry more life in a fortnight than Marcus had managed in months.
But Lila paid the cost of that steadiness.
When Henry practiced a scale on his own, Marcus moved quietly to her side.
“Someone troubled you this morning.”
Lila stiffened. “No one spoke to me.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Her breath faltered. She kept her gaze on the keys. “He followed me.”
Marcus’s blood went cold. “Fenwick?”
“A carriage behind me for three streets,” she whispered. “His driver. I am certain.”
The last of Marcus’s hesitation burned away.
“Did he approach you?”
“No.”
“Did you turn around?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She exhaled, unsteady. “I do not know how to stop him.”
Marcus lowered his voice until only she could hear. “You will not have to.”