“Only this morning.”
He looked at her then, truly looked, and the weight in his gaze sent a quiet warmth through her chest.
“You did not sleep,” she murmured.
“I slept,” he said. “Enough.”
She did not believe him, but she let it lie.
They turned onto the broader street that led toward the Lyon’s Den. Carts rattled with early deliveries, and most shops had yet to lift their shutters. A lingering chill clung to the shadows.
Marcus’s hand hovered near hers. Not touching, but ready. The unspoken readiness curled beneath her ribs, unsettling and strangely reassuring all at once.
“Fenwick did not return last night,” he said.
“I watched for him,” she admitted. “I kept expecting him to appear again.”
“He did not. And he won’t during the day.” Marcus’s gaze swept the street. “He prefers evenings. He prefers shadows.”
“So, he avoids mornings,” Lila said. “An advantage.”
“For now.”
He did not explain further. She did not ask. But the words settled uneasily, refusing to be dismissed.
By the time they reached the discreet entrance of the Lyon’s Den, her breath had steadied, though her pulse still fluttered in the narrow space beneath her collarbone.
Marcus stopped before the door and turned to her, his expression composed but intent.
“I want you to pay attention when you leave today,” he said. “If you notice anything unusual, someone standing too still, someone who turns away too quickly, tell me at once.”
“Marcus—”
“This is not fear,” he said. “This is clarity.”
She nodded. She understood too well to pretend otherwise.
Before she could reply, the door opened. Theseus stepped aside with a courteous bow.
“Miss Edgewood. Lord Wolfton.”
Lila entered.
Marcus followed—
And then stopped.
At the far end of the corridor, speaking in low tones with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, stood Fenwick.
Lila’s breath vanished.
Fenwick was dressed too finely for the hour, his deep blue waistcoat immaculate, gloves folded in one hand. His posture was relaxed, almost genial. But when he turned and met her gaze, his eyes warmed in a way that made her skin prickle.
She froze.
Marcus did not.
He shifted slightly in front of her. Not abruptly. Not aggressively. Just enough that Fenwick no longer had a clear view of her.