The manor slumbered, but Arabella was wide awake.
It had been a week since she and Alexander had returned, and every night since, they had stolen moments beneath the watchful eyes of her father's walls.
A glance across the dinner table. A brief brush of hands as they passed in the corridor. A murmured word, lingering in the air like the last note of a song.
But tonight, the silence of the manor was different. It felt charged, humming with something unsaid.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor. The candle on her nightstand flickered as she reached for her cloak, pulling it tightly around her shoulders before easing open the door.
The hallway was empty.
Her father had retired to his chambers hours ago, and the servants had long since gone to bed.
She stepped forward, heart pounding, each footstep a whispered rebellion against the rules that sought to bind her.
At the end of the corridor, a shadow moved.
Arabella stilled, her breath catching in her throat.
And thenâ
"Arabella."
The voice was a song without music, a whisper of longing that sent shivers down her spine.
Alexander.
She turned toward him, her fingers trembling as she reached for his hand in the dim candlelight.His grip was firm, warm, steady.
"You came," she breathed.
His lips twitched into a soft, knowing smile. "Did you ever doubt me?"
Her heart ached with the weight of how much she missed him.
"We cannot stay here,"he murmured, glancing down the hall. "Your father's hounds are too eager to sniff out rebellion."
"Then whereâ"
He pulled her gently, guiding her toward a side door she had not even noticed was ajar.
The library.
Arabella hesitated only for a second before following him inside.
The air smelled of old parchment and candle wax, the soft glow of the hearth casting dancing shadows along the bookshelves.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Alexander turned to her, his gaze dark with longing.
"How many nights must I steal you away before you are mine again?"
Her breath hitched.
"I was never unyours,"she murmured.
His fingers brushed against her cheek, his touch reverent, as if she were something fragile,something holy.
"Then tell me this is not a dream," he whispered.
She reached up, pressing her palm against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"It is not a dream."
His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply let out a breathâone that carried all the words he could not say aloud.
For a moment, they simply stood there, lost in the quiet, in the flickering light of the fire.
And then, slowly, carefully,Alexander reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips.
"You are the flame in my darkness, Arabella," he murmured. "The ink that stains my every page. The breath in my lungs, the starlight in myâ"
She laughed softly, tilting her head. "Must you always speak in poetry?"
He smirked. "It is the only language I know when I look at you."
She shook her head, but her heart swelled with the beauty of his words.
"I cannot bear this distance between us," she admitted.
He exhaled sharply, his forehead coming to rest against hers. "Then let us break it, if only for tonight."
Arabella closed her eyes,reveling in the warmth of his breath against her skin.
It would never be enoughâthese stolen moments, these whispered confessions in the dark.
But for now, it would have to be.
Because in this moment, they belonged to no one but each other.
And that, she decided, was enough.
For now.