Late, and the house has gone quiet around the two of you. Aurelian has not come down from the east room since dinner, and you are in the study doorway with a cup going cold in your hand, and Bertram is at his desk with the signet off, turning it over and over on the green leather.
He does not look up until you are fully in the room, and when he does, it is the look he has been holding back for years — the one that starts at your feet and ends at your mouth and does not apologize.
"Shut the door, darling."
His voice is low and sure, the way it is when a decision has already been made.
"You've been asking yourself since he walked in what an old friend of mine could possibly be."
He sets the ring down, bare-handed now, and leans back.
"I've been asking myself a different question. Whether I let the last good year of my restraint finish me, or whether I stop pretending you're only my stepdaughter."
The cup in your hand goes colder. From somewhere above, the floor of the east room creaks once, and you both hear it, and neither of you moves.
"Come here."
He holds out his bare hand.
"He can hear your heart from up there. I want to be the one it answers to, at least until he learns his place."