The scent of old paper and ash hung thick in the air like a heavy fog as Lady Eveline Harrow stepped quietly into the library of her family's Mayfair estate. The rain tapped against the tall arched windows, a rhythm that once soothed her, now, only deepened the unrest tightening in her chest. She crossed the room with the intent of losing herself within the comfort of ink and parchmentโbut instead, it was memory her mind decided to drift away in...
Her fingers trailed over the spines of forgotten histories and faded epics, but it wasn't pages she saw.
It was him.
Sornen...
The name alone felt like an echo of a wound that hadn't quite closed. She hadn't spoken it aloud in a year, but it had lived beneath her skin all the same. Since his 'exile' from polite society, his name had returned to her in whispersโa brawl in Whitechapel, a duel behind the iron gates of Briar Lane, a man in the shadows with eyes that once looked at her like she was something holy.
She had told herself he was no longer that boy...
That she had done what she must...
That she had no choice...
She was protecting her heart... and her soul...
Scandal she could have survived, but to have his cousin's words in her ear of what he had said of her, she had made the hardest decision of her young life to simply, walk away.
But now... Sebastian.
Her brother, her only remaining sibling, stood at the edge of ruin, dragged into scandal by a duel that had drawn the wrong eyes. Since Sebastian lay abed, still unconscious from the near-death beating he had received, there was only one weapon left
And it wore a ruined noble's face.
Sornen's cousin, Mara, a thin-lipped girl with quick hands and eyes too sharp for service, had said he might listenโif she went to him. She only needed to meet with him. The price would come later, she was sure of that.
But standing now, in the hush of the Harrow library, her thoughts betrayed her...
Not of deals or strategy, but of the boy who had once pressed a stolen kiss to her palm like a secret too dangerous to speak.
And of the words his cousin had claimed he had said, the cruel and final words that had made her walk away.
"She's only good for her coin....not really my type, but once she's wedded bedded there's no reason I can't peruse the lovelies more suited to my tastes..."
And then, right after Harold's accident that took her entire family by surprise, his final words cut her the most...
"I've no use for women who speak of love and run at the first stain of ruin."
She had never asked him if it was true.
Now, she might have to.
And what terrified her most wasn't his sword, nor the price he might name โ but the way her heart still beat harder at the thought of his voice in the dark.
She had reached for Lycidas, not for comfort, but for rhythm, something in its meter that might steady the disquiet in her bones. But her eyes glazed over the verse. Instead, her mind, traitorous and unrelenting, led her backward.
It had been an autumn fรชte at Harrow Hall, when the air still clung to warmth and lanterns glowed golden across the garden hedges. She'd worn blue silkโnothing too daringโbut she remembered the ribbon tied at her throat, soft and careless, fluttering as she moved. Her mother had fussed about propriety. Her brother had teased her about catching the eye of the wrong sort.
And then he hadโSornen Gaitling.
Not the eldest, nor even the favoured son, but he had moved through the gathering like someone who belonged nowhere and yet owned every space he stepped into. His eyesโsharp, almost cruel in their precisionโhad landed on her with something akin to mischief, possibly something more like awe. When the ribbon slipped from her neck as she turned too quickly, it was he who stepped forward.
No servant. No whispered call. Sornen had bent and picked it up himself.
"M'lady, your armour's come loose. You shouldn't wear something that might take flight," he'd said, voice low, smooth, almost teasing. "It might find someone braver."
He'd said it with a smirk, but his fingers had brushed hers as he passed it back. A trace of contact, a spark that burned longer than it should have. The blush that had bloomed on her cheeks then was the kind that stayed, even in memory. And his eyesโGod, those eyesโstorm-dark and sincere, like they could see past the pleats in her gown and into something quieter, something truer.
And when she'd glanced back that night over her shoulderโhe had already been watching her.
From then on, it had been stolen glancesโlong, smouldering ones when no one was watching, through ballroom crowds, garden tea parties and the like. Notes passed under the edge of tea saucers or tucked between the pages of books. His cousin, always a step ahead, had ferried them between rooms like a silent accomplice.
"You look lovely today. Your frown is cruel to the morning light."
"You looked like the storm tonight."
"If I could duel the stars to give you peace, I would."
"I'd suffer damnation for another minute in your presence."
"Say the word, Eveline..."
She had kept every single one. Locked in a little brass box beneath her vanity.
But the past was a haunting place, and the presentโฆ colder.
A quiet knock broke through the memory shattering the moment.
"M'lady?"
The voice was soft, and Eveline turned to see the Gaitling cousin, Mara, standing in the half-light beyond the shelves, her dark dress making her near-invisible among the shadows, though one could see her apron was dusted with ash from the hearths she'd seen to, but her dark eyes were alert, her tone hushed as she approached. Sharp of cheek and quicker with her tongue than most servants dared, Mara had proven far more useful than any lady's maid. She was also loyalโto coin and to blood.
"Forgive the intrusion. Your father's gone to bed for the night. He took the laudanum, so he'll sleep deeply. The staff has turned in. You won't be missed for some hours," Mara said, glancing around before stepping closer. "He'll see you, but you'll have to come alone. And cloaked. The placeโฆ" her mouth twisted, "It's no rose garden. If they see a Harrow crest, it'll be gossip by sunrise."
Eveline nodded, then rose, smoothing the creases from her skirt with practised grace. "You're certain?"
"I poured the glass myself, but... no," Mara replied, her eyes narrowing with something almost like pity. "You're desperate. That's worse."
"But you'll need to go alone."
Eveline stilled. "Alone?"
Mara nodded. "He made it clear. No guards. No footmen. You go cloaked. You speak with him, or you don't. But he'll not come to Harrow, not unless it's by swordpoint."
A moment passed. The words hung heavy, yet Eveline only nodded. She turned to the coat rack by the hearth, selecting the darkest cloak she ownedโ thick wool, hooded, lined with velvet.
"I suppose he hasn't changed," she murmured, fastenings clicking beneath her fingers. "Still proud. Still impossible."
Mara gave her a sidelong look. "Still yours, if you ask me."
She said nothing, only turned and moved to the back door โ the one that opened out into the hedged garden where no one would see a cloaked figure vanish into the night. Her heart beat hard against her ribs as she tucked the coin-laden reticule into the inside pocket of her cloak. Enough for a sword, if not a crown. Enough to tempt a duelist with debts and demons.
But would it be enough for him?
The wind had turned colder by the time she stepped from the hired carriage, the driver instructed to wait three streets away. The alley reeked of smoke, spirits, and the grime of desperation. Eveline moved swiftly, her cloak drawn close, riding boots soft against the cobblestones slick with recent rain.
Ahead, the low amber glow of lanterns flickered above the warped sign of a place known only in whispers: The Hollow Hartโwhere rakes and ruin met in drink and blood. It was a drinking hell, the kind of place no lady of her name should ever walk into. The door to the hellhouse opened with a push that groaned like a dying man. Heat, sweat, and the sour reek of gin poured out. Inside, laughter cracked like whips. Men with stained gloves and broken noses sat in heavy smoke, wagering coin and teeth on blood and bile.
With her hood pulled low. No one looked twiceโnot yet.
But she wasn't here as Lady Eveline Harrow.
She was here for the man behind the name she still whispered in the dark.
And whatever price he askedโฆ she would listen.
Even if it cost her more than coin.
She didn't need to ask where he was. She felt it.
There, in the back, seated like a king among ruinsโSornen, with a glass in one hand, the shadow of a fight on his knuckles, and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He looked up.
And their eyes metโfor the first time in a very long time.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
