“But…” Honora held up a finger in warning. “… you will leave if she asks you to. Yes?”
“I will.” Allan nodded.
Slowly, Honora reached back and opened the door wide.
Allan took a small step forward, scarcely able to believe he was being given this chance. When Honora didn’t move to stop him, he moved fast. He stepped into the house, only briefly marveling at the house’s comforts and how well it was kept with small paintings on the walls and fine carpets.
He reached for the nearest door and found a sitting room, stepping inside to see that Frederica was in there.
She appeared not to have even noticed there was a carriage outside. She had been completely wrapped up in her task of putting the final touches to a silhouette portrait. She looked up at his entrance then did a double take, jerking her chin twice in his direction, for she was evidently in disbelief at his entrance.
“Allan?” she whispered.
“Freddie.”
There was sudden silence as that look between them lasted. There wasn’t anger in her expression or even fear in that moment. He could have sworn he saw something else entirely — happiness? Maybe even want?
Then he stepped forward, and the magic spell of that look was gone.
“What are you doing here!?” she snapped loudly, jumping to her feet. She nearly dropped the silhouette and scarcely managed to keep hold of it in time. She put it down on the table instead and marched toward him.
They met in the middle of the room, not quite touching, though he was dreaming of embracing her and holding her tight.
“You can’t be here. You can’t.”
“I can.” He reached out and touched her hand. “Because there are things I have to tell you, Freddie, and I beg of you to hear me out.”
* * *
Frederica’s heartbeat was thundering in her chest. She wasn’t even sure she could distinguish one beat from the next for it hammered so fast and for so long.
Allan’s hand had taken hold of hers in the gentlest of ways. He was giving her the chance to pull back from him, but she had no wish to. It meant too much to feel his touch again.
“He can’t hurt you now.” Allan’s words made her blink.
“What?”
Is he talking of Lord Wetherington? That cannot be. I never told Allan his name.
“Lord Wetherington.” At Allan’s words, Frederica made a small squeaking sound of panic.
“Tell me you didn’t go to see him. Tell me.” Frederica stepped toward him. She reached out on instinct and laid a hand on his arm, looking him all over, checking for wounds. That’s when she saw it.
Across one hand, his knuckles were bruised, and on the other, there was a thin linen bandage.
“What did you do?” Frederica said in panic.
“I made sure he will never come after you again,” Allan said, his tone deep. “Freddie, listen to me.” He raised his hand, ever so gently, and tapped his finger to the underside of her chin. It made her look up, meeting his gaze. “He threatened to hurt Dorothy then he threatened to hurt me, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she whispered. It was odd to say it out loud to Allan at last.
“He made you leave me,” Allan said, bending his head toward her.
“I had to.” Frederica reached for his bandaged hand, trailing her fingers across it. He didn’t wince. He revealed no pain. “He hurt you?”
“Ha! No, no, he did not. I hurt him,” Allan said, unfurling the bandage to show her the wound across his knuckles. It was dappled with the lightest specks of blood.
She had been on the verge of telling him to leave, of telling him that she wasn’t worth the risk of him getting hurt, but the words died on her tongue.
