There were only two paths.
And she didn’t know which one to take.
Blake stood atthe edge of the garden, the looming maze before him, its twisted paths mirroring the tangled mess in his heart and mind. The air was thick with the various scents of plant life, woven with the vivid whispers of last night’s mistake. His gaze traced the entrance to the maze as if it could offer an answer, a solution, an escape.
But there was none.
Not from this.
Not from her.
Crawling through a few holes might offer a way out of the maze, but there are no such convenient escapes in life.
“Still brooding, I see.” Bishop’s voice cut through the silence, steady and matter-of-fact, as he approached. “And such a beautiful day to brood, too. I take it the ball went all beyond expectation, and now you are sour at all the attention Lady Rosilee attracted.”
Blake refused to answer, not even sparing the man a glance.
But the man didn’t stop. “Punishing yourself again, are you?”
“You think I deserve anything less?”
“No one’s asking what you deserve. But I would ask you what you want.”
Want.
Such a small word for something that clawed at his chest with relentless, burning insistence. His mind filled with Rosilee—her body under his, her breath against his skin, her hands dragging over his back. It was all so bloody vivid—he shuddered as though he were in that moment again right now. She had been everything. Every damned thing he ever thought he wanted.
But she was also everything he feared he could—and would—ruin. If he hadn’t already. He should never have touched her.
Not like that.
And yet, his whole body burned with want even now—wanting her touch once more.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” Bishop said. “Just admit it already. You want her. You love her. You can’t live without her.”
“She deserves better than me.” She deserved a title, a man, that wouldn’t sully her.
“And what about what the lady wants?”
Blake winced at the words. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What does then?”
“That I don’t ruin her by even breathing the same air.” His chest throbbed. All he could do now was not ruin her any more than he already had.
Bishop snorted. “You give yourself too much credit. Lady Rosilee is no wilting flower. Your breath won’t be able to ruin her.”
Blake’s fists clenched at his sides. Bishop didn’t understand. Last night he gave in. He took what he wanted. The beast inside him had its way, and now... now, she was tethered to him in ways that went beyond mere passion, ways that she shouldn’t be. Ways that damned her tohim—and all that came with it.
Blake turned sharply, finally meeting Bishop’s gaze, the suffocating grasp of guilt sinking into his bones. “How could I marry her? How could I tie her to the name of Crane when my father’s legacy still taints it? I have nothing to offer her. She would be better off with someone like Stagbourne.”
Bishop shook his head. “I hope you do not regret this decision, old chap. And that you one day know that your father’s sins aren’t yours.”
Blake scoffed bitterly. “Aren’t they? I carry his name. His blood. If I marry Rosilee, I’ll drag her into the shadow of a man who destroyed lives, crushed souls, and left a legacy of ruin in his wake. I’ll taint her with all that darkness. Just like my father did to my mother. I refuse to do that to her.”
Bishop studied him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re a fool.”
