Julia and Silas froze, their eyes locking. Panic flared in Julia's chest, cold and immediate. Alistair was back. Sooner than she'd dared to imagine. He hadn't even paused before demanding her whereabouts.
"He can't find you here," Julia whispered, her voice tight with urgency. She snatched Silas's still-damp jacket, thrusting it at him. "Quickly! Hide!"
Silas's eyes, usually so composed, widened fractionally. He was surprised, not by her command, but by Alistair's abrupt return. "He comes to your room?" he murmured, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He moved, but a sudden wave of dizziness, sharper than before, washed over Julia. Her vision blurred, the room tilting precariously.
She swayed, her legs suddenly weak beneath her. Her hand flew to her head, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
Before she could fall, Silas's hand shot out, strong and steady, catching her arm, preventing her collapse. His touch was firm, grounding. "Julia?" he asked, his voice low, concern lacing his tone. "Are you alright?"
She blinked, shaking her head, trying to clear the haze. "I'm fine," she insisted, pulling away, though her knees still felt like jelly. She looked at him, her urgency paramount. "You must hide. Now. Go!"
Silas held her gaze for another beat, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Then, with a swift, almost soundless movement, he slipped back into the bathing chamber, pulling the door shut just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Julia took a deep, shaky breath, straightened her dress, and forced herself to walk towards the door, trying to project an air of calm.
She descended the grand staircase, her heart hammering against her ribs. The dizziness was a dull throb behind her eyes now, a persistent reminder of the unknown tea. As she reached the main hall, her gaze swept over the figures gathered.
Alistair stood by the towering fireplace, still in his travel coat, his dark hair slightly disheveled from the journey. He was undeniably handsome, his presence filling the hall with an almost palpable intensity. Finch stood beside him, rigid and observant as ever. And then, to Julia's surprise, she saw Lady Kingswell. Alistair's formidable, haughty relative, whom Julia had offended on her first day. Lady Kingswell stood off to the side, her expression a familiar mixture of disdain and suspicion directed squarely at Julia.
Alistair turned, his piercing blue eyes finding Julia instantly. A shadow crossed his face, quickly replaced by a charming, almost relieved smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. "Julia," he said, his voice a smooth baritone, rich with a carefully constructed warmth. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you'd run away in the night."
"Alistair," Julia said, managing a faint smile, trying to sound genuinely pleased to see him. "Welcome back. Your journey was swift, it seems." She tried to sound breezy, nonchalant.
He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on her face, then her bandaged hand. "Swifter than anticipated. And you, my dear cousin, how fares your hand? And your… well-being?" His voice softened on the last words, but there was an underlying current of scrutiny. His eyes, though charming, were far too knowing.
Julia instinctively touched her bandaged hand. "It's much better, thank you," she replied, offering a tight smile. She felt his gaze, sharp and assessing, and knew he saw more than she let on.
Alistair's smile tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing. He took her uninjured hand, his thumb tracing a slow, possessive line over her knuckles. "I told Finch to ensure you remained in your room, to rest that hand until it was fully healed. Yet, I found you… not in your room. Why did you disobey me, Julia?" His voice was still soft, but the underlying steel was unmistakable.
Julia's gaze flickered to Finch, who stood impassively, his eyes fixed on some distant point. He had reported her. Just as she had expected. A fresh wave of indignation mixed with her fear. She knew he was a man of his word, for better or worse.
"I… I simply felt the need for fresh air, Alistair," Julia stammered, trying to conjure a plausible lie. "The house can feel… stifling. And my hand truly is recovering well. I just wanted to stretch my legs." It sounded weak, even to her own ears.
Alistair's grip on her hand tightened, just perceptibly. His eyes, the startling blue of a winter sky, pierced through her flimsy excuse. A flicker of something cold, possessive, passed through them. "Don't bother, Julia," he said, his voice still low, almost a whisper, but laced with an unsettling authority. "I always know when you're lying. Don't even try. Tell me the real reason."
The command in his voice, the unnerving certainty, left her speechless. She looked at him, feeling a sudden surge of resentment. She couldn't tell him the real reason. She couldn't tell him about her nightmare, about the fountain, about Finch's threat, or about Silas.
"I… I couldn't sleep," Julia confessed, choosing a truth that hid a deeper one. "My mind was restless. After… after the screams from the garden last night. I needed to escape the walls for a moment." She watched him, waiting for his reaction to the mention of the screams.
Alistair's brow furrowed, a practiced expression of concern. He glanced at Finch, who remained unmoving. "Screams?" Alistair repeated, his voice smooth. "My dear Julia, I assure you, Blackwood Hall is a most peaceful residence. Perhaps your dreams are more vivid than usual." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, as if swatting away a troublesome fly.
"Dreams?" Lady Kingswell interjected, her voice sharp, dripping with false sympathy. She stepped forward, her expensive silks rustling. "Or perhaps just another dramatic display, Lord Blackwood? It seems your… guests… are prone to such hysterics. A lack of discipline, perhaps. Or perhaps it is merely a habit of those from… less refined backgrounds." She cast a sneering glance at Julia. "She insulted me, Alistair. Utterly disrespectful."
Alistair's grip on Julia's hand tightened, almost painfully. His gaze snapped to Lady Kingswell, and the charming veneer slipped, revealing a flash of steel in his eyes. "Lady Kingswell," he said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. "You are not a guest in my home. You arrived unannounced. You sent no messenger, no letter. You are not welcomed here."
Lady Kingswell gasped, her face reddening with outrage. "But Alistair! I am your relative! I have come to see how you fare after… after Marian's tragic passing. My condolences, dear boy, are profound." Her voice was sickly sweet, but her eyes, darting to Alistair, held a desperate, calculating glint.
Alistair let out a short, humorless laugh. It was a cold sound that grated on Julia's nerves. "Firstly," he retorted, his voice cutting through her pretense like a whip, "you are not my relative. You are related to me by marriage, and your husband, my distant cousin, is dead. Secondly, you never cared for me or Marian. You did not attend our wedding, nor did you ever once visit Blackwood Hall to make Marian's acquaintance. So, I suggest you cease this charade and tell me precisely why you have chosen to grace my doorstep with your presence." He paused, his blue eyes raking over her, utterly devoid of sympathy. "Is it money, Lady Kingswell?"
Lady Kingswell's jaw dropped. She sputtered, a strangled protest forming in her throat. "How dare you, Lord Blackwood! I am insulted!"
Alistair ignored her theatrics. "I will send a substantial sum to your bankers, Lady Kingswell," he stated, his voice chillingly calm. "Enough to alleviate your… recent misfortunes, I imagine. In return, I expect you to never again step foot in Blackwood Hall. Finch," he added, turning slightly, without breaking eye contact with the flustered woman, "arrange a carriage. Immediately. One that will take Lady Kingswell directly to her estate."
Lady Kingswell, utterly humiliated, stammered a few more indignant protests, but the cold finality in Alistair's voice left no room for argument. She shot Julia a venomous glare, her eyes narrowed to slits. "You mark my words, Miss Harrow," she spat, her voice laced with malice, "this house will consume you, just as it consumed your cousin! You think you are clever, but you are nothing but a meddling child."
Alistair's jaw clenched, his charming façade cracking. His eyes flashed, a dark, dangerous fire igniting in their depths. He closed them for a brief moment, taking a slow, measured breath, reining in the visible anger. It was a raw, primal control, and it sent a shiver down Julia's spine.
Just as Alistair opened his eyes, regaining his composure, the dizziness returned to Julia with renewed force. It was a sickening lurch, a sudden darkening at the edges of her vision. Her head swam, and she instinctively clutched at Alistair's arm, desperate for something to steady her.
Alistair's gaze softened instantly, his anger at Lady Kingswell forgotten as he turned his full attention to Julia. His hand moved from her arm to her waist, steadying her. "Julia, you are quite pale," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern now. "Have you eaten this morning?"
Julia hesitated. Elsie had brought breakfast, yes. But she hadn't eaten it. She couldn't bring herself to drink Finch's tea, and the thought of food had been far from her mind with Silas in the bathing chamber and the threat of Alistair's return hanging over her. She didn't want to lie to Alistair, not when he was looking at her like that, with such intense scrutiny, such apparent care.
"No," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I… I haven't."
Alistair's frown deepened. He placed a gentle hand on her back, guiding her towards the dining room. "Come. You must eat. You cannot let yourself waste away in this house. Strength is vital." His voice was a soft command, his touch firm, guiding her forward. He led her to the grand dining table, already laid out for breakfast, and pulled out a chair for her.
"Eat, Julia. And regain your strength. Afterwards," he said, his eyes darkening, holding hers with an intensity that promised no escape, "you can tell me precisely how you came to have those marks on your body."