Page 78 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“It seems that the arrow came from a poacher. It wasn’t an attempt on my life at all.”
“They’ve found someone?”
“Young lad came forward and confessed. He was very apologetic about the whole thing. Poaching is illegal, of course, but Fairmont is being swayed toward leniency since the poor boy confessed. A fine and a period of servitude, no physical punishment.”
Selene wants to believe that this is all there is to it, that she overreacted. She wants to be wrong.
But she cannot shake the feeling that the Duke is covering this up. He hired someone to fire that crossbow last night, and now he has paid someone to confess to take attention off himself. It was a poor attempt, a spur-of-the-moment decision.
It doesn’t mean it won’t be the last.
Dorian looks up from his plate. “You don’t seem convinced.”
“It’s too…” Easy. Convenient.Unlikely.“Strange.”
“It’s easier to believe that someone tried to kill me?”
Selene swallows. He doesn’t know, of course, how awful the Duke is. What he’s truly capable of. “I’m being silly,” she says, dismissing her fears—at least to him.
Dorian almost seems to take offence to this. “You aren’t,” he assures her. “You’re being cautious, and I’m touched by your concern—truly. I just don’t want you to worry.”
Selene is very much afraid that that’s no longer an option, and she’s going to worry about Dorian Nightbloom until the day she dies, but she decides against telling him that. It’s too…much,especially after last night. She knows that Dorian cares for her. He is almost certainly attracted to her. If she speaks too seriously, he may feel obligated to make their marriageofficial, and she doesn’t want to force him into anything. Again. She wants to give him the freedom she never had.
It’s the only thing shecangive him.
“All right,” she says. “I’ll do my best.”
Dorian flashes her another smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says nothing more.
After the debacle of the night before, everyone is keen to get home. The road back to Ebonrose Hall is long but pleasant beneath the clear, pale blue sky. The carriage wheels crunch over the dirt road, their rhythmic sway lulling them all into a comfortable quiet. When Selene suggests stopping for tea, no one objects. The day is fine, and the journey is far from over.
They settle on a patch of grass beneath a great oak, its sprawling branches casting dappled shade. Marta lays out their provisions—bread, cheese, sweet preserves, and a well-sealed tin of tea. The scent of dried lavender and bergamot curls into the air as she pours.
After a time, Dorian excuses himself to check the horses, disappearing behind the carriage. A few moments later, Marta tuts under her breath and stands.
“Left the napkins in the carriage,” she murmurs, brushing off her skirts as she goes.
That leaves Selene alone with Soren.
She glances at him cautiously, uncertain of what she will find. The scowl is still there, but, like Dorian’s smiles earlier, it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He’s still gripping his teacup like a man expecting a fight.
Who is this strange boy before her—why does he appear from nowhere, and dislike her so much, and adore Dorian with the same passion?
Actually, that last part isn’t too hard to answer. Dorian has done much to earn adoration from many.
Selene hesitates, in the same measured tone she uses for uncertain horses, says, “It’s a fine day for travel.”
Soren’s gaze flicks to hers. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he exhales, almost a huff, but not quite.
“For once,” he says. His voice is quieter now. Less like a sword, more like the distant roll of thunder. “Wouldn’t count on it holding.”
Selene arches a brow. “Do you make a habit of expecting the worst?”
Soren huffs again, this time unmistakably amused, though the expression never quite reaches his mouth.
“Experience has taught me it’s a safer bet,” he says.
Selene takes her chances, hedging her bets on the fact that Soren is just as skeptical as to the validity of a poacher being the culprit as she is. “I’m worried,” she admits.
