Nora closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her knees. She couldn't think about his voice. She couldn't think about the way his hands had felt on her face, warm and rough. It was a fairy tale, and she was far too cynical to believe in fairy tales.
A heavy authoritative knock echoed on the chamber door. Nora flinched.
"I'm asleep," she called out, assuming it was a maid sent by her mother to ensure she was still locked away.
The handle turned. The lock, which Nora had firmly engaged, clicked open with a sharp metallic snap. A heavy iron key was withdrawn from the other side. The door swung inward.
Nathaniel Reed stepped into the room. He was dressed in evening attire: a stark white cravat, a dark tailcoat that fit perfectly across his broad shoulders, and a waistcoat of midnight blue. He looked every inch the powerful, terrifying Duke of Aldridge. But his eyes were exactly the same as they had been in the library: tired, sharp, and focused entirely on her.
He closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was deafening in the quiet room. Nora scrambled to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat. She was wearing a simple woolen wrapper over her shift, her hair falling in a chaotic, unpinned mess down her back.
"You cannot be in here," Nora breathed, retreating a step until her back hit the cold glass of the window. "Your grace, if someone sees you, if my mother—"
"Your mother is downstairs drinking my punch and trying to convince Lord Shelby that your sister enjoys embroidery," Nathaniel said. He didn't move toward her. He stayed by the door, respecting the space, though his presence seemed to consume all the oxygen in the room. "Why are you not at the ball?"
"I am ill," Nora lied smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest. "A fever from the rain."
"You are a terrible liar, Nora."
"And you are trespassing in a lady's bedchamber. I believe that is a hanging offense in some counties."
Nathaniel's mouth curved into a faint humorless smile. He glanced at the battered trunk sitting by the door. His jaw tightened. "You packed."
"I am leaving for Yorkshire in the morning," Nora said, forcing her chin up. "It is for the best. I am returning to my role as ballast. You should return to the ballroom. Rosalind is wearing crimson. It is your favorite color, or so my mother insists."
Nathaniel let out a low, frustrated sigh. He reached into the inner pocket of his tailcoat and pulled out a thick folded sheath of legal parchment. He walked forward, crossing the faded rug, stopping only when he was less than 2 ft away from her. He held the papers out.
"What is this?" Nora asked, refusing to take them.
"This," Nathaniel said softly, "is the deed to the Yorkshire estate. Along with a document confirming the absolute dissolution of your father's debt to Lord Croft."
Nora stared at the parchment. Her brain refused to process the words. She looked from the papers to his face. "I... I don't understand."
"I bought it," Nathaniel said simply. "I sold the London townhouse this afternoon and purchased the debt. Croft is gone. The house is yours. Your mother's creditors are satisfied."
The room spun dangerously. Nora reached out and gripped the edge of the window frame to steady herself. "You sold your townhouse to pay my family's debts? Why?"
"Because you told me you were drowning," Nathaniel said, stepping closer. He reached out, taking her cold hand, and pressing the heavy parchment into her palm. He folded her trembling fingers over it. "Because you told me that if I pulled you up, your family would sink. So I fixed the boat."
Tears, hot and sudden, pricked the corners of Nora's eyes. It was too much. The sheer overwhelming reality of what he had done crushed the breath out of her. It wasn't just a grand romantic gesture. It was a ruthless, pragmatic, incredibly expensive lifeline.
"You fool," Nora whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "You are already in debt. You have tenant roofs to fix. You needed a wealthy bride, not a liability."
"I have enough land to secure a line of credit for the roofs. I don't need a wealthy bride." Nathaniel reached up, his thumb catching the tear on her cheek. "I need you."
"Why?" she demanded, her voice breaking. "Look at me. I am cynical. I am difficult. I hide behind curtains and I ruin my shoes and I don't know how to flatter you."
"That is exactly why," Nathaniel said fiercely. He stepped into her space, his hands coming up to cup her face, anchoring her to him. "Do you think I want a lifetime of flattery? Do you think I want a mirror? I want someone who looks at the ledgers and tells me the truth. I want someone who isn't afraid of the mud. I don't want a duchess, Nora. I want a partner."
He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. His breathing was unsteady, betraying the calm facade he wore for the rest of the world. "I am terrified," Nathaniel confessed, his voice a rough whisper against her skin. "I am terrified of failing this estate. I am terrified of ending up like my father. But when I am with you, the noise stops. The arithmetic stops."
Nora closed her eyes. The scent of him—clean linen, cedar, and the faint metallic tang of the cold night air—wrapped around her. The cynical armor she had worn for years, the heavy defensive shell she had built to survive the meat market, cracked down the center and fell away. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She saw the exhaustion, the fear, and the desperate, unwavering hope.