THE RAIN SHOWED no mercy. It continued to beat against the windowpanes of the small inn with relentless rhythm, each drop echoing the storm's persistence. Inside, the fire crackled faintly, its orange and blue tongues dancing over blackened logs.
Clara sat close to it, her skirts drawn neatly around her, the warmth seeping slowly into her chilled limbs. She gazed at the flames, trying to distinguish the faint blue at their base from the golden edges. A small smile played upon her lips because of this. How childish of her, yet she had always done this, ever since she was a girl.
On rainy nights, she and her mother would sit by the hearth and do the very same. She would guess which colour burned brightest, laugh when they could not agree, and end the night wrapped in gentle conversation. The memory now rose before her eyes with such clarity that it made her chest ache.
A sad smile lingered. 'Five months and two weeks more,' she reminded herself silently. Then she shall see her mother again. She hoped her mother was receiving her treatments as promised, hoped she was growing stronger by the day. Yet hope, she had learned, was a fragile thing, it trembled even in her thoughts.
The creak of a floorboard stirred her from her reverie.
"Are you quite well?" Adrian's voice came softly from behind her.
Clara's shoulders tensed slightly. She had not noticed him return from his talk with Blake. But she willed herself to relax slightly. "I am fine," she replied in a whisper, her eyes still fixed upon the fire. The warmth comforted her more than she cared to admit.
She heard his steady footsteps draw nearer. For a moment, her breath caught and the air between them felt different, charged somehow, though neither spoke. He came to sit beside her, not too close, yet close enough that she could feel the faint pull of his presence.
She dared a glance at him. His expression was composed, the firelight casting shifting gold across his face. He was watching the flames too, his jaw set in quiet thought. Clara turned from him away quickly. Her pulse had taken an unreasonable leap, and she scolded herself for it.
Long, still, and filled with the murmur of rain moments passed. Then his voice, softer than before, broke through it.
"You were wonderful with the children today."
Her head turned slowly towards him with a puzzled look. Of all things she had expected from him, praise was not among them. "I… I was?" she stammered, certain she had misheard.
He looked at her briefly, the faintest curve of a smile softening his features. "You were," he said, his gaze falling back to the flames. "I was unaware that you had that side of you."
For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe. His tone, gentle, and almost admiring, disarmed her. What was going on with him all of a sudden? Didn't he find her irritating anymore?
"What side?" she asked quietly, studying him from beneath her lashes.
"The way you were with them," he said after a pause. "You seemed free,… different from how you are at the manor."
Clara blinked, momentarily taken aback. Free? Was this Adrian speaking? She wasn't sure whether to take it as praise or a subtle reproach. "I didn't notice I was being immodest," she murmured, lowering her gaze. "I only wished to make them happy."
He turned to her then, smiling more openly. "It was not immodest. I liked that side of you,… the one unafraid to laugh."
Her heart gave a peculiar flutter. Liked? He was looking at her differently now, without the cold indifference she had grown accustomed to. His eyes, green with traces of blue, held something warmer now, something that made her throat tighten. She looked away quickly, pretending to be occupied by the fire again.
The silence that followed was heavier than before. It pressed against her, made her fingers twist nervously in her lap.
At last, she said, to fill the space between them, "You were wonderful with the children too. I'm certain they were delighted by your visit."
A faint smile touched his lips. "You think so?"
She nodded. "I know so. You should visit more often, they would like that."
He tilted his head, considering her suggestion. "Do you like children?"
Her voice softened as she slowly said, "Very much."
"That's nice," he said, almost absentmindedly, though there was warmth beneath his words.
They fell silent again, save for the steady whisper of rain. Clara focused on the flames, trying to steady her racing heart. She should not be so affected, yet she was.
And then, without warning, his hand moved gently. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.
The world seemed to stop.
Clara turned to him sharply, eyes wide at his touch. The gesture was simple, innocent even, but the look in his eyes was not something she could easily name. Her breath came shallow, her hands trembled faintly in her lap and her heart sank as confusion etched her features. Why would he do that?
He smiled faintly, unaware, or perhaps perfectly aware, of the storm he had stirred within her.
For a moment, neither said a word. Clara was too shocked to react. After a while, she managed to say, her voice barely steady, "I… I should go to bed now."
She rose slowly, gathering her gown with careful grace, as though movement might betray her racing pulse. She wanted so much to get away from him now.
He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck in that oddly uncertain way he sometimes did. "Of course." And then he added, "You can sleep on the bed, I'll take the chair."
Her gaze followed his to the corner of the room. The chair looked dreadfully small and ill-suited for rest and a pang of guilt pricked her chest.
When she moved to lay down on the bed, he moved to lie on the chair.
Minutes passed but she could still hear him moving about, trying to settle himself upon that miserable seat. She turned her head slightly and saw him struggling to find comfort.
She sighed and closed her eyes tightly with a racing heart. "Why don't… em, we share the bed?" she asked softly, before she could lose her nerve. "It's large… enough for two."
He froze, turning to her with a raised brow. "I wouldn't—"
"It's fine," she interrupted, her cheeks burning. "The bed is big enough."
For a moment, he studied her in silence, as though weighing propriety against exhaustion. Then, with a quiet exhale, he rose from the chair and crossed the room.
Clara's heart thudded painfully as the mattress dipped under his weight. She lay stiffly on her back, staring at the ceiling, her hands clasped over her stomach. The sound of rain filled the small room.
After a while, she sighed and tried to relax.
"Good night, Adrian," she whispered at last.
"Good night, Eve," he murmured back, his voice husky.
Her heart skipped at the name he called her, reminding her once again that she was living a lie. She managed to turn to her side, but sleep did not come easily.