Page 50 of A Touch of Charm
What a dilemma!
*
Thea stood bythe window at the far end of the hallway, the cool pane beneath her fingers grounding her as she stared into the darkened gardens. Somewhere beyond the glass, in the faint silver light of the moon, the world carried on as it always did, distant and indifferent. Inside, however, her thoughts whirled like an unruly storm. She had left Stan to rest, confident in Andre’s care, but the uneasy weight of the day still pressed against her chest. Had she attracted those dangerous attackers and led them to Stan?
With a sinking heart, she thought so. Worse even, she’d been so selfish as to run from the groom her father had chosen, thereby fueling the conflict that seemed to target her brother and her own life.
It’s all my fault.
Suddenly, the soft sound of approaching footsteps stirred the quiet. She didn’t turn, though she knew who it was without question. Andre’s presence was unmistakable, an awareness she couldn’t explain but couldn’t deny. Her breath caught, and her grip on the window tightened as the sound stopped short behind her.
“Thea.” His voice was low, carefully measured, as it always was, yet something in its quiet timbre tugged at her.
She turned slowly, heart jolting at the sight of him. He stood just a few paces away, stiff with the sort of control that made her chest ache. She searched his face, taking in the faint shadows under his dark eyes, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He held himself carefully, as though even the act of breathing might betray something he dared not reveal. Yet his eyes—they gave him away every time. There, in the fleeting moment before he schooled himself, she saw the look that tore at her. That unspoken softness seemingly reserved for her, restrained and yet achingly clear.
“You’ve spoken to Stan?” she asked quietly to match the stillness of the hall.
“Yes. He’s resting now,” he replied. “I hope so at least.” His words seemed curt, his eyes now fixed just beside her—not meeting hers directly. She noticed the way his hands had clasped behind his back, and she bit back an odd sense of frustration.
“Well, thank you for looking after him,” she said. “He needs to recover.”
“I merely fulfilled my duty,” Andre said quietly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her shoulder. “Nothing more.” His stance remained rigid, unnatural. Didn’t he know how much it hurt her to see him so formal, so impenetrable? Or perhaps he had to. Perhaps he didn’t allow himself to think beyond the rules and expectations that seemed to govern his every action.
When he didn’t speak, Thea hesitated before softly asking, “And me, then? Have you come to watch over me, as Stan requests?” She tried for a touch of levity, but her voice faltered slightly.
“You shouldn’t be wandering the halls alone until we put some guards in place,” Andre said after a pause, his gaze shifting briefly to hers before darting away again. Even that single moment brought a heat to her cheeks she couldn’t suppress.
“I’m hardly wandering,” she replied, unable to keep the note of defense from her tone. She hated how small her voice sounded just then. “Is there so much danger lurking everywhere I go?”
His lips parted, but no answer came straightaway. Instead, his brow furrowed, and his expression became unreadable—a mask, yet one that seemed to pull tighter with every second. The longer he remained silent, the worse it felt, her stomach tying itself into cold, uneasy knots.
When he finally spoke, there was a stiffness in his voice that stung. “This day has been taxing. You ought to rest.”
Thea’s breath caught at the gentleness underneath his firm words. But it wasn’t enough—not when the strain in his body and voice said so much more. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admitted quietly. “Could you stay with me?”
His gaze snapped back to hers then, and for a painful, fleeting moment, she thought she saw the true weight of it all—his turmoil, his restraint, his deep, unspoken affection. She stepped closer without meaning to, her skirts brushing the polished floor, her pulse quickening.
“It wouldn’t be proper.” His voice came low and heavy, as though the very words bore the weight of the impossibility that lay between them.
“Why do you do this?” she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper. “Why do you insist on placing walls where they are not needed?”
Andre stiffened, clearly unnerved at her approach. He dropped his gaze—a flicker downward that lingered for an instant too long before he caught himself again. Thea felt both exposed and dismissed in that single moment. She stopped, her cheeks burning, her heart wavering. Why wouldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he simply look at her and acknowledge what simmered between them, what had grown in the silence of these moments where his restraint had failed to hide him completely?
“You are a princess,” Andre said evenly, though the words felt brittle. “Your safety… your station… these things are not subjects of—”
“Of what?” she interrupted, her voice faltering but insistent. “Of choice? Of my own decision?”
His expression shifted again—tighter, colder. “Your station demands… Much. Forgive me for intruding upon it. I would not dare—should not dare to drag you down to my level.”
“Down?” Her voice came shriller than she’d intended. “Or do you mean up to the man who saved me today. Who’s standing with my brother and me against this impossible Baron von List who’s sabotaging everything nobility stands for?”
But Andre didn’t meet her gaze. So she continued even though her heart dropped further than she thought possible, the carefully erected hope she’d clung to crumbling beneath the weight of his formal reply. “You have seen only the part of the threatened princess in my life, Andre. But there’s more than—”
“None of it is for me to see.” It seemed as though he couldn’t even give her his true feelings masked in those words—only half-measures meant to protect her, or perhaps himself.
“I see,” she said softly, swallowing back the sting of tears as she stepped back. “Thank you for reminding me where I stand, Andre.”
“It would not be proper,” he said, his voice low and heavy, as though the very words bore the weight of the impossibility that lay between them. “We mustn’t…” Andre faced the wall, hung his head, and she didn’t hear the rest of what he mumbled.
