VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XII.IN CONFIDENCE
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace. Marcus stood by the window, his silhouette dark against the gray, churning channel. Edris's revelation—that her engagement had been dead since August—had hit him like a physical blow. For months, he had been wandering the capitals of Europe, nursing a secret, agonizing love for a girl he believed was untouchable. Now, the wall was gone.
He buttoned little Bundle, his Pomeranian, into a miniature coat, and they stepped out onto the promenade. The salt air was biting, and the walk toward Brighton was mostly silent. Marcus was miles away, his mind reeling with the implications of her freedom, while Edris, unaware of the storm raging in his heart, felt a pang of disappointment at his distraction. She assumed he was just bored with her company.
They returned as the winter dusk fell. Over tea, Edris pressed him again about the ski trip. "Wengen won't be the same without you, Seton. You're our star performer."
"I'm a fool on skis, Edris. You all just like to watch me stumble," he teased, though his mind was elsewhere. He still couldn't promise to go. The trauma of his last departure—the sudden, painful realization that he had to run from his feelings for her—was still too fresh.
When the curtains were drawn and the lights were low, he turned back to the question of her engagement. "You say it's really over? For good?"
"Yes," she said, her voice catching. "I couldn't take the deception anymore. He was playing me, Seton. I spent six months trying to be patient, trying to fix him, but he was hollow. My idol is shattered."
Marcus felt a surge of protectiveness so intense it almost startled him. He crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder, light as a feather. "I never knew, Edris. I truly thought you were happy. Had I known... I would have been there."
She looked up at him, her gray eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I wanted to tell you. I felt like you were the only one who actually saw me, but you kept avoiding me. You were always leaving, always busy."
"I was a fool," he murmured. "I thought I was being a gentleman by keeping my distance, by not being a burden when you had your life with him. I thought I was de trop—the unwelcome third party."
Edris let out a soft, sad laugh. "You were never that. You were my kindest friend."
As the conversation deepened, the barriers between them began to dissolve. Marcus found himself speaking with an openness that terrified him. He spoke of his own nature—how he had always considered himself proof against love, a "woman-hater" in the eyes of his critics, a man who viewed passion as a childhood disease.
"I'm a hard, bitter man, Edris," he said, his hand still resting on her hair. "My life is a series of schemes and shadows. You're young, you're athletic, you have the whole world in front of you. You need someone stable. I'm just... a nomad."
"I'll never love again," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Lionel killed it."
Marcus leaned over, his heart hammering against his ribs. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to tell her that the world hadn't ended, that he would be her protector, her confidant, her everything—but he held back. He was terrified that his "Architect" nature—the cold, calculating man who moved governments like chess pieces—would frighten the fragile girl sitting by his fire.
"You must rise again," he urged, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. "You are more than this heartbreak. I will always be your friend—your adopted uncle, your mentor, whatever you need."
"You're not a woman-hater, Seton," she whispered, looking up at him. "I remember what you told me in Wengen... about Elaine."
Marcus stiffened. He'd told her of his long-term friendship with Elaine, the Countess of Lyddington, in a moment of vulnerability he now deeply regretted.
"That was a mistake to mention," he said sharply.
"Was it? Is it true you never loved her?"
"Frankly, yes," Marcus replied. "Ours was a Platonic bond, a long, devoted friendship. She was my anchor during some of my darkest trials. She was like me—level-headed, intuitive, perhaps a bit of a schemer."
"A schemer?" Edris asked, her interest piqued. "What do you mean?"
Marcus froze. He'd stepped onto thin ice. Elaine hadn't just been a friend; she'd been his unofficial intelligence asset in the high-society circles he couldn't penetrate.
"I meant... she was sharp," he faltered, trying to backtrack. "She could anticipate moves. She understood the world. Perhaps I was the one doing the scheming. It's hard to say."
He saw Edris watching him, her eyes searching for the truth. He realized then that he was walking a razor's edge. He was a man who lived two lives: the dashing novelist in the light, and the man who held the keys to the Empire's darkest secrets in the dark. If he told Edris the truth about who he really was, he would either save her—or lose her forever.