The silence hung agonizingly.
Amelia remained still, her hand closing around the rim of her teacup as she watched the woman opposite her.
Clara.
A name she had never known. A name that seemed to mean something, from the tension that passed over Claude's face.
The woman was lovely in a queenly kind of way, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders and her blue eyes flashing with some unreadable quality. She was confident in a way that indicated she knew what kind of impression her arrival was going to make.
But what was really disquieting to Amelia was the manner in which Claude was gazing at her.
Not warmly.
Not even angrily.
Just a cool, guarded silence.
It was the same expression he had worn when Amelia first married him—before everything began to change between them.
Claude finally broke the silence.
"You had nowhere else to go?" His voice was measured, betraying nothing.
Clara let out a soft breath, nodding. "I… I am in trouble, Claude."
Claude leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the wood in thought. "You'll have to be more specific than that."
Clara hesitated, as if debating whether she should say more in front of Amelia.
Amelia, of course, refused to look away.
If Clara expected her to excuse herself, she would be sorely disappointed.
The other woman let out a long sigh, pushing a hand over her chest. "I am in need of protection. My husband is deceased, and his enemies are after me."
Husband?
Amelia was surprised at the brief flash of relief she experienced with the revelation.
Claude's lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smirk. "Your husband. The one you left me for?"
Amelia blinked.
Clara winced.
Oh.
Now all the pieces started falling into place.
Clara had meant something to Claude once. Someone he had, perhaps, loved. And still, she'd left him—in favor of some other man.
Clara looked down. "I did something wrong."
Claude snorted harshly. "So you pay me a call now, years later, looking for me to make it all right?
Amelia anticipated that Clara would wither under his brusque tone.
But instead, she advanced. "I know I have no business asking you for anything, but I really don't have anyplace else to turn. The men who murdered my husband will be after me next."
Claude said nothing.
It was impossible to guess what he was thinking, but Amelia could sense the struggle taking place within him.
He was a man of honor.
He wouldn't let an easygoing glance pass when the one on his end might require his attention.
And not because they might have shared more than conversation a long time ago.
This thought sent an odd feeling settling in Amelia's chest.
"Claude," Clara whispered. "Please."
The way she said his name. Amelia did not like that at all.
Claude breathed out slowly. Then, after a very long moment, he turned to the servant.
"Prepare a room for Lady Clara."
Amelia bristled.
Clara smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Claude. Really."
Claude said nothing. He merely stood up from his chair, his expression inscrutable. "You must be exhausted from your journey. I will have someone serve you food."
And with that, he walked out of the room without looking back.
Clara turned to Amelia next, her head cocked slightly. "You have to be Amelia."
There was something too evaluating about her look, as if she were measuring Amelia up.
Amelia set her chin, refusing to appear anything but calm. "I am."
Clara hummed. "You're not what I thought."
Amelia arched an eyebrow. "Neither are you."
Clara's smile was tight. Fond. "I see why he married you."
Amelia maintained a neutral expression, but within her something pricked up.
She never had much cared for what others said about her marriage previously. It had been a business arrangement, an affair of convenience.
But now?
The idea of someone like Clara judging her position alongside Claude was uncomfortable.
"I hope we shall get along," Clara said in fake sweetness.
Amelia smiled back, no less fake. "I don't think so."
And with that, she rose and went out of the room.
—
She discovered Claude in his study, standing by the fireplace holding a drink.
"You invited her to stay," Amelia stated bluntly.
Claude groaned, rubbing his temple. "I didn't have much of a choice."
Amelia folded her arms. "Of course you did."
He glanced at her then, his dark eyes shadowed. "Would you have me send her to her death?"
She paused.
No.
For all the discomfort Clara's presence caused her, Amelia was not so heartless.
Nevertheless, she resented the notion of Claude being responsible for a woman who had left him in her wake.
"You still care for her," Amelia said softly, trying to keep her tone in check.
Claude's eyes narrowed. "No."
It was swift. Unwavering.
Amelia didn't know why, but that response caused a strange sense of warmth to spread through her chest.
"I don't hate her," Claude said, turning his face away. "But I do not love her. Not any longer."
Amelia swallowed, feeling for some reason as if she had moved too close to the precipice.
Before she could utter another word, Claude took a step closer to her, bridging the gap between them.
His hand rose, sweeping a fallen lock of hair back behind her ear.
His caress was fleeting. Brief. But long enough to cause her heart to falter.
"She is my past, Amelia," he whispered.
"Not my present."
Amelia met his eyes.
She should have spoken.
She should have backed away.
But she didn't.
And for the first time since Clara's arrival, Amelia felt that she had already emerged victorious.