The look they exchanged now was one of wariness, want and an aching despair that it wasn’t going to happen. That nothing was going to happen. Because of Helena.
‘It won’t work,’ he said quietly.
‘I know.’
‘I have to find her, Carenza.’
‘Yes.’ Both were tense, both holding back, and then he opened his hands and released her.
‘Come on, back to the house—if I can give you nothing else,’ he added almost inaudibly, ‘I can at least offer you a warm fire.’
The least? she wondered bleakly. Or all?
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