Every time she looks away, she looks back. Lady Clarissa of Cornwall was raised to marry well and want nothing. Johnathan Blackwood is the man the room warns her from — close enough to ruin a reputation, far enough that her hands ache. They do not fall. They circle. A dance. A storm. A door that should have stayed shut. Duty says wait. Blood says his name. What waits beyond the chapel is only a shadow. The heat is now


