“Not gossip as much as a statement about your circumstances. That is, if you are, in fact, a widower.” She paused. “Are you?”

God, she was fearless.

He couldn’t name a single person, including the woman who’d given him life or the brother whose blood he shared, who’d ever think of speaking so freely and plainly about Dinah.

Mayhap that was why he found himself answering her. “I am.” Val rubbed a hand down the side of his cheek.

“Did you love her very much?”

He stilled, his gaze locked ahead. “I did,” he said quietly. “I loved her with all I was.” And with her passing, the parts of him that had existed had all died. The light within him had been extinguished, and all the warmth inside had gone cold. “It is a loss I will never, ever recover from.”

A hand covered his, warm and soft, a touch that was delicate and unhesitant, and Val looked down.

Odd, he’d been so sure he’d only ever be cold, and yet there was only heat at this woman’s gentle touch.

“I am sorry.”

Sorry.

At Dinah’s passing, how many notes had been sent or condolences offered, where countless people had said the very words this woman now spoke?

“I trust those words are incredibly . . . empty,” she said softly. “But then, when presented with such a loss, what words are there?”

None. There were none.

“Do not let it die,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Wake periodically and stoke the flames; otherwise, it will go out.”

“You’re leaving,” she said.

Did he imagine the regret in her voice?

Nay, he didn’t.

From her every thought to every emotion, the lady was an open book.

“I am.”

“Of course you are,” she said on a rush, her cheeks pinkening in an endearing little blush.

She was afraid to be alone.

The person he’d been wouldn’t have given a damn because she was a stranger, and even if she weren’t, she certainly wasn’t his problem.

So what was it, then, that held him to the floor, hesitant to leave?

He drew back.

Hesitant to leave?

What madness was this?

“Myrtle,” he said, grabbing his hat and jamming it atop his head.

The young lady inclined hers. “Val.” And he’d wager the emphasis she placed on his given name was a statement more than anything about the formality he’d resurrected between them.

With that he left, all but racing back to his household, fearing that if he did not get some distance between them, then he’d never manage the feat.

He shut the door to his townhouse and leaned against the panel.

Seated beside him, Horace cocked his head.

“This is for the best,” Val said tightly.