The next morning, a dense fog rolled in, casting an eerie, dreamlike veil over Dalmeny House. Its towers and crenellations, usually bold against the sky, now vanished into the haze, leaving behind only dim outlines.

The mist crept close, muffling sounds and clinging to every stone as though the house itself were hiding from the world.

I leaned out the window, feeling the cool, damp air settle against my skin, a stark chill that hinted at the wet undergrowth and hidden paths waiting below.

The fog seemed to swallow everything, even the gardens and the long stretch of lawn.

Part of me thrilled at the mystery of it all, my mind swirling with ideas about what secrets this landscape could hold, and for a moment, I felt oddly alive-as though I'd stepped into a strange tale. The fog made Dalmeny feel less like a place and more like a world suspended between past and present.

Despite the chill, I felt a flutter of excitement. I was already looking forward to the ride Harry had promised. The idea of him by my side brought a warmth that the morning mist couldn't dampen.

It was strange, really, how his steady, watchful presence had begun to comfort me in ways I couldn't explain. Yet more than that, he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain my questions, even when they must have sounded ridiculous to him.

If this was a world with hidden clues or forgotten stories, surely Dalmeny House would be the place to find them.

I wondered what Harry would make of it, if he'd indulge me further-maybe even help me.

This fog, this place, it all felt like some peculiar test I needed to pass, and somehow, I sensed he'd be at my side.

And today, wrapped in this quiet and muffled world, it seemed possible that we might find answers, maybe even in the pages of his library or in some forgotten corner of this mansion.

With the fog cloaking the grounds, the idea of exploring felt almost urgent, as though every tendril of mist held a secret waiting to be revealed.

I felt the pulse of adventure in my veins and, despite the strangeness, a sense of purpose-one I hadn't felt since I'd arrived.

Retracing my steps from last night, I wandered into the long gallery outside my room, a stretch of stone and shadow that seemed to go on forever. The soft morning light touched the walls, giving the space a muted glow, almost as if it were holding its breath, waiting.

Every step I took was a small echo in the vast, silent hallway, and as I looked around, I couldn't help but think of Sarah.

Sarah would absolutely lose her mind if she knew I was here.

This entire place could have sprung straight from one of those old stories she adored, where lost young women wound their way through the past.

Outlander was one of her favorite shows, she'd be fangirling in disbelief.

I chuckled softly to myself, imagining her face, her wide-eyed excitement. I almost felt her beside me, nudging me to keep exploring, her bright, playful curiosity urging me on.

Sarah would have found this all thrilling-the fog, the eerie quiet, the distant crash of the waves.

I could practically hear her voice in my head, begging for every single detail. If only I could tell her... but that was another world away now.

I found myself sinking into the window embrasure, my back against the chill of the stone, and looked out at the pale, gray sky.

The walls around me were a cool gray stone, the surface rough and cool to the touch, and even the light filtering in from the sea beyond seemed subdued.

Through the narrow, arched windows, I caught glimpses of the fog stretching out, covering the grounds and sea like a blanket, muffling every hint of sound, even the waves that lay just beyond sight.

It had taken me days to realize this mansion was so close to the sea. From here, I could just make out the faintest blur of movement-a dark line where the fog met the water.

A strange sound interrupted my thoughts. I paused, listening. Piano music drifted through the air, dark and fractured.

The melody was full of minor chords and soft, faltering moments, weaving together with the fog to create something haunting.

Whoever was playing seemed to be struggling, as though wrestling with the notes, bending them to their will. It was the kind of piece that held secrets, something raw and unresolved, and yet it was beautiful in its own broken way.

I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering Christmases with Dad.

We'd play the piano together every year, a tradition that grew harder to keep up as I got older, work keeping me too busy. But those memories were golden, etched into my mind-the gentle harmonies of our duets, the way he'd grin at me over the keys.

I could still hear the sound of our laughter filling the house.

My fingers itched to play, remembering the smooth feel of the keys under my own hands, my mind recalling my father's voice counting time beside me. But this was different.

This playing held a deep, almost desperate quality-a need to capture something slipping away.

Curious, I rose and followed the sound to the end of the gallery, drawn to the melody as if by some invisible thread.

I stood by a heavy oak door and listened, struck by the intricate, fragile notes mixed with sudden, powerful crescendos.

I pushed open the door a fraction and peered inside.

It was another stone chamber, solemn and severe, even older in feeling than the rest of Dalmeny House. At its center, framed by a narrow arched window that spilled pale light onto the floor, was a grand piano. And there, bent over the keys, his gaze sharp and intense, was Harry-the Viscount.

As Harry's fingers fell upon the keys, the familiar opening of Beethoven's Sonata burst forth, Allegro con brio, but unlike anything I'd ever heard.

It wasn't merely fast-it was fierce, a force crackling through the air, laced with a tension that felt almost dangerous. The way he played, every note seemed to teeter on the edge of some unspoken intensity, something barely contained.

He'd removed his jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, strong and taut as his fingers stretched across the keys.

I found myself transfixed by the way the tendons in his arms tensed and released with each motion, reaching across the keyboard with complete command.

He was wholly absorbed, as if nothing else existed but the music and the piano.

His body moved with the instrument, swaying toward it, embracing it, almost as if he were drawing the sound out from some hidden place within himself. I wasn't sure if I was merely listening-or intruding on something intensely private. But I couldn't bear to look away.

The final, sweeping glissando of the first movement came to a close, and I held my breath, only realizing then that I'd been standing motionless this entire time.

For a heartbeat, he was still, his hand hovering over the keys. Then, as if he'd sensed me all along, he looked up. His gaze met mine, and a faint, wary smile tugged at his mouth.

I froze, uncertain whether to apologize or praise him, my mind at a loss. Finally, he broke the silence with a soft, "Do you know the piece?"

Caught off guard, I hesitated, feeling as though I'd been caught trespassing. But something about his expression, that slight kindness in his eyes, urged me to speak. I took a few steps forward, crossing the threshold into the room.

"It's Beethoven, isn't it?" I replied, my voice almost a whisper. "I remember my dad playing it for me... It's one of his favorites."

Harry's eyes softened as he glanced down at the keyboard. He played a gentle, searching passage, the melody groping for resolution, as if echoing my words.

"He must be a good man," he murmured.

I swallowed, the familiar ache swelling in my chest.

"He was," I answered quietly, my voice catching. His fingers paused, and he looked at me with a glimmer of understanding, a sympathetic smile that seemed to say more than words.

I took in the room, realizing I was standing in what felt like Harry's personal refuge.

Books were stacked in piles along the window ledges, some open and filled with notes in dark, hurried handwriting. At the far end, a desk lay covered with scattered sheets of music and papers, and beside it, a metal campaign bed that looked as uncomfortable as the stone walls surrounding us.

This was a private place, his sanctuary, and here I was, standing at the heart of it.

"You play beautifully," I said, searching for something to fill the quiet between us. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone play with... with such intensity."

He laughed, a quick, self-deprecating sound that brought a faint warmth to his face.

"You're too kind," he replied. "Adequate is the word. But yes, I do play rather well for a man, don't I?"

I couldn't help but smile at that, amused by the humor woven into his words.

He was right, in a way. From what I'd read, the drawing-room piano was usually reserved for young women, an instrument meant for polite society, not for the boldness of concert halls or the passion he'd just poured into those keys.

"Beethoven was... different for me, too," he continued, his tone softening. "This piece, it isn't just a series of notes. There's... defiance in it, something fiery, almost reckless. I think it's part of why I feel drawn to it."

His words struck something within me.

"I can hear that," I said, feeling oddly vulnerable, like he'd revealed something I could only sense but never articulate.

"You make it sound like a story, something with life of its own."

He studied me for a moment, and the weight of his gaze was almost unsettling, as though he were searching for something in my face. Then he nodded slowly, a touch of wonder in his eyes.

"I don't think I've ever heard it described that way," he murmured. "But I think you're right."

The silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like a shared secret, an understanding that needed no words.

Finally, he looked away, his fingers drifting over the keys as though they were drawn there of their own accord.

"Would you play something?" he asked, his voice low.

I blinked, surprised.

"Me?" I could feel a warmth creeping into my cheeks.

"Yes, you." He raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in his expression. "Since you know Beethoven so well."

I hesitated, but he slid over on the bench, making room beside him.

Heart pounding, I sat down, and my fingers hovered over the keys, uncertain.

I couldn't match the skill or the intensity of what he'd just played, but still, I felt that familiar thrill of sitting before a piano. I glanced sideways at him, nervous.

He watched me patiently, his smile soft.

"Do you know a little Schubert?" Harry asked, his voice low and warm.

"Perhaps," I replied, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. I hadn't played properly in years, and I hoped he'd be merciful in his choice.

He rose and began sifting through a pile of music on the floor, looking completely at ease, his long fingers sorting through sheets with a kind of familiar grace.

Finally, he pulled out a piece and set it on the music stand in front of me, giving me a small, encouraging smile. I glanced down and felt a jolt of anxiety as my eyes met a flurry of semiquavers.

He hadn't chosen an easy one-of course he hadn't.

Harry gestured toward the music. "Which part would you like?"

I scanned the page, my heart pounding, and chose the lower part, which looked slightly more easier.

As he settled next to me on the bench, I tensed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

His arm brushed lightly against mine as he stretched his fingers over the keys, and though he was careful not to touch me, his presence was unmistakable, a warmth radiating between us.

I felt breathless and flustered, as if I were on the edge of something I didn't entirely understand.

"When you're ready," he murmured, a smile dancing at the corner of his lips, his eyes meeting mine with a hint of challenge.

I nodded, taking a deep breath, and began.

The notes at first felt clumsy under my fingers, my playing tentative. I hoped that playing softly would somehow muffle my mistakes, but soon Harry's melody joined, lifting the music into something entirely different.

As our hands moved across the keys, our fingers weaving in tandem, my own confidence began to grow.

My side of the piece met his melody, the two parts interlocking, building into a rhythm I hadn't expected to find. The music seemed to pull me in, and I lost myself in the fluidity of it, in the way our hands danced so close to each other.

Suddenly, his left hand pressed over mine, guiding my movement through a tricky passage, and I felt a pulse of warmth where his skin brushed mine.

I fought to keep my focus, pushing away the urge to let my concentration slip into the flurry of emotions his presence stirred.

I'm not some schoolgirl blushing over a boy, I scolded myself, but it was harder than I'd anticipated to ignore the thrill coursing through me.

The Schubert was outside my level of competence, but I didn't want to falter.

I played as well as I ever had, meeting Harry's intensity and trying to rise to his challenge. I could feel his eyes on me now and then, a silent encouragement, as if he knew that the determination I felt was about more than the music itself. As we reached the final chords, a sequence played in perfect unison, our hands moved with a synchronicity that surprised me.

A sense of triumph surged through me; I hadn't expected it to feel so exhilarating.

Without thinking, I reached for the pedal to hold down the final chord, only to find his foot already there.

The lightest pressure of his foot against mine sent a quick, electric pulse through me, and I instinctively pulled away, flustered.

The final note lingered in the air, resonating softly in the quiet room as Harry's gaze settled on mine.

I held his eyes, my breath catching in the stillness that followed, as if the music had left a presence of its own, something alive and crackling between us.

Harry broke into a grin, leaning back a little, his fingers still hovering over the keys as though reluctant to let the moment end.

He glanced at me with a mischievous smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry-I forgot to negotiate the pedals," I murmured, looking down. "It's been so long since I played a duet. I've never played with anyone as good as you."

His smile softened, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Duets aren't about individual skill, really. They're about the connection between two players."

The words hung in the air between us, full of a weight I couldn't quite place. I found myself drawn into his gaze, feeling as if I were on the brink of something unspoken. But he broke the silence with a quick, playful smile, as if sensing my unease and wanting to ease it.

"Well, Miss Anne, I'd say you make an exceptional duet partner," he added, leaning back and giving me an appraising look.

I laughed, the tension loosening just a bit, though I was keenly aware of every lingering spark.

"And you," I countered, "seem to enjoy making your partner sweat with challenging pieces."

He chuckled.

"It seems I succeeded." His gaze shifted toward the door, and he seemed to consider something for a moment before he stood up, extending a hand to me.

The final note lingered in the air, resonating softly in the quiet room as Harry's gaze settled on mine. I held his eyes, my breath catching in the stillness that followed, as if the music had left a presence of its own, something alive and crackling between us.

Harry broke into a grin, leaning back a little, his fingers still hovering over the keys as though reluctant to let the moment end.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might say something more.

The hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips, but instead, he turned slightly, leaning on the edge of the piano as if appraising me from a new angle.

"What do you say we take this partnership to the library? You mentioned wanting to look through the books."

The mention of the library jolted me back to the reason I was here at all. My curiosity about finding some way back-some clue, some piece of knowledge that could unravel this strange turn of events-surfaced again. I took his hand, feeling his grip firm and steady.

"Yes," I said, feeling a renewed determination rise within me. "I'd like that."

Our hands lingered for a moment before he led me out, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The warmth of his fingers stayed with me as we made our way down the quiet halls, the sound of our footsteps echoing softly through the stone walls.

In the library, the scent of old parchment and polished wood greeted us, and I felt the thrill of possibility. The room held a weight of knowledge, as though centuries of secrets were waiting for us to uncover them. Harry released my hand and gestured toward the nearest shelf.

The room was vast, shelves towering above us, filled with countless books. Harry glanced at me, his expression shifting from the flirtatious air he'd had moments ago to one of quiet thoughtfulness.

"Where should we start?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the solemnity of the space.

I let my fingers graze over the spines of the books, glancing at the faded titles.

"Somewhere in here, there has to be something," I said, mostly to myself. "Something that explains how... all of this happened."

Harry nodded, clearly not knowing what I meant but the determination in his steady gaze gave me confidence.

"Then let's start looking."

And with that, we both dove into the shelves, each book we opened another chance to unravel the mystery surrounding us.

The hours had drifted by unnoticed as we combed through the library.

Rows upon rows of old books and mysterious volumes surrounded us, each with its own peculiar scent and wear. Harry, ever the gentleman, seemed genuinely intent on helping me, despite not knowing exactly what he was looking for-or, in fact, why we were looking at all.

"So," he said, leaning against a towering shelf, arms crossed and lips quirked in a smile, "what exactly is it we're after? I don't suppose you'll tell me it's another one of those... er, cars?" He said the word carefully, as though it were a particularly foreign and exotic term.

I let out a soft laugh. "Not quite. I don't think I'll be able to explain cars properly until I have a visual aid."

"A shame," he replied, with an amused glint in his eyes.

"I was hoping to uncover one lurking here in the pages of the Modern Gentleman's Guide." He waved a dusty volume in my direction, making me laugh again.

I gave him a playful shove as I took the book and returned it to its shelf.

"You're impossible. But no, I'm looking for... a book I'd lost before all of this." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "It had a strange symbol on the cover-an intricate gold clock design."

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A golden clock? Intriguing. You do realize there's an entire section on astronomy somewhere in here. Maybe it's really a symbol of the stars?"

"Or... it could be some bizarre artifact just lurking in this library," I countered, rolling my eyes. "And that's exactly why we're here, isn't it?"

He grinned, giving me a mock-bow. "Indeed. The hunt for peculiar symbols begins."

For the next hour, we searched high and low, every now and then slipping into teasing banter.

I could feel the air between us shifting-charged with something unspoken, subtle but impossible to ignore. Our fingers would brush as we reached for the same book, or our gazes would meet when one of us caught the other's eye across the aisle.

Finally, as I began to lose hope, something shimmered faintly in the shadows on the highest shelf, catching my eye. There it was: a small, painted golden clock, tucked away on the wood, almost hidden by a stack of oversized books.

"Harry," I whispered, pointing up.

He looked where I was pointing, narrowing his eyes at the faint glimmer.

"Goodness, Anne, you're like a hawk. I've never noticed that before in all my time here."

"Well, that's why I'm here," I said, nudging him. "Now, any ideas on how we reach it?"

We tried repositioning the ladder multiple times, but it was no use; the shelf was simply too high. Frustrated, I tried standing on my toes, stretching my arm as high as possible.

"Careful," he murmured, stepping close to me, his hand hovering near my waist as if to catch me if I fell. His touch, though light, sent a warm, unexpected spark through me.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and shot him a small smile. "Think you could be a bit taller?"

He chuckled. "If only I could grow on command. Here, perhaps I should lift you?"

I laughed nervously, shaking my head, but after a bit more scrambling and stretching, I finally gave in.

"Fine. But if I fall, you're officially to blame."

His hands steadied me as I stretched upward, fingertips just grazing the painted clock. His grip on my waist was gentle but solid, and every slight adjustment felt deliberate, careful.

I could feel his warmth at my back, the faint press of his hands grounding me, reassuring me.

My heart beat faster, my pulse thundering as I inched higher. Just as my fingers brushed the symbol's edge, I lost my footing. A soft gasp escaped my lips, and before I could register what was happening, I was tumbling backward-right into his waiting arms.

He caught me instantly, his arms wrapping around me in a firm embrace, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to the feel of his body pressed against mine. I looked up, finding his face inches from mine, his expression a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that made my breath catch.

His eyes held mine, an intensity in his gaze that stole away every sensible thought.

Time seemed to still, the air thickening around us. His face was close enough that I could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing my cheek. My hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, and I felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my fingers.

My heart raced, and I couldn't tell if it was from the near fall or the heat radiating from him, so close, so solid.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low, a hint of amusement in his tone but something softer beneath it. His arms remained around me, not pulling away, holding me as if he wanted me to stay exactly where I was.

I managed a small, shaky smile. "I seem to be making a habit of falling around you."

His mouth quirked into a slight smile, his gaze flickering down to my lips for the briefest of moments before returning to my eyes. "And here I was thinking it was my fault"

The light teasing did little to dissipate the tension between us.

His fingers brushed against my waist as he shifted, sending a trail of heat along my skin. Every nerve in my body felt heightened, alive, as if anticipating something I couldn't quite name. I was suddenly aware of how close we were, of the way his eyes softened as they traced my face.

"I suppose I should thank you," I whispered, my voice barely above a murmur, feeling the pull of his gaze. "For saving me... again."

He tilted his head, his smile widening, though his voice was soft. "Always here to catch you."

The words settled between us, thick and unspoken.

He didn't let go, didn't step back, his fingers lingering at my waist, his thumb tracing a light, almost imperceptible circle that sent shivers up my spine. I couldn't look away, my breath catching as his gaze held mine, his expression unreadable but achingly intense.

I felt myself leaning forward, drawn to him, until-

A loud cough broke through the stillness, shattering the moment. We sprang apart, and I turned to see James standing in the doorway, eyebrow raised, and an unmistakable glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Oh," James said, too casually. "I didn't mean to interrupt your....little conversation "

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I tried to stammer a reply. "We were just- It was-"

James held up a hand, fighting a smirk. "By all means, continue."

I glanced at Harry, whose expression mirrored my own mixture of embarrassment and laughter that we were desperately trying to suppress.

He cleared his throat, nodding toward James with a lightheartedness that belied the tension just moments before.

"Well, since our symbol-search has been so... thoroughly interrupted," Harry said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth,

"perhaps we should take a break. Wouldn't want James here thinking he's... intruding."

James chuckled, clearly enjoying our flustered state. "Please, don't mind me."

I quickly pulled away, adjusting my clothes and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Actually, I think I'll go find Elle....I haven't seen her whole morning" My voice sounded breathless, even to me, and I cursed myself for not being able to rein it in.

Harry's amused gaze followed me as I hurried toward the door.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but he only gave a subtle nod, as if to acknowledge the moment before I slipped away.

As James shot Harry a sidelong glance, the hint of a smirk playing on his face, he couldn't resist.

"So... that was certainly something," he remarked, his tone light but loaded with curiosity.

Harry just shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. With a clap on James's shoulder, he replied casually,

"Nothing at all. Now, come on-we've a hunt to prepare for."

I barely caught the exchange as I turned and slipped from the room, my heart thumping harder with each step I took down the corridor.

I tried to steady myself, but my cheeks felt hot, and I could still see Harry's amused expression in my mind.

My steps quickened as I turned a corner, hoping to escape this feeling of being so exposed. But then I heard footsteps coming up behind me, unhurried yet persistent.

Against my better judgment, I glanced over my shoulder, and there he was-Harry, with that familiar, maddening smile as he caught up to me.

"Running away already?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye.

"And here I was hoping to remind you about our little riding adventure." He crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, yet his eyes sparkled with mischief.

I laughed nervously, avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, that... yes, well... I thought maybe we could, you know, reschedule?"

"Reschedule?" His eyebrows rose in mock offense, though his grin betrayed him.

"You wouldn't be trying to back out, would you?"

The teasing warmth in his tone made me look down, suddenly fascinated with the floor.

"Of course not," I mumbled, but the flutter in my chest gave me away. "I just... thought it might be best for, um, safety reasons?"

"Safety?" He tilted his head, watching me with that infuriatingly charming smile.

"Anne, I've told you-I'll make sure you're perfectly safe. And besides..."

He leaned in a bit, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. "I can't think of a better way to spend the day."

His words sent a thrill through me, and I dared a glance up at him.

"I... I suppose," I said, feeling utterly ridiculous yet strangely exhilarated.

As he turned to leave, casting a last, amused glance over his shoulder, I found myself feeling breathless once again.

There was a lightness to my steps as I walked on, a smile tugging at my lips that I couldn't suppress. I was nervous about the riding, of course, but a part of me was also undeniably excited.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn't the only one.