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“If I hadn’t married you,” he interrupted, leaning forward, “I would still be living half a life. And the girls would still be strangers to me.”

She fiddled with the book in her lap before slamming it down on the table with something close to a growl. Graham froze in his chair, unsure what to do. Should he go to her? Perhaps offer her a stiff drink?

“Do you know what bothers me most about that vile piece?” She asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

He shook his head.

“Hollan thinks he can use our private matters as weapons.” Her eyes flashed with indignation. “As if what passes between us—or doesn’t—has any bearing on your fitness as a guardian.”

“Public opinion matters in these cases,” he said, Elias’ warnings echoing in his ears. “The court considers?—”

“Hang the damned court.” Abigail’s chin lifted. “And hang bloody Baron Hollan.”

A startled laugh escaped but he quelled it lest she think he was laughing at her. “Your vocabulary becomes increasingly colorful.”

“That’s nothing compared to what Marjory said.” Her smile wobbled and tears brightened her eyes.

He rose and crossed to her, kneeling next to her chair.

Hollan will pay for this, for the pain in her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he murmured, taking her hands in his.“I shouldn’t have left you on our wedding night.”

She shook her head and a tear escaped.“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve moved past it, but they made it sound so sordid. As if you’d.. as if we’d...”

He tightened his grip on her hands.“They don’t know what lies between us.” He cupped her face with his hand.

She swallowed hard, holding his gaze.“And what does lie between us, Graham?”

He had no words that could hold the truth of it.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted back to his eyes.

Permission. Invitation. Hope.

Her skin was fever-warm under his palm. Every part of him thrummed with warning and want. He had rehearsed everyversion of this moment—how he would hold himself back, how he would keep it gentle, patient. Polite.

But he was not a polite man.

His self-restraint splintered with a soft, helpless sound—half laugh, half groan. He bridged the remaining distance, capturing her mouth with his, fierce and unguarded. There was nothing careful in the way he kissed her; it was clumsy at first, too desperate, as if he feared she might vanish if there was any pause for second thoughts. She yielded with a quiet sigh, her lips parting beneath his and her fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, grounding him.

When he finally broke away, breath ragged, their foreheads touched, and his hands trembled like a debutante at her coming out.

“I want you,” he breathed, “but I won’t let them take that moment from us. I will not have it be a rebuttal to their lies.”

She tightened her hand around his. “It will be when the time is right.”

He half-laughed, half-sighed, and nodded. “You have the patience of a saint.”

Abigail pulled back, raising a brow.“Well, I do aim for virtue between my well-timed thefts and ruinous social climbing.”

He let out a sharp laugh but the pain that hung around the corners of her eyes stole the mirth.“If they think a handful of ink and lies can define you,” he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek, “they don’t know the same woman I do.”

He pressed another kiss, gentler this time full of the promise of a thousand unwritten chapters. She sighed when he released her and he was pleased to see the tightness in her expression was gone.

“I think I shall retire. It was a taxing day,” she said.

Reluctantly, he stood and offered her his hand. When she gained her feet, he could not help but pull her close to him again. It was like now that he had tasted her, felt her hear, heard her soft sounds, he couldn’t get enough. He forced himself to let her go and opened the door for her.