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“What? No. You dance just fine.”

“Just fine? Well, that’s discouraging.”

Grace swatted his arm with her free hand and earned a laugh. “What I meant was, you always asked me to dance while I was sitting out intentionally.”

“Ahh. That.”

Grace sat up, winced at the pain, and tried to open her eyes. The sun had shifted just enough that he sat in the shade of the porch now. She saw a blurry smile, a soft tilt to his head, and piercing almost-green hazel eyes. Grace forced her words out through a wave of desire. “Why does it sound like you knew that?”

“It wasn’t exactly subtle,” he said.

“I mean, I guess I thought you were oblivious, and unwilling to accept being rejected. That’s why I never thought you actually wanted to dance. But Willa said…”

“Willa doesn’t know everything.”

Grace pinched her eyes closed to stave off another spike of pain but then opened her eyes as best she could again.

“So, did you want to dance or not?”

He looked down, gently taking her right hand as he nodded. “I wanted to dance.”

She liked the feel of his calloused hand in hers. They felt protective and familiar. She wove her fingers through his. “So why not ask when I wasn’t sitting out?”

He looked at her for a moment. “Would you have said yes?”

Grace opened her mouth, then shut it, hugged his arm again and laid her head back on his shoulder. “We’re back to my treatment of you.”

His voice grew soft. “I know that when you see me, you see my father.” He sighed. “I don’t even blame you. I know what my father is. But…” He breathed in. “Sometimes I wish I could escape his shadow, his actions, hisname.”

Grace listened quietly to his words, feeling their meaning with a sharpness she wouldn’t have before yesterday. She’d always been proud of her family and the name that came with it. She’d been proud of the title of Protector, even when she wasn’t sure she could do it justice.

But the night before, the way Mayor Nautin spoke of her family and their choices, she felt ashamed of her name. Ashamed to be Grace Robbins.

“I’m a Clairmont,” Garrick said. “And so I’ll always be the villain my father is.” The sadness in his voice tore at Grace’s heart.

She tightened her grip on his arm. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. He wasn’t a villain. He was sweet and kind. But what did she really know?

She’d thought she knew the Rogue several times over, but with every day, every action he took, she doubted what she’d thought. He was good, he was villainous. A vandal, a hero. Distant, close, a friend, more.

And now, what? She cared about him still, but he was a legend, not a reality. And his real self—James—well, Grace didn’t feel anything for him like what she felt for Garrick.

How many more had she been sure she knew? Willa Leroux, arrogant snob, was a fiery, loyal friend. Her brother had not only had the capacity but the strength to meet challenges with poise and intelligence.

And herself. In her youth, she’d been a hero in training, and for the last two years, she’d been a persistently defiant spy.

But now… what was she? A jaded coward, happy to keep living under tyranny for as long as she lasted, just to keep a secret from everyone she knew.

How could she know who Garrick was? A hardened man like his father, who wore a sweet mask and a soothing voice only until it didn’t serve him? Or the shy boy with tender words and a gentle touch that he seemed to be?

Grace waited too long to answer. Garrick sighed and pulled his arm from her grip, and Grace didn’t resist.

Tears were starting again. She pinched her eyes as tightly as she could and rubbed at her forehead. It didn’t work. Saltwater streamed silently down her cheeks.

“I’ll be here with you until Willa comes back,” Garrick said.

When Willa did come, Grace didn’t even hear Garrick leave, but she sensed it. Sensed his absence. And it hurt.

Willa was uncharacteristically calm and sweet, helping Grace to her room and into bed. “Now you sleep, you hear, or I’ll tell the mayor you’re the Rogue.”