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He’d felt it when he’d pressed his fingers inside her, had seen the evidence in faint traces of blood afterward.

This presented two very snarly questions, which were keeping Caleb from his bed and his rest.

First, why had Grace been branded ruined by theton?

And second, why did he care?

If he’d been willing to take her ruined, he should be willing to take her a virgin, he reasoned. It didn’t make any difference to him.

Except it did, somehow. It made something fierce and curious and possessive wake inside him. Something dangerous.

He was pondering this and feeling rather annoyed about it when a voice interrupted.

“Oh, my—I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

Insanely, part of him wanted to laugh. Of course she would appear here. She was everywhere.

“Don’t bother,leannan,” he said, ignoring the way the endearment was tripping off his tongue with increasing ease of late. “Come sit, if ye like. Night’s pleasant enough.”

She was, as appeared to be her habit during these nighttime excursions, wearing her night rail and a blanket, fashioned like a cloak around her shoulders. Did the woman nae own a dressing gown? The idea made him frown. He’d have one purchased for her. His eyes darted down. And bare feet.

Her lack of sense would be the end of him. As she perched on the stone bench beside him, he found himself absently tucking the blanket around her small, narrow feet. He snatched his hands back when he saw her blink at him in surprise.

“Nightmares again?” he asked. It wasn’t kind, that question—or at least he hadn’t done it for kind reasons. Her look had made him feel exposed, and he wanted to even the field.

Even so, her subtle wince made him feel like a blackguard.

“I didn’t realize they bothered you,” she said, playing with a loose thread on the tartan wool. “I’ve tried to keep quiet.”

A curious answer.

“What do ye dream about?” he asked, wondering if the question revealed too much.

She huffed a humorless laugh.

“Ghosts,” she said, which was no answer at all. But if he pressed further, he would be revealing himself—to her and to himself. He wanted to know, but he didn’t dare ask himself why.

It was all far too dangerous for a man like him.

The silence between them was soft as eiderdown. He’d found that it was becoming increasingly easy to simplybewith Grace, to have her beside him without silence or friction. Of course, he’d also found that he minded it less when she spoke, too. She was frustratingly clever at times.

It made him wish he’d been more careful, that he’d found a useless bit of fluff to marry, had made sure that his bride was as uninspiring as blancmange poorly made.

Except, that was, for the parts of him that didn’t wish any such thing at all.

He was relieved when she spoke, as it saved him from doing anything as foolish at touching her.

“I received the most thoughtful missive from Lady Fenwick this morning,” she said.

She sounded as airy as if she were in a London drawing room, and he appreciated the reminder that she was just another coddled Society lady. If he insisted on finding herintriguingit was no doubt because he was drowning in unspent lust. He’d nearly taken himself in hand a dozen times over the last several days before, each time, inanely deciding it would not besatisfying.

He grunted then had to suppress a smile when she rolled her eyes expressively enough that he could see it clearly, even in the dark.

This was, alas, yet another sign that he was being driven mad with unspent ardor. Her persistent disrespect should have annoyed him, not amused him.

“It appears,” she went on when it became apparent that he did not intend to contribute further, “that the Fenwicks have coordinated with several prominent local families to throw a banquet to welcome us to the area. Well,” she amended after a beat, “to welcome me and welcome youback, I suppose.”

He wasn’t sure if she was intentionally lying or was really quite so oblivious, but he feltentirelycertain that this banquet was for Grace and Grace alone.