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Alistair sped toward the mews, where Williams already had two of the fastest horses brought up from the stables and saddled. There was not a moment to spare. If his brother was as ill as Williams reported, he’d have to ride through the night to make it to Kent in time.

“You’ll need to eat,” Williams said, “before we go.”

“No. No time.”

“It’s a seven-hour journey, my lord. The cook is already preparing a meal, and I’ve laid out your clothes upstairs. You can’t go in your evening dress.”

“I’m not going back into that house just to change my clothes.”

Alistair had planned his arrival to Pembrooke’s country house carefully. He’d wanted to enter after the ball had started and depart before it finished. His strategy was to see Violet, say what he had to say, and leave before either of them hurt each other more than they already had.

“Use the servants’ entrance,” Williams said. “They are expecting you. You’ll cause no disturbance.”

Alistair paused, knowing Williams was right, although his entire body was urging him forward.

To go now, immediately. There was more to be said between himself and his brother.

Their last conversation couldn’t be the final one they ever had.

His proper, inscrutable brother had let Alistair into the secrets of his heart, and Alistair had said nothing in return.

He could not stand for that to be Darius’s last remembrance of him.

But what if… and here his heart caved in on itself for just a moment…. it was already too late for Darius? The thought made him stumble and then move twice as fast.

He had no time to wonder when he’d begun to think of his family as important parts of his life. When he had developed, apparently, roots.

“You’ll be faster, my lord,” Williams pressed, “in traveling clothes and with sustenance.”

“Fine,” Alistair said, acquiescing. The man was right, and they both knew it. “But we’ll leave before the hour and not a moment after. I can see myself changed. Make ready for the ride.”

Violet watched Alistair disappear into the servants’ entrance of Pembrooke’s country house from her hiding place along the shadowed wall of the stables.

Williams checked on the large bay gelding and a smaller dappled gray. Both horses were ready and waiting, so Williams dismissed the stable boy with a coin and doublechecked the tack.

Then he ran his hand along the gleaming chestnut mane of the bay.

“You’re a beaut, aren’t you?” he murmured.

“Why, thank you,” Violet said, stepping out of the shadows and into his line of vision.

“Miss Goodwin.” Williams bowed slightly, his features showing no hint of surprise to find Violet there. “It is good to see you.”

“Likewise,” she said.

“Will you be needing a horse?”

“As it happens, I will, yes.”

“I am glad to hear it.” His eyes swooped downward and lingered meaningfully on her dress.

Violet followed his gaze, taking in the enormity of her ballgown’s wide hemline and frowned. She’d come to an accord with Madame Tremaux, where her gowns had more room to move and less decolletage than most, but she still had the entirely too broad wire-cage crinoline to contend with.

It would be impossible for her to ride all the way to Kent wearing such a thing, even if she could fit on the horse in it, which she doubted.

“You don’t happen to have a spare set of trousers, do you?” she asked.

“If you’ll give me a moment,” Williams replied, and Violet caught the way the side of his mouth had quirked up in a knowing smile.

He held out the reins of the dappled gray to her. “I presume you know how to ride?”

“I’m from New York,” Violet said, as if that should be answer enough. “Of course, I know how to ride.”

Alistair made his way back to the mews in riding attire.

“Williams,” he called, anxious to get on. “Are you quite ready?”

He was irritated, images of his brother lying in a fever-induced haze filling his mind. He wanted to be to Kent as soon as possible.

“All’s ready, sir,” Williams said, appearing instantly at the sound of Alistair’s voice.

“You’ve not changed,” Alistair remarked, eyeing the man up and down.

“No, my lord. I have not.”

“You plan to ride to Kent in your best coat, then?”

Williams had dressed as well as he could to step into the betrothal ball.

“No, sir. I do not.” Williams’ face remained inscrutable as he spoke. “Miss Goodwin will go in my stead.”

“I do hope that’s alright,” Violet added, making her way out of the shadows where she’d just finished changing out of her ballgown and into a pair of borrowed buckskin breeches.

They were Williams’s and they fit her a far sight better than Alistair’s had. His body noticed, even if he didn’t want it to. Even when there were other, more important matters at hand.

His brother. Her safety.

Bloody hell.

“You’ll need me with you,” she said, her voice faltering a little at whatever his face was doing. “I am a nurse.”

“It’s too dangerous, Violet. It’s an overnight ride, for Christ’s sake.”

He glared at her. “You ought to know more than most why that isn’t a good idea.”

He felt like an utter arse, calling to mind her dead brother. But he wouldn’t have her on this journey. The idea was ludicrous.

“James’s death doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go. It means I should go all the more.”

Violet’s eyes blazed in a shade Alistair had not seen before. They were nearly turquoise.

The color of obstinance .

“You’ll need me there,” she went on. “I have a great deal of experience with fevers. They’re common in Manhattan.”

“So will the surgeon in Kent. And he’ll be a far sight better equipped to handle my brother than you will be.”

He knew the words would hurt her. It was why he said them. He couldn’t let her take this risk. He didn’t know what illness his brother suffered from or if it was contagious. He knew only that his family would not have sent word had it not been fatal.

“I’m the better choice,” she said quietly, her spine stiff, her chin tilted up.

“Quite right you are,” Williams agreed, looking from one to the other. “You’ll be of great help.”

He turned briskly to Alistair and handed him the reins to the bay and the saddle bag that had been packed with a few rations.

“Best be off, my lord. It’s seven hours if you ride through the night and the weather holds.”

Both men instinctively glanced up at the sky. Clouds had rolled in since Alistair stood on the balcony with Violet. It might very well rain, another risk to Violet’s safety. They were piling up, and no one seemed to care but him.

“Thank you, Williams,” Violet said. “A hand please, and we’ll be off.”

Bollocks.

The two were in collusion, Williams already moving to get Violet atop her mount. And he could waste no more time arguing in the stable. He had to get to Kent. His brother was dying, and his future was crumbling.

Alistair mounted his own horse, staring grimly ahead.

Hell’s teeth, this was a poor idea.

But he urged his mount out of the stable and began to wind his way into the dark night of the country anyway, ignoring Violet behind him in the hopes that she might change her mind.