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He searched her eyes and detected none of the pain she’d let him see hours ago. She was in control now, pushing feelings away. Just like he tried to do.

“First…” His tongue felt thick, whether from the brandy he’d consumed or shame, he wasn’t sure. “I am sorry for lying to you. I?—”

“To everyone.”

Cassian bowed his head. “Yes, but the way I wronged you matters to me most.”

“Why did you do it?” she repeated.

“The simplest explanation is that I did it for my brother.” That conversation at Julian’s bedside played in Cassian’s mind, and it now seemed such a flimsy justification for what he’d done.

“Why would your brother want you to lie?”

“Because he thought he’d lose his chance at winning Lady Selina. He’s back in Berkshire, letting a broken leg mend. He knew she’d be vied for.”

“And now he’s lost her anyway.”

“Yes.” Some part of him wanted to ask if he’d lost any chance with her . But it was nonsense. He was a broken man and had exiled himself for good reasons.

“What’s the complicated answer?” she asked quietly, so softly that it almost slipped past his defenses. Her gentleness made him want to tell her all his secrets.

But no. He could not subject her to the ugliness of his past. Not when he would never see her again after he returned to Scotland.

“I have never let my brother down.” He could admit that much, though it made him sound far more admirable than he was. “I’ve always considered him mine to protect.”

Her forehead pinched in a frown. “But he’s older, is he not? If only by minutes.”

“Does birth order always determine nature, Daphne?” He dared to address her familiarly because it was the last time he’d ever have the chance. “Is your oldest sister the strongest and your youngest the gentlest?”

“Fair point.” Her smile made his pulse kick up. “Marigold is the youngest and she’s almost as fierce as Ivy. My parents always thought I was the sweet, gentle one. Mild-mannered and soft-hearted, my aunt used to call me.”

Cassian couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that description.

“Do you disagree, Cassian ?”

Hearing her speak his name made his mouth dry and shot a flare of desire through him. He’d thought too many times of bringing her to pleasure and hearing her cry his name.

What if he confessed that to the sweetest, gentlest Bridewell sister?

“You do seem gentle,” he told her in a low voice.

He leaned forward on the settee, forearms resting on his knees, needing to get just a couple of inches closer.

“But do I think you’re soft? Yes, if one is referring to your skin, your hair, your lips”—he studied each as he spoke of them—“but there’s nothing mild about you, Daphne Bridewell. ”

“No?” Her breath had quickened, bringing a flush to her cheeks, making her chest rise and fall against the hold of her corset.

“You’re the most vivid woman I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t require compliments, and they won’t make me forgive you.”

Cassian felt a smile tugging at his lips. Only she made him smile like a fool. “You’re worthy of all the compliments. You’re curious, loyal, and perhaps a little impulsive. I’d call it boldness.” His smile widened when she narrowed an eye at that. “I promise you only the truth now.”

She scoffed. “And how can I believe you?”

“You can’t. I don’t deserve your trust, but I’ve wanted it from the moment we met.”

“As you lied to me.”

“Yes.”

She turned away from him, examining the wallpaper behind his head, as if she could no longer bear looking at him. As if she loathed him that much.

“You could have told me the truth.” She edged forward on the settee too, her poise discarded as anger caused her eyes to flash. “Nothing could break my loyalty to my sisters, and I would have understood the willingness to do anything for those you love.”

“I see that now.” Cassian nodded. “I was wrong. I should have told you.” He reached out a hand and then pulled it back. He had no right to touch her. “But you are loyal to Selina too.”

“So you feared I would have exposed you?”

“And I would have deserved it, but she would have hated Julian as a result.”

Daphne stunned him by rising from the settee and coming around to perch on his. She sat enticingly close and angled toward him as he turned to face her.

“I admire your loyalty to your brother. So I think I can forgive you.”

“Daphne—”

“But I want to know what was real and what was false. Between us.” With a sharp inhale, she slid closer. “Was the kiss real?”

“Every moment of it.”

She studied him as if looking for the truth in his eyes, beneath his skin, as if she could see as deep as his very soul. Then she closed the space between them.

Cassian didn’t move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Daphne leaned in, so near that he was surrounded by her sweet floral scent. She pressed her lips to his. Tentatively at first, then with a bit of the same boldness that had brought her to his door tonight.

Yet it wasn’t the desperate, fiery kiss they’d shared before.

This one was slower, deliberate. She seemed to ask a question and offer him the answer at the same time.

Lifting a hand to his cheek, she let her warm palm linger against his skin.

Then she traced her fingers in a featherlight caress down the line of his scar.

Cassian reached for her waist—unable to stop himself—as if anchoring her would anchor him too.

He deepened the kiss, determined to convince her that, yes, their first kiss had been real. All of it had been real. Every look. Every moment he’d spent with her. And if he were a better man, it might still be.

But he wasn’t.

He forced himself to stop, to break the kiss. As both of them breathed raggedly, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I still have to go to Berkshire,” he told her, his voice rough.

She pulled back, blinking as if confused. “What?”

“I won’t allow Julian to read of Selina’s engagement in some gossip rag.”

Hurt rushed into her eyes again like a tide, turning the vibrant blue darker. “Loyalty.”

“Yes.” He leaned back, pulling away from her, though it felt as if something inside him was ripping apart. “But I need the distance too. And you…” His voice caught, then he forced himself to say, “You deserve more, Daphne.”

“Why do you get to decide what I deserve?”

“Because I know what I am.” He stood and crossed to the fireplace, bracing a hand against the mantel. “You saw me as some polished nobleman, but I’m not that man. I’ve lied, manipulated, taken advantage of your kindness.”

“Cassian…”

He turned. “You should hate me, Daphne.”

“I don’t,” she said softly, standing up from the settee. “I suppose that’s the problem.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Allow me to do the right thing and go. If I stay, I’ll want more. And I can’t seek more when I have nothing to give.”

They stood in silence. She seemed to be waiting for something—no doubt for him to be the man she thought he could be.

Finally, he stepped closer. “You make me wish I were a better man, and you must know that I’ll never forget these few days, or you.”

He reached for her hand and lifted it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, then he let her go.

“Allow me to find a hansom for you and Ivy. I need to know you’ll get back safely.”

“No.” She clasped her hands together, notched her chin up. “We found our way here. We’ll find our way back.”

With that, she turned and headed for the drawing room door, stopping just as she reached the threshold. She didn’t look back, only murmured, “Goodbye, Cassian.”

And then she was gone.

It was right that she walked away. He reminded himself it was what he wanted.

So why did he feel so bloody shipwrecked? As if nothing inside him would ever feel whole again.