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D aphne tugged at a weed, then another, working with practiced hands to clear space for the seedlings she’d cultivated over the past weeks.

She’d decided to sow some biennials. They were a reminder to have patience, for they’d give no glorious flowers this year, but tending them well promised blooms in the coming year.

At Selina’s urging, she was trying to have patience with herself too. With her downtrodden mood. With her longing for a man she couldn’t have. With the tears that came unbidden, just when she thought she’d put Cassian Rourke out of her mind.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a man who simply invaded her thoughts. He’d somehow wedged his way into her heart.

“Lily’s coming, in case you want to slip your gloves on,” Ivy said as she strolled toward Daphne on the garden path behind Edgerton House.

“Has she become such a high and mighty duchess that she’d object?” Daphne smiled and held up her dirt-smeared hands.

Proper young ladies were not supposed to relish such things. Yet she’d pay the price of scrubbing at her nails to clear away the dirt below them for the singular joy of sinking her bare hands into the soil. It simply didn’t feel the same with gardening gloves on, ladylike or not.

A few moments later, Lily emerged from the French doors that led to the garden with an odd smile on her face.

“What is it? You look as if you’re plotting something.” Daphne wiped off her hands as best she could and got to her feet.

“Not plotting,” Lily glanced at Daphne’s mud-streaked smock and dirty hands but said nothing. “Just pondering.”

It was only then that Daphne realized Lily had something clutched in her hand.

Her sister grinned and lifted a letter. “We’ve had an unexpected invitation.”

“Oh?” Daphne attempted to sound intrigued. Invitations weren’t exactly a rarity during the Season, but, of course, they were now in the final days of London events—thank goodness. Soon, most noble families would hie off to their county estates.

Daphne hoped they would too. She longed for the familiar Derbyshire countryside where she’d been raised, even if it meant abandoning her gardening projects in London.

“Are you going to tell us, or give us clues and makes us guess?” Ivy asked, her tone making it clear that she preferred the latter.

Lily fixed her gaze on Daphne, and the longer she looked, the more Daphne’s wariness grew.

“We’ve been invited to visit Hillcrest Manor. All of us—myself, Griffin, the twins, and both of you.”

“That’s the Earl of Windham’s estate,” Ivy whispered as if Lily, who was standing right in front of them, wouldn’t hear her.

Daphne swallowed and tried to ignore how her traitorous heart fluttered. “Why would he invite us to visit?”

“He did dine at our home and seemed quite fond of you,” Lily said with a lilt in her voice. “Perhaps that’s why.” Her smile was soft, hopeful.

Daphne felt suddenly queasy. She hadn’t confessed to Lily about Cassian Rourke’s deception, but if they all journeyed to Berkshire, the whole matter would be torn open again. And the pain of it was still too fresh.

“I’d prefer to return to Derbyshire,” Daphne told her sister.

“Arguably,” Ivy interjected, “Berkshire is on the way to Derbyshire. We could make a short visit to Hillcrest as a stopover on the longer journey home.”

Daphne narrowed her eyes at Ivy, who’d apparently forgotten the meaning of sisterly loyalty.

Lily looked at each of them, as if searching for some answer. “We could forego the last few balls and soirees of the Season and depart in the next few days.”

That sounded appealing. Daphne had already been devising excuses to avoid a ball later in the evening. Selina had stopped accepting invitations too, preferring to have Matthew visit with her family or going to small family gatherings with the marquess and his sister.

The Season had nothing to offer either of them anymore.

And for Daphne, going out meant being a fool. Because though logic told her Cassian Rourke was gone—never to return—some foolish, irrational part of her kept looking for him, hoping to catch his gaze across a ball room or a dinner table.

“If a stop in Berkshire means we can decamp from London early, then let us do that.” Daphne nodded, her mind made up. “The sooner the better.”

Two days later

Cassian strolled the library at Hillcrest, noting that Julian still maintained all the finely bound volumes of poetry, Shakespeare, and history that he’d favored, but he’d added new books too, particularly novels published in the last few years.

He’d loved escaping into books a child, but now, as he traced his gaze across row after row of volumes, his only thought was to wonder what Daphne would favor.

There’d been a volume on the floor of the Harringtons’ library the night he’d interrupted Moreland’s attempt to corner her. A Dickens novel. Did she like Dickens, or was it just something she’d taken down to distract her?

He traced a finger over the shelf of books and found a few of Dickens’s novels.

Despite every intention to put her from his mind, she was there whether he liked it or not.

Daydreams bloomed in his head—reading with her, reading to her, listening to her read to him.

Venturing to bookshops together and buying whatever caught her eye.

Then a hazier thought, the most tantalizing of all—returning with her to a home they shared, filling their bookshelves with volumes they intended to read together.

He wanted it. For the first time in his life, he could admit that wanted a place to call home that wasn’t simply the familiar confines of his quarters on a ship or the solitude of a Scottish hunting lodge.

In truth, it wasn’t the place itself that mattered.

What he truly wanted were endless days spent with her.

“You should shave,” Julian opined from the library threshold.

Cassian scrubbed a hand across stubbled jaw. “Why?” The only company he kept was with Julian’s.

“We’re dressing for dinner tonight. If you’ve no white tie ensemble, borrow one of mine.”

At Cassian’s frown, Julian smiled.

“Guests for dinner,” his twin said with a wink.

Cassian groaned. “What guests?”

Julian lifted a hand from his crutch and waved it at him. “Ready yourself, and you’ll soon find out.”

An hour later, Cassian had washed, shaved, and donned Julian’s clothes. All that remained was his bow tie, and Julian’s valet stood before him, no doubt doing a perfect job of tying one.

“Have the guests arrived?” he asked the fastidious man in his brother’s employ.

“Indeed, sir.”

“Do you know their names?”

Norris flicked his gaze up to Cassian’s. “The Duke and Duchess of Edgerton and their family, sir.”

The valet finished with Cassian’s tie and stepped back. “May I assist you with anything else, Captain Rourke?”

“Where are they now?” Cassian managed, though all the air had drained from his lungs.

Norris glanced at the mantel clock. “At this hour, I suspect the guests have begun gathering in the drawing room to await dinner service, sir.” With that, the servant bowed, then left Cassian’s room.

Cassian stayed rooted to the spot where he stood, remonstrating with himself to snuff out the ember of hope that he could feel burning in his chest. But it was there—fierce and unquenchable and urging him to move.

He rushed downstairs, reminding himself to breathe.

Voices carried from the drawing room. His heart—that wild, willful organ—had lodged itself in his throat. He swallowed hard and started toward the drawing room.

“Wait.”

Back stiffening, he turned at the sound of Daphne’s voice. She stood in the shadows beyond the staircase, waving him toward her.

He smiled. He couldn’t stop himself. The sight of her was like seeing the sun again after days of storm clouds.

“Why aren’t you coming?” she whispered. “Please. Hurry. I must speak to you.”

Cassian approached and knew the ridiculous smile was still on his face. A smile that seemed to go bone deep. All of him felt lighter, almost buoyant, now that she was near.

As soon as he was close enough, she reached out and clasped his arm, pulling him along.

“This way,” she said quietly, then turned, still gripping his sleeve as she led him into Hillcrest’s library.

Once they’d entered the room, she released his arm and spun to face him.

His mouth went dry. Good grief, she was lovely.

The low gaslight in the room cast a warm glow that lit the blue of her eyes and the burnished gold of her hair. She wore a peacock blue gown with enormous sleeves that accentuated the curve of her waist, and he wanted to wrap an arm around those curves and pull her closer.

For a moment, she stood gazing at him, letting him drink in the sight of her.

As his smile faded, something more potent made his breath quicken. “You’re here,” he said dumbly because it seemed to be all his brain could manage.

“And you wish I wasn’t, I presume. I need you to know that I’ve told Lily and Griffin nothing,” she said, her tone low but intense. “As far as they know, I’ve never met you, so that’s how you must behave when we’re introduced.”

Cassian nodded. “I understand.”

“I detest lying to them. I wish we could be done with lies.”

“I do too, Daphne.”

Something flickered in her eyes. A warmth that made that ember in his chest flare.

“I should go back to the drawing room,” she said and then began to move past him.

He reached for her, brushing his fingers along the warm, soft skin of her arm. He held her gently.

She didn’t pull away.

This close, he could tell her breath was racing too. And when she dropped her gaze to his lips, it shot a warm flash of pleasure through him.

“Daphne.” He’d meant to say more, but it felt so damned good to simply say her name.

“Cassian,” she whispered in return.

The sound of his name on her lips made him want to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness for being such an ass back in London.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he rasped, the rawest truth.