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He found her not far from where she’d been earlier, standing near the drawing room’s wide windows beside a dark-haired young lady who shared her features and seemed to have her affection.

He guessed she must be one of the other Bridewell sisters.

Julian had mentioned that there were several and also that one of her sisters was the Duchess of Edgerton.

“Miss Bridewell,” he said to the woman he’d done a miserable job of not watching all through dinner.

The dark-haired sister tilted her head. “Let me guess, Lord Windham. You mean to steal my sister away again.”

“I’d be greatly obliged,” he replied smoothly. “I’ve a question I’d like to put to her.”

The two exchanged a quick, inscrutable look.

Then Cassian met Daphne’s gaze squarely and added, “Perhaps we might all step into the garden? The air will do us good.”

He said it lightly, but the request was sincere. And if he wasn't mistaken, the wariness in her gaze softened. Just slightly.

The Harringtons had strung lanterns throughout the garden paths and Miss Daphne Bridewell’s sister took off wandering through the waist-high beds of flowers, then broke away into the grass to smell some white roses twining around a trellis.

“She intends to seek her own path, it seems.” Cassian snuck a look at the beauty beside him.

“You’ve just summed Ivy up perfectly.” She smiled as she watched her sister. “Always determined and very certain of her own opinions.”

“A formidable combination,” he said, amused.

They walked in companionable quiet. A night breeze stirred the lanterns above them and carried the scent of roses and damp grass. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but at least for him, it felt charged.

“Are you and your sister much alike?” he asked at last.

“In some ways, but very different in other ways.”

The other Miss Bridewell had plunked herself down on the grass, seemingly unbothered about mussing her gown.

“Perhaps she doesn’t have your restraint,” he said. “Though I can’t begrudge anyone for relishing a garden.”

Daphne’s steps slowed. She looked over at him. “You think me restrained?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you see more than you let on. And I suspect you feel more than you let yourself admit.”

Something flickered across her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” His voice dropped a little. He stopped walking and turned toward her. “Forgive me if I’m being a presumptuous boor, Miss Bridewell. I only meant that last night, and again this evening, your expression said more than your words.”

Her eyes searched his, and he had the sudden, powerful sense that if he reached out—if he so much as brushed her hand—she wouldn’t pull away.

But he didn’t, of course. He couldn’t. Because she was Lady Selina’s friend, and he was pretending to be Julian.

He swallowed and looked away. “But that wasn’t what I meant to speak to you about.”

“Ah, yes, your question. Might as well ask me now.”

“I have a request,” he said, offering a crooked smile. “You may find it amusing.”

She looked at him, tension sharpening the edge of her jaw. “You’ve always been amusing, my lord.”

Yes, that is precisely how one would see Julian.

“Normally I’m rather direct,” he confessed, though he shouldn’t have. He should have been encouraging any likeness she found in him to Julian, not dissuading her.

“But this…situation,” he continued, “requires tact and a woman’s perspective.”

She looked intrigued. “Go on.”

“I’d like to know how best to win Lady Selina Lytton’s favor.”

There was a long pause. He thought he saw something like shock behind her eyes, but it was quickly shuttered.

“I thought you and she were already…well acquainted,” she said lightly.

“We are friendly,” he said, “but I think you know how often appearances can be deceiving.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yes,” she said. “I’m learning that lesson rather thoroughly this Season.”

Cassian felt it again—the urge to reach for her. To explain himself. To confess the whole damned ruse.

Instead, he retreated into the safety of his idea. “Will you help me? Advise me, I mean.”

She hesitated.

“I don’t wish to deceive my friend,” she finally said.

The guilt he’d felt at dinner rushed over him like a wave. She made him ashamed without meaning to.

“I would never ask you to. I only wish to know her favorite flower, her interests.”

“You should seek those details through conversation, my lord. Charm has never been something you lacked.” There was no compliment in her words. Indeed, she seemed more guarded than ever.

“You’re right.” He nodded and pressed his lips together. “I should have never asked such a thing of you. Yet again, I must apologize, Miss Bridewell.”

She didn’t offer quick forgiveness this time; she merely watched him.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” He bowed and turned to leave her, jaw tight. Good grief, he was a fool.

He should’ve known better than to put her in such a position. He’d just wanted an excuse to be near her, to know her better, to keep her in his orbit a little longer.

“Lord Windham.”

He stopped mid-step. Her voice cut through the garden’s quiet.

He turned. “Yes, Miss Bridewell?”

She stood just as he’d left her, her pale green gown’s beads and her honey-gold hair shimmering in the lantern light. Her expression was guarded, but her gaze held him fixed in place.

“I will help you,” she said. “But with one condition.”

His brows lifted as hope stirred in his chest. “Name it.”

“If I determine you’re not the best match for my friend,” she said, her tone cool, “I will end our arrangement. Entirely.”

He held her gaze. “You mean to assess my character then.”

“You’re asking me to help you court a dear friend. I think that entitles me to form an opinion.”

There was something noble in the way she stood—like a ship riding steady in high seas. Proud. Unwavering. So lovely that it almost hurt.

“I accept your terms,” he said quietly. “Though I suspect I’ve already failed the initial assessment.”

She offered no denial or agreement. “That still remains to be seen.”

He almost smiled, but he didn’t trust himself to do so without revealing far too much. He’d been trained to keep his bearings in all manner of weather at sea, but he sensed that Miss Daphne Bridewell was the sort of tempest who could upend all his intentions.

“You have changed,” she said firmly.

The words struck at his guilt, as if she knew of his duplicity, and he squared his shoulders. “Have I?”

“You used to seem…lighter. More carefree.”

He studied her face, desperate to know what she truly saw when she looked at him. “And now?”

She hesitated. “Now I don’t know.”

Neither did he because he’d certainly never expected to arrive in London and be bewitched within the space of two days.

“If anyone can suss me out, I suspect you can.” He gave her a short bow, forcing himself not to say more, not to reach for her hand.

Because he wouldn’t offer some chaste kiss on her knuckles.

He’d press his mouth to her wrist to feel the beat of her pulse, he’d savor the taste her skin, and then she’d know precisely what sort of man he was.

She didn’t smile or soften her stance, but she nodded. And her willingness, even with all her obvious wariness, felt like a victory.

She hadn’t sent him away, and, for now, that was enough.