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There was a moment—a charged, dizzy moment—where she thought he might seize her, consequences be damned.

Instead, he turned too quickly, his hip catching the edge of the table beside the door and sending a vase tumbling.

Water, flowers, and porcelain scattered across the floor with a spectacular crash.

Nomansland froze, mortified.

Chrissy burst out laughing, the tension dissolving into something bright and wild. She covered her mouth, but the giggle escaped, rippling down the empty hallway.

He looked at the mess, then at her, then at the door as if calculating which disaster required immediate attention.

“Leave it,” she said, still laughing. “Grandmama will enjoy the story.”

He managed a crooked smile, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t intend?—”

She shook her head, cutting him off. “If you apologize again, I’ll have to challenge you to a duel.”

He inclined his head, a real, if sheepish, bow. “Then I shall see you at the Munsterley ball. If you’ll still have me.”

She said nothing, only smiled, and watched as he slipped out into the sharp daylight. The door shut with a sharp click.

As if on cue, the sound of carriage wheels on the street signaled Grandmama’s return. Chrissy peered through the window and watched her grandmother descend, maid in tow, both laden with parcels and the aura of having vanquished several formidable opponents at the charity committee.

Within moments, Grandmama swept into the hallway, peeling off her gloves and undoing the ribbons of her bonnet. “Was that Nomansland I saw departing in such a hurry?”

Chrissy stood in the center of the hall, still giddy and a little breathless. “It was.”

Grandmama’s gaze darted to the shattered vase, then to Chrissy, then back. “And what, precisely, did he break?”

Chrissy looked at the ruin of flowers and vase, the water spreading across the tiles. “Only the vase.” She almost added, and my composure, but decided some things were better left unsaid.

Grandmama regarded her for a long moment, then nodded, her expression somewhere between suspicion and delight. “Well. I suppose that’s preferable to the alternative. Have the maid clear it, will you, dear?”

“Yes, Grandmama,” Chrissy replied.

The old woman swept off, humming light tune.

Chrissy stood in the empty hall, her reflection in long window beside the door slightly blurred. The house felt impossibly large, and the part of her that had thrilled at Nomansland’s closeness now ached at the empty space he’d left behind.

She pressed her palm to her chest, just to be sure her heart hadn’t gone skittering after him.

It hadn’t. Not yet.

But she suspected, with a giddy certainty, that next time, she would be the one to run.

* * *

Later, as the household reassembled itself and the drawing room was restored to its pre-scandalous calm, Chrissy found Grandmama in her favorite chair by the fire.

She had changed into a violet gown that flattered her regal carriage and set her white hair to shining.

She looked the picture of benevolent authority.

Chrissy poured tea with hands that trembled just enough to send a small tidal wave across the rim of each cup. She offered the first to Grandmama, then took her own and curled up on the ottoman at her grandmother’s feet, just as she’d done as a child.

For a long time, neither spoke. The only sounds were the fire’s snap and the soft tinkle of spoon on china as Grandmama stirred her cup. Chrissy stared into the empty fireplace, trying to make sense of the cold that lingered in her chest despite the warmth of the room.

At length, Grandmama spoke. “You seem troubled, darling.”

Chrissy smiled, but her lips barely cooperated. “Only a little. The duke’s visit unsettled me.”

“Men of that sort are made for unsettling,” Grandmama said, not unkindly. “I met his father, once. The entire line is bred to conquer continents, or hearts, or both.”

Chrissy sipped her tea, grateful for the slight steadiness it lent her voice.

She hesitated before speaking, struggling to name the hope that had bloomed so wildly in her chest only to wither hours later.

“I thought we understood each other. At the ball, he was… different. He cared for me, I’m sure of it.

But today, it’s as if he scarcely remembered me. ”

Grandmama set her cup down before taking Chrissy’s and setting it aside.

She folded Chrissy’s hands in hers. The older woman’s fingers were cool and dry, the grip gentle but unyielding.

“Men often become quite foolish when they fall in love. Particularly men like the duke, who have little experience with genuine affection. Conquest, yes. Real feeling, rarely.”

Chrissy’s eyes widened. “You think he?—”

“I think he is very much afraid of you, dear.” Grandmama’s tone was frank, but softened by affection. “Which is why he will do everything in his power to prove to himself, and to you, that he is not.”

Chrissy thought about the way he’d fled, about the brittle apology, the trembling when he almost—but didn’t—kiss her. “But what am I supposed to do? It’s as though I’m invisible. Or worse, like I’m only Dinah’s little sister, or Abingdon’s sister-in-law. Not myself at all.”

Grandmama considered this, her thumb brushing a slow circle over the back of Chrissy’s hand. “That is the curse of being young and in love, darling. You become both more yourself and less. It is a paradox, but one you must endure if you hope to come out the other side intact.”

Chrissy nodded, digesting this. Then, she said, “Abingdon would never approve. He thinks the duke is too scandalous for me.”

Grandmama snorted, not bothering to hide her opinion of the men in question. “Abingdon owns a gaming hell renown for being a house of pleasure. He’s no less of a scandal than the other owners. But he feels he must protect you.”

“And Dinah?”

“She only wants you to be happy. Though she would not object to your marrying a lesser noble with a castle in Scotland and a mild disposition.” Grandmama’s lips curved. “Perhaps the Rutherford boy?”

Chrissy made a face, then blushed at the childishness of it. “He is sweet. But he is not…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

Grandmama finished it for her. “He is not Nomansland.”

Chrissy buried her face in her hands, half-laughing, half-miserable. “Grandmama, what am I to do?”

The old woman cupped her chin, forced Chrissy to meet her gaze.

“You must decide what you want. Not what is expected, or what is safe, or what will please the family. But what you want.” Grandmama’s expression grew stern.

“And you must be prepared to fight for it, if necessary. Otherwise, you will spend your whole life wondering what might have been.”

Chrissy felt her eyes fill with tears, but she willed them away. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is never easy. But it is simple.”

They sat that way for a while, the silence comfortable around them.

Eventually, Grandmama rose, smoothing her skirts.

“We must prepare for the assembly this evening,” she said briskly, as if the conversation had been about nothing more momentous than the color of the tea service.

“The Rutherford boy will be there, and I would not have you looking a fright. He’s been asking after you, you know. Much more suitable.”

Chrissy nodded, obedient on the surface. But as she gathered her things and readied for the evening, she felt the resolve in her chest harden, a small gem of certainty in a storm of confusion.

She would see the duke again. She would dance with Rutherford, and all the other boys, and she would smile and play her part.

But she knew, with a clarity that startled her, that no one—not Abingdon, not Grandmama, not even Nomansland himself—could dislodge the memory of that near-kiss, or the wild, dizzying hope it had awakened.