Page 32

“T o the Lyndon estate, Charles,” Alex instructed as his valet held the carriage door open.

He stepped in, settling stiffly against the leather seat, bracing himself for the task ahead.

The horses jolted forward, and the carriage rolled on, its polished wheels gliding smoothly over the cobblestones.

Houses passed by, each more refined than the last, row upon row of symmetry and pristine show. He might have enjoyed the sight, but his mind was elsewhere—not along manicured streets, but back in a shadowed alley, where elegance had been forgotten completely.

This memory was exceptionally sharp today.

He could still feel Sera’s hand tugging his, the way she’d pulled him into that narrow space, with scattered laundry above swaying between soot-darkened brick walls.

Nothing about it had been proper or polished, yet it had felt breathtakingly real.

She had kissed him first, her lips unhesitating, her boldness rendering him speechless.

He hadn’t just kissed her back; he’d claimed her, holding her as if the narrow walls around them were the only refuge they’d have.

The memory burned—raw and unmistakable.

And somehow, she had left a mark on him that went far deeper than anything physical.

Sera had unlocked something in him, unbidden and wild, that no one else had dared to reach.

She hadn’t just kissed him; she’d unraveled him.

Alex clenched his jaw, looking past the passing streets, their elegance fading into insignificance against the memory of her.

Until then, his life had been perfectly ordered, much like the immaculate avenues of London.

A carriage bound to stay within its narrow path, pressed between constraints and expectations.

Safety, formality, order—it had all boxed him in.

Yet, as the carriage swayed lightly, Alex realized how suffocating it all had been.

His soul wasn’t made for these streets.

It craved open waters and boundless horizons. Sera had made him see that. She was like the schooner he had always longed for, untethered and wild, braving the Atlantic winds without a hint of hesitation.

He shifted, restless, as the estate loomed closer, its ivy-covered walls echoing tradition and expectation.

The delicate bouquet in his hand felt absurd—utterly at odds with the turmoil churning in his chest. Miss Lyndon was another reminder of every confined obligation he’d allowed to steer him this far, and it was time to put an end to it.

Guilt nipped at him, but he shoved it down with the resolve that had guided him through many battles—not just for himself, but now for his love.

He scowled at the flowers. They felt less like a thoughtful token and more like a misplaced prop in the drama he was about to unravel.

What he was about to say would require delicacy, perhaps even a pretense of tact. Ending the engagement would be a blow to Miss Lyndon.

He knew that much.

Yet, as the ivy-shrouded estate loomed closer, Alex reminded himself that he didn’t owe her anything more than his honesty.

Their agreement had been one born of convenience, after all—a union to strengthen ties, enhance fortunes, and provide titles where needed.

There had only ever been an obligation, and would releasing her be a gift of freedom? And yet, breaking it wasn’t so simple.

The Lyndon family controlled one of the most powerful shipping fleets in the region.

Lyndon Fleets and Transportation had long served as a vital partner to Alex’s family.

Even as his pulse quickened with resolve, a shadow of doubt followed close behind.

Would severing personal ties jeopardize the business entirely?

Could the families remain civil, complications and all?

Somehow, he thought, it had to work out.

Somehow. It wasn’t just his reputation on the line—it was his family’s standing, their future partnerships, entire trade routes.

The weight of it pressed on him like an iron mantle.

But none of that mattered as much as Sera.

How could it, when she had gripped him with a force he didn’t think possible?

His feelings for her burned with such intensity that they seared through every other priority, leaving nothing in their wake but one desperate truth.

His love for her was something raw, untamed, and utterly at odds with the immaculate world Miss Lyndon represented.

Ferocious—that was the word for it.

And Cornwall. Well, the Cornish beach was where it happened—that wild, windswept corner of the country that had torn his predictable world asunder.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love there. And he’d never planned on stepping past the invisible boundary society had so carefully drawn around men of his rank.

But with Sera, reason hadn’t stood a chance.

He’d taken her into his arms, claimed her willingly, and been claimed just as fiercely in return.

A thousand rules shattered under the weight of their shared passion.

That moment had changed him in more ways than one, not least of all because he had taken something from her that could never be undone.

Her chastity. But he’d given his heart in return.

Plus, he’d promised Sera to come to Vauxhall.

By then, he needed to be free of Miss Lyndon.

The word echoed bitterly in his mind, filling him with something close to guilt, though he wasn’t sure whom it was directed toward—himself, for having crossed the line, or the strictures of Society, which had drawn it in the first place.

What mattered now was what it meant. He hadn’t simply fallen for her; he had tied her to him forever in a way that neither of them could ignore, even if they wanted to.

And he didn’t.

The horses slowed, and the carriage came to a halt outside the sprawling Lyndon estate.

Alex’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, but his thoughts were far from the delicate blossoms. He exhaled slowly, pushing his misgivings aside.

Everything about what he was about to do might feel impossible, reckless even.

But what choice did he have?

Sera had made him see the truth of himself—one no title, fleet, or alliance could bury. He loved her. And now, it was time to face the reality that came with that love.

The butler, a man with a face as stiff and straight as his collar, received him with a raised brow, informed him that Miss Lyndon was indisposed, and requested—no, commanded—him to wait.

Alex took a seat, then promptly rose again, too restless to pace the drawing room’s length like a caged animal.

A tapestry depicting some mythical conquest stared back at him, the embroidered knights looking vaguely accusatory.

He tried not to feel judged by a swatch of fabric.

“Prince Alexander?” came a piping voice from the doorway.

Alex turned to find a girl standing there with an impish grin. Her pinafore was slightly askew, and her light brown hair tumbled in a torrent of disorder.

“Yes,” he said cautiously, glancing behind her only to notice she was alone.

“I’m Isabella Lyndon, the younger sister,” she said, almost proudly.

She looked all of twelve but carried herself with a confidence entirely unsuited to her years.

Trouble, he thought instinctively.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Isabella,” he replied, bowing slightly while clutching the flowers tighter. Perhaps too tightly, for one of the stems audibly snapped.

She stepped into the room with a gravity that suggested she was deliberating over his worth as a candidate for public office. Her gaze dropped instantly to the bouquet in his hand. “Are those for my sister?”

“They are,” Alex managed. Somehow, this felt even more humiliating to admit aloud.

“Have you finally come to court her?”

Alex blinked. “Ah… Not… Exactly, no.”

“Right, I suppose chivalry dies when an engagement starts.” Her eyes narrowed, darting from his face to the flowers and back again.

“If you’re not, then why bring flowers? They’re nearly the same thing as a proposal, you know.

But you are already betrothed, so this should be an apology, right?

” She wrinkled her nose and tilted her head, eyeing him with the same discerning gaze as a matron four times her age.

Alex coughed. “They’re a gesture.”

“Of an apology. Otherwise, I can only assume it’s a bride.”

Vexing little brat. “Fine, it’s a gesture of an apology.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Then you should have bought a garden.”

He opened his mouth, but the words fell between his head and tongue. He was defeated in the face of this child. “Isn’t there something young ladies your age ought to be doing right now? Such as playing with a hoop and stick?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s dreadful. Besides, you’ve interrupted my pianoforte practice, so now I have nothing to do except examine your character.”

Her spunk reminded him a little bit of Sera. “And you can’t possibly return to the pianoforte now that I’m here?”

She shook her head. “Of course, not.”

Alex sighed, glancing toward the door as though by some divine intervention, the butler—anyone—might appear and rescue him. No such luck. “I simply wanted to speak to your sister about a mutual matter of importance.”

The girl plopped herself into an armchair with all the grace of a seasoned dowager and rested her chin in her hands. “You’ll have to wait a long time, then. She’s out.”

“I gathered that.” Alex’s pulse tightened. “Out where?”

She shrugged with deliberate vagueness. “Shopping, I suppose. Or visiting someone. She has many friends, you know. Now that we have returned to London, she has calls to make. Why do you need her so badly, anyway?”

He hesitated. That was hardly a question he could truthfully answer here. “It’s too complicated to discuss with an eight-year-old girl.”