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“When I was eighteen,” she continued, “I thought I had fallen in love. Mr. Yates was charming, handsome, and came from a well-respected family. At first, he doted on me, but little by little, he revealed his true self. In every way, he controlled my actions. I was no longer allowed to observe birds, walk around my own estate, or even speak with my aunt and uncle. Matters became worse when he defended the fact that he was…fraternizing with other women all while expressing his love for me.”

Mr. Branok’s brow hung dangerously low over his eyes, a subtle shaking of his head revealing how exactly he felt about Mr. Yates’s actions. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry you ever experienced such a betrayal.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But I assure you, I have healed greatly over the years. In truth, I could almost see why Mr. Yates did what he did.”

“There is no excuse,” Mr. Branok said firmly.

Lark could have thrown her arms around his neck at the words.

Such honor, such loyalty, she’d never experienced beyond her own family.

“I agree. There is no excuse. But Mr. Yates was obviously desperate—if not a little deluded. You see, as the youngest of eight sons, he was anxious to make a name for himself, so he thought he could do so by marrying me…a young, moldable, impressionable heiress.”

Lark watched Mr. Branok carefully, studying his surprised expression. “You are an heiress?”

Warmth swarmed her heart and filled every inch of her. Of course he would not know. Of course he had not given a single thought to her fortune.

“I am,” she replied. “My home is Brackenmore Hall in Suffolk. For obvious reasons, I tend to keep that side of my life as silent as possible.”

“I can understand,” Mr. Branok stated. “Though, you should not have to hide who you are to avoid despicable men from misusing you.”

“No, I should not,” she said wryly. “And yet, I must. Even just recently, I was proposed to by a gentleman after merely a week of knowing one another, for he was in search of a fortune himself.”

She gave a small, mirthless laugh at the memory. She’d become frankly unhinged at Mr. Drake’s sudden and unexpected proposal. She’d been minding her own business, seeking out a bird, when he’d confronted her with the question.

And worst of all? Lark had laughed.

She’d laughed . In her defense, it had been a laughable moment, for they had not spoken above a handful of times before he was expressing his desire to wed her.

Still, she held no ill will toward the man. Mr. Drake had never been unkind. Not like Mr. Yates.

“While I still intend to keep the knowledge of my wealth to myself,” she continued, “I am no longer afraid. I have help now. My uncle was the one who discovered Mr. Yates’s infidelity so I was able to cast the man out before I could seal my fate with his.

Ever since, he and Aunt Harriet have taken me under their wings, protecting me, watching over me, and ensuring I lead the life I wish to. ”

Mr. Branok’s features softened. “I am glad you had them at your side through all of it.”

“As am I.”

The strain she’d felt before at having to reveal Mr. Yates’s cruelty was now growing fainter as it lifted from her heart and reminded her of the light that had come into her life since.

The light that had come into her life in the form of Aunt Harriet, Uncle Francis, even on occasion her mother.

And now, a light beamed brighter than all the others in the form of Mr. Branok.

She peered up at him, feeling the warmth and glow of that very light now as his eyes perused her features.

“So you see?” she began. “There is nothing to worry about concerning Uncle Francis—what he may believe or what others may say. He knows I do not wish to marry and would therefore never force me to. If I were to have a husband, that would only occur because of my wholehearted desire to marry you.”

Their eyes met, and suddenly, Lark was struck with what she’d said. “If-if I had such a desire to marry anyone ,” she corrected, but the words had already been spoken.

The intimacy of the situation settled around her. They were alone again. Secluded. No chance of being spotted or interrupted. And they had spoken of marrying one another.

No, they had spoken of not marrying one another. That their plans to remain single forever had remained unchanged.

And yet, the words jumbled in her mind, confusing her desires and muddling her logic.

“What a relief,” Mr. Branok said, staring down at her, his voice as deep and soothing as when he’d spoken near the frightened owl.

She needed to say something, to let him know she did not truly wish to marry him. Or at least, she did not think she wished to marry him.

Her eyes dropped to his shoulders, the ridges visible through his wet shirt. “I believe it is foolish for anyone to assume something is between us,” she said distractedly. “Other than friendship, I mean.”

“Quite foolish,” he agreed. “But I would hate for your name to be tainted with rumors, nonetheless. Especially rumors I could have prevented.”

The raindrops tapped lightly against the leaves around them, muting the air and creating an ambience of peace. Of privacy. Where words could be shared without being overheard, and actions could go unnoticed by all but themselves.

Her eyes rose to his lips, moisture clinging to the tops of them.

“Rumors are as untamable as a free bird in flight,” she replied, taking a step toward him. “I would never blame you for that.”

“What would you blame me for?” he asked in a whisper.

He remained where he stood, his brow furrowed, though his eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second.

That was all the encouragement she needed. “I would blame you for increasing my desire to be near you.”

“And why do you wish to be near me?” he asked, his gaze stalwart, no hint of teasing in his eye.

Whispers of waterdrops slipped past the trees, falling down around them. The air was still, no breeze to be felt, and any chill Lark might have experienced was warded off due to Mr. Branok’s greatcoat still draped round her shoulders.

“Mr. Yates did not allow me to walk in the rain because of how it made me appear—ragged and weary.”

Mr. Branok frowned, his jaw twitching in disapproval, but she continued.

“My aunt and uncle do not allow me to come out into the rain for fear of me catching a cold.” She drew a step closer.

“But you? You believed in my ability to help with the owl. You did not push me back indoors. You are the only gentleman who has not told me to hide from the rain. Instead, you protected me from it…and sacrificed your own comfort to do so. That is why I wish to be near you.”

Her hand moved as if of its own accord, sliding down the shape of his shoulder to the lines in his upper arm.

Mr. Branok swallowed hard. “You deserve to make your own choices in life, Miss Fernside,” he began, his voice husky.

“All of them?” she asked, peering up at him through her own wet lashes.

She had taken leave of her senses. What other excuse had she to draw so close to him, to make her desires so known—directly after she’d told him she still had every intention of remaining single?

What was her intent to be near him, then? To ask for his kiss, but to remain unattached?

The truth of the words slipped into her conscience like the rain to the earth below. That was precisely her intent. She’d longed for it ever since that night on the stairs. Just one kiss. That would surely satisfy any desire she had.

Perhaps that truth made her a scoundrel herself.

A broad. A…a loose woman. But as she stared up at Mr. Branok, the man whose work she’d admired for years, the man who’d seen her for who she was and allowed her to be— encouraged her to be—her true self…

She did not care what she was labeled, so long as the label was Mr. Branok’s desire.

But she would not push him further.

The line between his brow deepened, desire clear as day within those blue eyes she’d grown to love, and her heart dipped with anticipation.

Just like before, the space between them sparkled with energy as if anticipating a lightning strike. But unlike before, Lark would not say a word. Instead, she kept her eyes on him, her lips slightly parted, open and ready to accept his affection.

An errant raindrop splashed against his cheekbone, sliding along the side of his features. It lingered at the edge of his jaw, and Lark hesitated a moment before reaching forward, gently wiping the moisture away.

Mr. Branok’s broad chest rose with a deep breath, and he closed his eyes with a furrowed brow. When they flashed open again, his gaze was more intent, and the determination within them caused her stomach to turn pleasantly.

His jaw flinched, again and again, as if he fought an internal battle to keep away from her. She longed to tell him he was fine, that she did not think less of him for having the desire to kiss her—that she thought more of him.

She longed to let him know that all would be well after the kiss, that they would both be able to maintain their plans to remain single.

But she knew, one word would break the spell.

She could do nothing but wait.

Now, it was up to him.