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It took every shred of self-governance Sara possessed to keep a smile on her face through the rest of that interminable day. James worked for her father. He might be called to the militia at any moment. He could be hurt... or worse. Sick panic rose in her throat at the thought.

She had to tell him the truth. Tonight.

What a fool she’d been to think she could run from the past. Her mind spun with scenarios, each worse than the last. James’s trust in her would be broken.

Her father would confront her and condemn her anew or he’d turn against James.

His influence stretched far beyond Toronto.

He could ruin James’s credibility in a way that could reach every settlement in the colony.

Only one thing was certain. There was no going back, no matter how much she wanted to curl up on her bed, close her eyes and return to the way things were when she was invisible Sara O’Connor.

She left James to finish tucking Evie in for the night with a muffled excuse about wanting tea, and escaped to the kitchen.

“I moved your things to Mr. Kinney’s room.” Mrs. Hobbes looked up from the sock she was darning with a curious tilt of her chin. “Do you need any help with your gown?”

Sara tried to swallow, though her mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. It’s not like this was a surprise. She knew she’d be married. Sharing a room. Mrs. Hobbes stared at her, waiting for a response.

“No, no, I’ll be fine on my own.” Sara looked around the kitchen, wishing she could pick up the mending or put away plates as she’d done only a week ago. Her lips quirked. Wouldn’t Mrs. Hobbes wonder if she started doing housework on her wedding night?

She made her way to James’s bedroom with slow steps.

Sara looked around, taking in the walls, papered in delicate, swirling pink vines and flowers.

They were at odds with the solid, dark furniture and the plain, woven coverlet on the bed.

Her eyes skimmed over the long dresser that spanned one wall, empty of any ornament.

A washstand in the corner was the only other furniture, displaying a white washbasin and a few shaving tools.

She reached out a finger to trace the outline of a rose on the wallpaper, the only sign left of the woman who must have once shared this room.

Was Amelia’s memory so painful to him that he’d removed all other reminders?

Was he still in love with her? She snatched her hand away from the wall, clenching her fingers.

It didn’t matter. He’d given her a home and a daughter.

She didn’t have the right to ask for more.

Shaking off the dark turn of her thoughts, she undid the buttons on her gown and hung it in the wardrobe.

At some point today, Mrs. Hobbes had moved James’s clothing to one side and hung Sara’s few dresses next to his.

She washed and slipped into her new nightdress.

It was fine lawn, gathered at the neck and flowing in voluminous folds that hid almost every inch of her body.

She was thankful for that. Her old nightgown had been so threadbare it was practically transparent.

Removing the pins from her hair, she felt the blessed relief as she unwound the tight braid. Perhaps she ought to have tried a fancier style, but something in her rebelled at the thought of erasing every sign of Sara O’Connor, laundress, plain and simple.

Her hand paused as she pulled the brush through her hair. Plain and simple. Her past was anything but. A sickening wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm her. She dropped her brush onto the dresser and quickly braided the loose waves.

She took a steadying breath. Give me the words to tell James the truth.

The fire burned low, and she burrowed under the covers, pulling the quilt up to her chin.

She took a moment to luxuriate in the comfort of feather ticking and sweet-scented sheets.

Curling up on her side, her eyes fell on James’s pillow, turning her thoughts to a more immediate uncertainty. Tonight.

Her memories of Colin were hazy now, as though they’d happened to someone else.

He’d been full of life, and the girl she’d been then had taken his hand and followed wherever he led.

But never once had she felt his touch down to the soles of her feet.

Never once had a glance seared her and left her body humming with energy.

She’d agreed to a marriage for Evie’s sake, but she couldn’t ignore the way her heart raced at even the most casual brush of his hand against hers.

And that kiss... She allowed herself a moment to remember the featherlight touch of his lips on hers and to wonder what it would be like if he kissed her again. Kissed her and didn’t stop.

But it was clear he wasn’t interested in her that way, for he’d gone out of his way to avoid her these last few days. It was a relief, she assured herself. She didn’t want the complication any more than he did.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her breaths to become deep and regular until the beating of her heart slowed and the frantic quivers in her stomach settled.

The sound of the door handle turning woke her later. She heard his steps cross the room and then his weight on the mattress beside her, his familiar scent of sandalwood drifting across the pillow.

She was still, waiting for him to break the silence. But he said nothing, did nothing. Her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, made out the shape of him. He sat on the side of the bed, his back to her, elbows leaning on his knees, head bowed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. She opened her mouth, willing the words to come out.

“James?”

Marriage wouldn’t change anything. Sara already lived in his house and presided over Evie’s education. The ceremony was a mere formality to silence Stephen Osgoode and give Evie the security she needed.

At least, that’s what James told himself, right up until he walked into his bedroom and saw Sara curled up in his bed. Now he sat beside her, his body attuned to her every breath. How had he ever thought marriage would make life easier?

He closed his eyes. Would there come a day when she would accept him as a husband.

.. in every sense of the word? Did he even want that?

Of course, he did. Every nerve in his body strained to hold her.

But a deeper worry held him back. What if he gave her everything, including his heart, and it wasn’t enough?

“James?” The sound of her voice was like an electric shock, bringing every sense to life.

“Yes?” He hesitated, then turned to face her.

“I—I need to tell you something.” She sat up.

His body grew still, his stomach dipping in sudden tension. Married less than twelve hours and he’d already disappointed her.

“It’s about your employer. I didn’t know...”

He relaxed a fraction. She was still worried about moving in society.

“Ballantine might be one of the richest men in Toronto, but you have nothing to fear from him.” His eyes had adjusted so well to the dark by this point that he could see the way she worried her bottom lip in an expression he was coming to recognize.

“You’d be an ornament to any assembly you chose to attend.

” He was watching her as he spoke, otherwise he might not have seen the shadow that passed over her face.

“No, I wouldn’t. Please don’t ask it of me.” There was an edge of desperation to her voice.

“I won’t,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. If anything, she looked more upset than ever. “It doesn’t matter what any of these people think. Come spring, we’ll head north.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was the most natural thing in the world. Yet, in an instant, everything changed. The camaraderie between them vanished, leaving behind a crackling tension that set every nerve on edge.

Sara must have felt it, too, for the smile faded from her face. Her eyes searched his, her bottom lip still caught between her teeth. He lifted her hand and tucked it against his chest. If he tugged, she’d be in his arms.

Her body softened, swaying toward him. He wanted to reach out and touch his lips to hers. To lower her to the bed. She was so close he could feel the delicate exhale of her breath. Emotions rushed at him, faster than he could take them in. Tenderness. Desire. Love.

No. Not love.

He’d promised himself he’d never risk his heart again. He ducked his head, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. For a long moment he stayed thus while he fought to get his emotions under control. I’d make no demands on you. Wasn’t that what he’d promised her?

She tugged her hand, and he released it. “James, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She was going to push him away. Tell him to stick to his promise and take himself off, and she was right.

“There’s something I need to tell you, as well,” James said, avoiding her eyes.

“I think it would be best if...” If what?

If he listened to every pulse of his body and kissed her?

If he left the room as fast as his legs could carry him?

His eyes drifted to her lips. He was so close. He’d only need to lean forward and—

His lips found hers, and in an instant, he was lost in her warmth.

His hands reached out to tangle in the silky strands of her hair that escaped the confines of her braid.

He deepened the kiss, pulling her close against him.

Her hands drifted up, fluttering for a moment before coming to rest on his shoulders.

He felt her touch, searing him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

It was enough to bring him back to his senses. With a groan, he tore himself away.

“Sara. I—I’m sorry.” She looked away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. He was making a mess of this. “It’s not that I don’t want—” He concentrated on his words and not the memory of the kiss. “I want to protect you from disappointment.”

“You don’t need to protect me.” She brought her eyes level with his. “I’ve loved and lost before. I understand the risks.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If there is anyone who needs protecting in this marriage... it’s you.”

He jerked back. “Ridiculous. Protection from what?” He scanned her face, trying to grasp the meaning behind her words, but he had a hard time focusing on anything other than the faint scent of roses in her hair and the warmth of her hand on his.

“Do you hear that?” Sara turned to the door, a crease forming between her brows.

“What?” James shook his head, trying to break the spell of her nearness. A faint pounding was audible. He cocked his head. From the back door?

The pounding came again, louder this time, breaking the spell between them. He jumped up as Henry’s warning came crashing back.

“Who could that be?”

Sara’s question followed him out into the hall, but he didn’t stop to answer. His mind had already gone to muskets and militia.

The rebellion had begun.