When she left the conservatory, Harland stayed back. The mask she’d worn might be back in the cottage of Mandeville House, but Abigail Sutton, the glorious Miss S, was still hiding.

Hand fisted as he leaned on his arm against the window frame, he worked his teeth back and forth over each other. Secrets.

Was that any way to live? Was that what he would stand for, being relegated to being a memory? Was that what he deserved?

Enough of this. He knew what he wanted. And he wasn’t about to stand by while she pushed him aside without first hearing what it was.

The company was assembled in the drawing room when he returned.

He came to the mantel, but Lady Ingrahme accosted him before he could speak, a sharp sort of wary alertness on her features. “You look agitated, nephew.”

“Yes, I think that might be quite an accurate assessment of my current state.”

She leaned close, head bent conspiratorially, relaxing her features into pleasantness, no doubt to fool the casual onlooker about the true tenor of their conversation.

Schooled expression or not, behind her, one of the guests—the one with feathers who might or might not have been Abigail’s employer—turned all her attention to what was happening before the fire between him and his aunt. The woman made no attempts at hiding her curiosity.

Good.

He’d never been more ready in his life to make a scene than here and now before the biggest gossipmongers London could provide.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, nephew, leave it off until tomorrow. Your current state has put you in no condition—”

“What is it precisely you think me to be about to do, aunt?”

“Something you’ll regret.”

“I’m past regrets.” Past fear. Past holding himself back because of some idea that to be a gentleman, a man must show reservation and restraint. If he kept living his daily life by those rules, he’d be resigning himself to spending all the rest of his years alone. Somewhere along the way, that had become unacceptable. It wasn’t certain that she’d take him—it was a risk. A huge risk, never one bigger. Never one more important.

“You say that now, but it’s always best to reflect on the matter in the fresh light of a new day with a clear and calm head. It isn’t like you to be rash.”

“Maybe it ought to be.” His gaze landed on Abigail. “I know what it is I want and I find I’m unable to wait one more minute to claim it.”

His aunt blinked and drew back a little. “That’s quite the assertion.”

“It’s not an assertion. An assertion has little claim to support or reason. It will stand to reason, but a very different reason than any with a basis in a scientific turn of mind.”

She covered her face with a bejeweled hand and shook her head. “Oh, my dear boy, is there any other kind of reason?”

“The reason of my heart.”

The grand lady only stared, lips parted, gaze frozen and unblinking upon him. He’d never before seen her struck dumb—if she’d ever before been at a loss for words, it hadn’t been in his lifetime.

She reached out to pat his arm. “You’re my nephew and I will always hold you dear. Remember that.”

“You believe I’m about to make a fool of myself?”

“Aren’t you?”

“The only way I could make myself a fool now is by caring either way.”

“Then who am I to stop you?” She swept an open hand to the side to indicate he was free to take the attention of the room and resumed her position in its center, black skirts perfectly arranged about her legs.

The company’s pretense of being involved in their own conversations fell away. Everyone was silent—staring at him in open expectation.

It was one of those dreamlike moments. If not for the snug tailoring at the armscyes of his jacket keeping such a firm clamp about his shoulders, he might have glanced down to ensure each and every article of clothing remained affixed in its proper place on his person.

But this wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t asleep. Despite this—despite having no slumber from which to break—Harland was finally about to awaken.

For a long time afterwards, the smell of roses and wood polish would send him right back to that moment he’d stood before them, though he hadn’t been consciously aware of noticing either at the time.

“There is something I very much want you all to know.”

He glanced back to Abigail. She’d gone pale, and her wide eyes remained fixed unblinkingly upon him. If she noticed others in the room turning their heads to follow the direction of his stare, she made no indication.

“I’m afraid I’ve done a very wicked thing.”

“Oh, thank heavens for that.” It was one of the unidentified matrons who’d spoken. “Well? Speak up, my lord.” She glanced around the room and then gave a little toss of her head, making the superfluity of feathers upon her head flounce. “I, for one, have no qualms about saying what everyone here is thinking, which is that we should very much like to know what it is.”

Before now, Harland would have found her grating. But she was right—it’s what everyone in the room was thinking. Moreover, it was the perfect invitation for him to continue. The most important thing was to say what he had to say.

“I’ve been keeping a secret. This particular one I have in mind is not of long duration, but I find I can bear it no longer.” He drew a breath. “Just now I had a brief meeting in the conservatory. I was told I had no hope of attaining my heart’s desire. But I stand before you now to declare that I have no intention whatsoever of giving up the one and only thing—the one and only person—who will make the rest of my days worth living.”

When he paused, the room was perilously silent.

The matron with the feathers raised a gloved hand. “The conservatory sounds a grand place. Might I chance a pass through it myself, Lady Ingrahme?”

A few of the guests tried to hide smiles while others had no apprehension about sharing their disapproving frowns.

Lady Ingrahme’s mouth unpinched long enough for her to offer a few words. “What is it you’re trying to say, nephew?” She couldn’t have sounded more stiff had she given her voice a bath in starch.

“That I have no patience for secrets—not any longer. That I won’t hide where it is my heart has at last found purchase. I’m not ashamed. Neither am I sorry. Nothing matters any longer, except that we stave off all possibility of regrets.”

The turbaned woman adjacent to the be-feathered matron spoke. “Forgive me, my lord, but are you speaking of my companion, Miss Sutton?”

“I am, indeed, madam.”

She looked exceedingly uncomfortable, like a mouse was crawling up her leg and she’d wagered a hundred pounds she would endure the ordeal without screaming or flailing. “But you’ve only just made her acquaintance today, my lord.”

“Not true. Last night—” He locked eyes with Abigail’s, the memory warm honey in his veins. “Last night, we danced.”