Harland sat on the flagstone steps of an enclosed courtyard.

The courtyard was essentially in disuse. It had originally been enclosed when his late uncle had it in mind to start a statuary garden. The space had been readied, but no statuary had ever been procured. The old Lord Ingrahme had fallen ill and passed before beginning the project in earnest.

It was like Harland in every particular. A place readied, but all hope lost before any life could be lived.

He raised his head at the sound of the chiming clock, strokes ringing out like a chiding schoolmaster.

He wasn’t to have Abigail. The memory of the dance and their subsequent night together would have to be enough. It wasn’t to be and he would accept that.

Tomorrow.

The clock struck the penultimate chime. One more and it would be midnight—officially tomorrow. Well, perhaps he’d leave off feeling sorry for himself after a good night’s sleep. If there was to be anything like a good night’s sleep ever again. There would be thousands more mornings in his life, each would great him as alone as ever.

Just as the twelfth and final strike sounded, the French doors adjoining the conservatory to the courtyard burst open. The rectangles of glass clattered in their panes.

And there she was. In her night clothes, with the plait of her hair down about one shoulder.

The room was hardly lit. Most of the light came in the same way as the heat—through the glass doors of the adjacent conservatory.

It was enough.

He remained still, too afraid of spoiling the image with so much as a blink. If there’d been air in his lungs, it would have to serve until he could once again grow so bold as to draw breath.

“I found you.”

Was she real? His lips parted. How…? What…?

She approached. The soft fall of her stockinged feet against the empty stone floor came with a whisper that no ghost or figment could have managed, could it have?

Was this her? Abigail? The Abigail who might have been his who’d slipped from his grasp?

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He rose as she came up before him, but said nothing.

Her eyes were large—glistening with earnestness. “I rather thought there was a fair chance you couldn’t either.”

“No.” The utterance came out in tatters. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and tried again. “No. I—I could not.”

“I’m sorry about—” She looked away, trouble deep on her brow. “Well, I didn’t like the way we left off.”

She licked her lips, drawing heat to life in wholly inappropriate places. Oh, if only those lips were his to kiss.

“What is it you suggest?”

“Earlier tonight I was thinking I should never have accepted your offer to dance.”

Harland cringed. “Abigail, please I beg you, I’ve endured enough tonight, and I rather think—”

“I know, my lord, and I beg your forgiveness, I do, and there is no reason you should have to hear me out, except for my own selfish whims, but I want you to know I was wrong about that—about regretting having accepted your offer to dance, I mean.”

“Is that what you’ve come here to tell me?”

“I came here to—” She glanced about the room. “Well, truthfully, I didn’t know until just now, but I rather think I came here to see if there might be any chance…” Her gaze locked into his, expression open and unguarded with pleading longing. “…any chance that perhaps we don’t have to spend the whole rest of our lives having danced together only once?”

Far better to push her away. Far better to keep her at a distance. The sooner he could remove himself from her company completely, the better. He had to be strong.

But hardening his heart against her wasn’t an option. It would have been easier if he could have. But this was the woman he loved. For good or for ill, he couldn’t change his feeling for her, no matter the pain their ultimate parting would inflict.

Part they would, and soon enough, at that. If this was the last thing she could offer him, this is what he would take.

Harland bowed. In kind, Abigail curtsied. He held out an ungloved hand. Her own slipped into his, bare skin to bare skin. A shiver coursed his spine. They’d been locked together in the most intimate embrace a man and woman could find together—he’d moved himself inside the warm embrace of her body. Yet this simple contact sent the thrill of daring excitement through his blood that he was allowed to touch this woman in such a manner.

He took her into his arms, their position together closed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to waltz, my lord.”

“Shh.” Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. “I’ve seen you dance. There’s nothing to this, you’ll see. Stay up on the balls of your feet. Then all you have to do is follow.”

The steps of the waltz were slow, but not hesitant. She echoed his lead, allowing him to take her all about the room in a simple, improvised arrangement.

They longer they went, the more confident she became. As if she were blooming. Just the way she had when he had his mouth on her—

Without warning, she pulled away, chest falling up and down as if she had trouble catching her breath. “I’m sorry, my lord. I can’t—I can’t do this.”

A new hope he hadn’t known he’d been holding snuffed out of existence. He went stiff, bracing himself against the shattering crash of disappointment. Dash it all, she’d said no once and made no real indication of changing her mind. Why did this have to be so difficult a second time around? “I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“Abigail—”

“Together we’re not alone, you see.”

“What?”

“Harland, I love you.”

Time hung on the balance of a single moment, one second having forgotten to fall into the next, his heart having forgotten to beat.

That was odd. He didn’t remember finding himself at the bottom of a bottle of spirits. And when he did—which had been only once, given the harsh consequence bound up in the light of the next morning—he hadn’t dreamt so vividly as this.

“It’s true, my lord, I do. I can hardly believe it myself, but I lied, and living so excruciatingly in the hours since having rejected you—well, you’re right. I mean about secrets. Carrying them well…it’s just no good, is it?”

“But—”

“I know. I know. But I was afraid. Surely you must understand that. You’re…” She gestured at him. “Well, you, and I’m—I’m nothing.”

“Never say you’re nothing.” The words came from his lips as if taking on a life of their own. “You’re the woman I love.”

“I’m nothing without you.”

“You must be certain. I can’t endure more heartbreak.”

“If you’ll still have me.” She stepped close, head leaned back to gaze up at him, and slipped her hand into his, their fingers locking.

“You think me so faithless?”

“No, my lord. I don’t. That’s what inspires my own faith that this isn’t the work of a moment and bound to be our undoing. I think instead it shall be our salvation.”

“Then you shall be my wife?” His throat closed around the w-word, this time not out of fear and apprehension, but because his heart leapt. “You’ll have to be mine for always. I shall accept no less.”

“I shall. You have my heart and it shall stay that way, forever and always. Except…on one point, you’ll allow me to make an amendment?”

He clipped the quick denial from his tongue, steadying himself into a rational response, though still having to speak carefully. “An amendment to what?”

“The answer I gave you back in the cottage—the one about the best gift I ever received.”

Unease abated. He smiled. What a time that had been. And now they had a lifetime of even better nights before them, all theirs for the taking. Beginning tonight.

Harland ran a tender stroke down the side of her head. “Oh?”

“Yes, because, you see, the kitten is only the second best gift I’ve ever received. The first, my love, is you.”