Tessa allowed Joseph to lead her, first up a sweeping, curved staircase, and then up two more flights. At last, he drew her into a tiny attic corridor lined with servant’s rooms.

“You’re enjoying the behind-the-scenes service tour of this house, lucky girl,” he joked. “Very exclusive. Given only to the most esteemed guests.”

“Did you occupy one of these rooms, before the earl moved you to the family wing?”

“I did, in fact. And, let me guess—you wish to see.” He winked at her. “I have noticed your keen interest in my days of service, by the way, so do not feign ambivalence. You aren’t the first gentleman’s daughter to have a taste for a strapping manservant like myself.”

Tessa laughed. He was so very clever. He saw the irony and ridiculous in most things and didn’t hesitate to name them. He teased but without meanness. She’d laughed more at his comments and observations than any man she’d known, and her brothers were prodigiously funny.

Joking aside, she knew the climb up four stairwells was designed as a distraction. He was calming her. He was allowing her to compose herself and the words she would say. He understood the challenge posed by telling him.

And the challenge for him to hear it? He didn’t address this. Another man might threaten or demand, he might force her to report exactly what he wanted to know. Or he might lock it down, declare it in the past and forgotten.

Not Joseph Chance. She felt more in love with every step of the stairwell. She floated behind him.

“Are you certain we are welcome to prowl every level of the earl’s home when they are away?”

“Quite certain,” Joseph called over his shoulder. They’d come to a small rounded door at the end of the attic corridor, curved at the top like a mouse hole. He tested the knob, found it locked, and then felt around on the transom of an adjacent doorway. He came back with a key, unlocked the small door, and ushered her through.

She was immediately hit with the crisp, smoky air of London in September. Sunlight shone from an opening at the top of yet another small flight of stairs.

“The rooftop?” she laughed.

“Why not?” he said. “You’ve seen the cellar. Might as well see the other end.”

He squeezed past her in the thin stairwell, pausing to steal a kiss, and she laughed again. She wanted to reach for him, to call him back. She wanted to say, But let us not go out. Let us avoid the brightness and cold. Let’s stay here, where it’s safe and dark.

But he was already gone, pulling her toward the sunlight. She followed him onto a square widow’s walk, large enough for only three or four people. The walk was lined with a high decorative border in shiny black iron.

All around them were rooftops and brick walls, church towers, and leafy squares of London. The city sky, so frequently shrouded by smoke and soot, shone blue today. The wind lifted Tessa’s loose hair, and she turned her face into it and laughed.

“Are you frightened of heights?” Joseph asked, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I don’t even know.”

She shook her head and reached for the railing, soaking in the view. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered. Far more wonderful was the warm security of his large hands around her waist.

He came to stand behind her. “We can stay out here as long as you like. However long it takes.”

She glanced back. His message was clear. The view was lovely, but they’d come to the top of the house for a reason.

“Right,” she said, but she made no move to begin

After a moment, Joseph said, “Should I . . . kiss you again?”

She craned around. “Kiss me again? You are aware that I kissed you?”

He laughed. “Rest assured that I will never forget that you kissed me. I shall never look at boot rooms the same way again.”

She laughed and turned, burrowing against his chest. His arms closed around her like strong, safe ropes.

She thought of the Old Tessa, who had been carefully coached by her mother never to discuss the attentions of one man with a second man, unless it was to ever so slightly tease a healthy measure of jealousy.

She thought of the New Tessa, who avoided all men, and who thoughtfully and carefully said exactly what she meant to say with reason and calm. Emotionless and rational and businesslike.

Against his chest she said, “I don’t want to tell you what happened the night that Christian was conceived, because it was horrible. It was the horrible culmination to a lifetime of flirtation and silliness and vanity, which I also have no wish to discuss. But I worry if I do not say it, I will fall from a very great height every time we endeavor to . . . to . . .”

She looked up. “I want a life with you, Joseph. If you can trust me to pursue one. If you . . . think of me in that way. And if you can accept my son. I want the life we dreamed of together at Berymede.”

She paused, marveling that this had actually been easier to reveal than the events of the night with Captain Marking and the tree.

Joseph said nothing. He betrayed not even the slightest tenseness in his arms, not an intake of breath. She stole a look at his face. He stared down with a creased expression, like he’d wanted to speak but could not.

Tessa forged ahead. “I have vowed so many things since you went away, but the most important vow was not to conceal anything from you. Not again.”

“Tessa, I love you,” Joseph said.

The wind blew in the moment, lifting her hair. Long swaths of blond literally stood on end—and it felt so very appropriate. Her whole body seemed to levitate. She stared, disbelieving, at Joseph’s face. He looked almost as surprised as she was. He looked a little like he’d accidentally dropped someone’s priceless heirloom dish.

“Before you declare that,” Tessa said, “wait until you hear what I have to say.” She could not bear to have him retract these words after she’d told him.

“I don’t care what you have say,” he said, but he released her and stepped back. Now he looked gravely serious. Now he looked determine to take every dish in the cupboard and throw it at the wall.

“Yes, well. Right then,” she said. She felt cold without the circle of her arms, but she took her own step back. She turned and faced the skyline of London. She clasped the iron fencing.

She took a deep breath and the cold stung her throat. He had been right to bring her here. She could stare at the vastness of the city and feel small and inconsequential, but she could not get away.

“The man who is Christian’s natural father is a captain in the Army,” she began. “His regiment was garrisoned in Pixham last summer. During this time, there were a number of dashing officers at village assemblies or private parties. This man and I, er, singled each other out as foils almost immediately. I flirted with him shamelessly. He was especially imperious and gallant, and he preened about with a manly sort of swagger whenever I was near. It was like a little game we played, one I’d played many times with many different beaux.”

She glanced at Joseph. He’d crossed his arms over his chest. His face was patient, but he’d narrowed his eyes. Tessa had the thought, There is listening, and then there is listening.

Joseph, she thought, is LISTENING.

She looked away and bowed her head, staring at her hands on the railing. “It must be said—” She stopped and started again. “The story is not complete without acknowledging that my behavior before this time was . . . well, I suppose the best word might be coquettish? I laughed constantly, dressed colorfully, and danced with the energy of a playful kitten. I elicited, and gained, the adoring attention of most men. I loved the brotherly teasing of my family and the less-brotherly teasing of their friends. I relished my father’s gifts and praise. I thrilled to the company of suitors and beaux and gentlemen callers.”

She glanced at him, her face burning. Would her behavior seem ridiculous and vain to him, would what came next seem justified? His expression was placid.

She thought of those days, thought of the fun she had and the gowns she adored, the music, the gifts. Had she been ridiculous? She had been young and indulged, but she had never been cruel. Her friends would have admonished her if she had. Had her vanity been destructive? She’d had other pursuits—music and friendships and social errands on behalf of her mother.

She took a deep breath and continued, “For better or for worse, the role I played in our family felt very natural to me. It was not a contrivance. The Tessa St. Croix you met when you came upon me outside Gibson’s Mercantile was very truly me. I did not contrive to dazzle you into some sort of web of calculated wiles in the weeks that followed.”

“I accused you of this,” he said softly. “After the wedding. I’m sorry.”

She smiled at him gently. “I appreciate that. And I understand why. But please believe me. I like to think of that girl as the Old Tessa. Because of the baby, there is a chance that my personality was the slightest bit concentrated, boiled down to the most effective, but it was still truly me. And I did really enjoy you. I believed you to be so very handsome and fashionable and clever.”

“And now you’ve learned that I contrive to impress girls in the boot room,” he joked.

She shook her head and gave another small smile. “The captain called on me at Berymede several times, and my parents approved of him, in as much as they approved of any of my suitors. My mother’s priority was my popularity. She wanted me to be the desire of a great many men. I believe the crowning glory in her own life was the great number of men she once held in thrall. A good match and marriage was important to her, yes, but once a girl is married, she counts her admirers as only one—her husband. His wealth and affections will sustain her through her life, but in my mother’s view, I really believe there is no comparison to the great thrill of a legion of admirers.”

Tessa pivoted and leaned back against the railing, staring east. “Aren’t you glad to know you are married to the most prodigious flirt in Surrey?”

“I am glad to know I am married to you at all,” he said. “It sounds as if I would have had trouble competing for your attentions if my chances had not been leveled by—”

“My desperation?” she provided.

She would not make him say it. She wanted to add, I would have loved you regardless, but she struggled, somehow, to go this far. It was like she could not confess this terrible circumstance with Captain Marking and profess her love for him in the same conversation. The exchange would overwhelm. A tower of fragile china too high to safely balance.

She went on, “At summer’s end, the captain escorted me to an assembly in Pixham. And after we’d danced and laughed and had a generally wonderful time, he leaned in and asked me if I would honor him with a walk. Outside. In the night. Alone.”

She took a deep breath, remembering his words. He’d whispered. His voice had been different, low and growly and suggestive. She’d been intrigued. Everything about his offer had felt reckless and provocative and exciting.

Tessa, who had grown weary of the dancing, had been flattered. Captain Marking had been so very dashing that night; breathtakingly adherent to her, possessive, dominating. He had made her feel like the only woman in the world who could satisfy some unnamed dark yearning.

“Because I was foolish and reckless,” she went on, “I agreed. And when my parents had gone home and brothers were occupied, I allowed him to slip me out a rear door and lead me down a path into the forest. It was naughty and exciting, and I remember laughing as we ran down the path. It was all such a lark.”

Stupid girl, she thought in her head. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Tessa?” Joseph called, and she looked up. His voice was cautious, like he was talking to a spooked horse.

“Will you take my coat?” he asked finally. “You are shivering.”

“No,” she said. She felt hot, so hot she thought she might incinerate. She wanted to incinerate, but she kept right on standing, telling this awful tale.

“We spilled into a clearing in the woods, and in the center was this massive tree. The trunk was as thick as the chimney in Berymede’s great room, and he sort of backed me against it. I knew what was coming, of course, he had kissed me before, and I allowed it. I allowed all of it.”

A deep breath.

The next bit gushed out like blood from a vein. “But then I wasn’t simply against the tree, I was sort of locked there by his arms and the weight of him, and he started to kiss me, and it was fine, I suppose. The tree was hard and the night was colder than I’d realized, and he was quite heavy—he’d never pressed against me so firmly before—and the buttons of his uniform jabbed me through my dress. Very quickly, his kisses turned from familiar and nice to, well . . . sloppy and hard at the same time. I couldn’t breathe, I felt choked. I tried to turn my head but he followed me—every way I turned, he followed me. And he was mumbling in my ear in a way that frightened me. I tried to call out, but every time he lifted his mouth, I had to gasp for breath. My voice wouldn’t come. And his hands were everywhere. He was touching my body, containing me, preventing me from sliding right or left. And then . . .”

Another deep breath. She hesitated for a second before finishing. She’d already said far, far more than she’d wanted to say. The fine detail was entirely unnecessary. All Joseph really needed to know was that he had been aggressive and she had been afraid. But the moments had played in her head and she’d put words to them and out they came. She might as well say it all. She stared at her hands gripping the iron railing and rushed to finish.

“And then he held me by the neck with one hand and reached down to grab my ankle with the other. He forced my leg up and clawed beneath my skirt and ripped away my pantaloons. He unfastened his own breeches, and leaned in, told me what a good girl I was, over and over again. He . . . put—that is, he forced himself. And I . . . endured it.”

She looked up. She blinked. She tried to unfurl her hands from the iron rail, but they wouldn’t budge. Just as well; she did not trust her legs. And she did not trust her restraint; she wanted to fall into Joseph’s arms. But would he receive her? She dared not look at him.

“Five weeks later,” she went on, “when I told him I had conceived a child that night, he slammed the door in my face. I told my friends I was in trouble, and they posted the advertisement. You answered it.”

The end, she thought.

The wind blew, and her hair lifted from her shoulders and snapped and twirled. Her thoughts felt the same inside her head. She wanted more wind, stronger wind, she wanted it to lift her entire body and blow her away.

“Tessa?” Joseph said.

He’d not taken one step toward her. In her peripheral vision, she had not seen him move.

He went on, his voice very low and steely calm. “Tessa, what is the name of this person?”

She shook her head. “His name is not important. I’m not protecting him, I promise you, it’s simply that I don’t even like to say it—”

“I am not asking,” Joseph said, “out of curiosity. I am asking because I will hunt this man down and kill him.”

Tessa snapped her gaze to his. Her husband, so debonair and stylish, had transformed into a wild animal in a cage. His breath came in hard pants, his shoulders were tense, his hands were curled into fists, his face was a mask of rage.

“No, Joseph,” she said and shook her head. Her voice tried for soothing calm. “No. It’s not worth—”

“Why didn’t your brothers call him out? Why didn’t your father see that he was court-marshalled?”

She laughed a bitter laugh. “Why would they do that?”

“Because he raped an innocent girl. He attacked you, Tessa, just as surely as I will attack him. But I assure you, when I attack him, there will be amble opportunities for him to scream.”

“Raped me?” she said, and she checked the street below, because she’d shouted it. “He didn’t rape me, Joseph. I went with him willingly. I kissed him. I had done my level best to make him crazy with desire in the preceding weeks. My dress that night was—”

“Stop,” Joseph gritted out, stepping to her.

He said, “No, no man ever lures a young woman into the forest, pins her against a bloody tree, and forces himself on her, except in the instance of rape. I don’t care how much you flirted. I don’t care if you were wearing the most beautiful gown in the world or your chemise. Unless you are fully willing, with total consent, no decent, honorable man has sex in this manner unless he is raping her, which is exactly what he did to you, and—forgive me—I am so filled with fury right now, I . . . I—” He stopped. “Tell me his name.”

Tessa stared at him. “I will not.”

Joseph jerked open the door to the rooftop. “You will.”

“I will not,” she repeated, louder.

He growled and began trudging down the stairs.

Tessa made a noise of shocked frustration and hurried after him.

“This is why you’ve taken to wearing the terrible dresses,” he called over his shoulder.

Tessa swore, tripping to catch up with him. “Those dresses are modest! I am being modest.”

“They are hideous. And you hate them. You look like someone tossed a sack over your head and forced you to do penance. They conceal your personality.” He ducked into the attic corridor and made for the next set of stairs.

Now I am chasing you? Tessa marveled. She quickened her step. “My personality could stand for some concealment.”

“Never say that!” He vaulted down the stairs and made for the next set. “Your personality is as beautiful as your face. I want the dresses gone. I will burn them myself.”

“You can’t tell me what to wear!” She rounded the landing.

“Every time you wear a dress that you hate, you give him another piece of yourself. Tell me his name!”

“You sound like a madman,” she shouted back.

“I am a madman! And I will kill him.”

“You will not! You will stop sprinting down the stairs and come back right now and . . . acknowledge me.” She stopped on the landing and breathed in and out, trying to stop herself from screaming.

He froze on the bottom step and looked back up at her. She held out her hands, palms up. What are you doing! She would not take another step. She sat down. The stairs were polished wood with a thick carpeted runner. She dropped her head into her hands.

Joseph forced himself to tap down his charged fury and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he called. He was sorry, but his voice sounded indignant. He regretted his outburst, although not much.

He tried again. “I was prepared for every narrative but this. I am never prepared for you, Tessa. My reactions are always just a little bit off. Or a lot.”

His reaction to her story felt exactly perfectly right, but it served himself and not her.

She said, “If you are truly outraged on my behalf—”

“Let me be clear,” he cut her off, climbing the stairs, “outrage is a generous word for what I feel.”

“That’s very . . . vanquishing of you,” she said, “honestly. I feel safe . . . and vindicated. But I don’t feel supported. If you truly want to help me, sit still. Please. Be with me in this moment. Let us both come to terms with this thing that I’ve never told anyone but you—”

“Your friends do not know?” This he could not believe.

“Joseph,” she sighed, “I have been so ashamed.” Her voice broke.

He swore in his head. He dropped beside her on the top step and pulled her against him.

She went on, “I will, perhaps, always struggle to see it as you see it—as an attack. I . . . I was raised by my mother to walk a very fine line between being so very pretty and yet also so very untouchable. The delicate balance of beauty and virtue was as important as the beauty alone or the virtue itself. I had to be pretty enough to drive a man to his knees but also stoic enough to fend off his lack of control.”

Joseph growled. He wanted to vault up and down the stairs again, he wanted to punch the wall. He said tightly, “This is madness, Tessa. Pretty girls should not go through life with the underlying charge of fending off licentious men. Your mother is mad. She has failed you, not the other way around. She has failed you in so many ways.”

Tessa had no answer for this. She burrowed more closely against him.

He cleared his throat. “I want to support you, Tessa, honestly, but I am so very angry at this man. Worthless specimen of humanity.”

“Please,” she said, “do not pursue violence. Do not endeavor to learn who he is or where he is. To endanger yourself serves no purpose in our . . . future.”

His stomach gave a little flip at the mention of our future, but he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Allow me to clarify,” he said. “There are very few men who pose danger to me, Tessa. I learned to fight in an Ottoman-held Greek slum, and I’ve been in and out of scrapes in nearly every port in the world. If you prefer it, I will not seek him out. But if ever I encounter this person, he should be very afraid of me.”

She smiled and he gathered her closer and kissed the top of her head, breathing her in. “Oh, God, Tessa, I’m so sorry. For all of it. Most of all, I’m sorry I left you alone in a fit of pique because I thought you . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself. “I thought that you had seduced me and tricked me. I was focused only on my pride.”

“I was afraid to tell you the full story,” she said. “Fear kept me silent, not seduction and trickery. I’ve been afraid to tell you, even now. What if your generous view changes after you’ve had time to consider what you’ve learned?”

“It won’t. And Tessa? No more fear.” But he thought of her reaction to his hand on her ankle. He thought of her panicky leap from his lap. Their journey to no fear would be, perhaps, a long and arduous one.

But now he wanted only to love her, to calm her. “But perhaps we should take a step back,” he ventured. “Not to lose our generous view, but simply to recover from the emotions of today. I feel like I’ve run to Windsor and back, and I’ve done nothing but listen. I can only imagine what you must feel.” He looked around. “Clearly our stair climbing has scared away the staff, but they can be roused to bring tea. Are you hungry? What are your feelings about taking supper with Trevor and Piety?”

“To be honest,” she began, “I’m not sure I can manage the social demands of a formal meal. I know the earl and countess are important to you, but . . .” She let the sentence trail off. “If you’ve run to Windsor, I’ve run to Scotland. Do you think I might decline just this once? Of course, you should remain.”

Joseph made a dismissive noise and stood up. He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Whatever you decide, we will do together.”

“They made such a fuss about your visit. I couldn’t pull you away.”

“Of course you could,” he sighed. “The truth is, I come and go from this house with feckless irregularity. It’s rude and self-indulgent, but I do relish the homecoming I receive when I drop in after disappearing for weeks at the time. We will scribble a note and demand a future invitation.”

“If you’re certain . . .” she said.

“I hope the alternative is not to take you directly home.” He held his breath.

“Well,” she said shyly, “I did tell Perry I would be out all afternoon . . .”

“Brilliant,” he said, trying not to think of all the satisfying ways he could carry on with his wife for the length of an afternoon. There would be, God willing, plenty of opportunities to cultivate that. Now she needed time and care and understanding. “I know a café around the corner that does a lovely cream tea.”

Tessa made a face and shook her head.

“Right. I don’t suppose you’d like to see my house in Blackheath?”

With no enthusiasm, she said, “Oh, yes, the Blackheath house . . .” Joseph was reminded of her request to move halfway across the country. Some of his hopefulness sagged. For this, he would require his own time and care and understanding.

He searched his mind for some innocuous, pleasant alternative. Something with no stake in their marriage that would offer some respite from the revelations of the afternoon. Suddenly, the answer occurred to him.

“I don’t suppose you would consider,” he began, “the originally stated purpose of this outing, which was to call on the guano buyers in their offices on Blair Street?”

Tessa’s head shot up. Her eyes were filled with hopeful delight. “I would consider it,” she enthused. “Oh, Joseph, truly?”

He chuckled. It was as if he’d suggested they call on the jewelers. “Truly,” he continued.

She laughed—she actually laughed. “Do you find it suspect that this, of all things, should thrill me? No, don’t answer that. I don’t care. It’s so very gratifying to be included in your work.”

“Yes, well, I do aim to thrill. And now I see why you agreed to spend the afternoon with me. You came for the buyers.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “I came for the boot room.” And then she patted her hair, gave her bodice a tug, and clipped down the stairs.