A scream tore from Mallory’s throat, nearly bringing her to her knees as she desperately sought air to fill her lungs once more. When the loud crack had sounded, she ran toward him without a care for her own safety and allowed the winter night to cocoon her in its embrace. She’d been wrong, ever so wrong. There was no changing her visions, no altering fate, and undeniably no future happiness for her.

Still, her heart told her it might not be too late.

She could save him. Find out where the bullet had entered him and staunch the flow of blood.

It had to have been gunfire that brought him down. She’d noted the flash as if it were very close to her, but she couldn’t stop to see who’d fired the weapon.

There was no time for that.

Perhaps her time had run out already.

“Lady Mallory!”

The shout was familiar, but she kept moving toward the figure crumpled only a scant few paces from the hedge maze. If he were still in danger, she would be at his side through it—for what else did she have if she lost him?

A family who would rather keep her hidden? A brother who outright detested her for something she could not control? An aunt who sheltered her from the world but truly had done more harm than good?

That could not be all that was meant for her.

It wasn’t enough. It never had been.

But this man, Silas, had changed all of that when he offered for her hand. Oddly, he likely didn’t realize he was saving her, just as she’d saved him at the tavern—the way she meant to save him today, if it was in her power. She would spend their entire lives saving him, if necessary.

“Mallory!” The voice finally broke through her determination, and she halted, turning toward whoever shouted for her. “Mallory, stop!”

It could not be. She would not believe it.

Silas stood no more than twenty paces away, his face ashen with fear.

She looked back at the man lying on the ground, noting his subtle movements.

In an instant—or perhaps it was longer—Silas was at her side.

“Silas…but…the vision,” she mumbled, her entire body trembling as she gazed up into his familiar clear blue eyes. Her hands moved of their own accord to cup his smooth cheeks. He was real and standing before her. “Who—what—I was wrong, dreadfully wrong.”

“Shhhh.” Silas kept a hold of her, his comforting voice bringing a calm she’d never known. “It is only Slade, my brother, he is likely on one of his larks. And what is this mention of visions?”

“He is not shot?” Her voice was shrill, her throat burning from her earlier scream. When he shook his head and gestured toward the fallen man—Silas’s brother—she noticed him pushing to his feet. “Twins?”

She’d witnessed the scene through Silas’s eyes, not her own. It was his vision she’d seen, not a prediction of her own fate.

As a pair, they moved to Slade. The resemblance to Silas was shocking. The only difference of note was Slade’s hair. It was cut shorter and did not have the unruly curls Silas favored.

“Slade,” Silas growled, keeping her close to his side. “What is the meaning of this?”

The man’s sheepish grin was as dissimilar to his brother’s severe smile as his sheared locks. “I found I lost a hefty amount at the tables and needed a quick exit before Lord St. Giles came calling for my debts.”

“You’ve been at Keyvnor for no more than two hours.” Silas released her long enough to scrub at this face. “How is that possible?”

“Not my night, dear brother, not my night. Besides, I wouldn’t put it past St. Giles to open fire on me. Thought it in my best interest to play dead, as it were.”

“You thought it in your best interest to what?” Irritation laced Silas’s tone, and his brow drew low further darkening the night as anger rolled off him in waves, much like the sea battering the cliffs at Tetbery.

Slade finally noted Mallory, his stare taking her in from head to toe as he responded to his brother. “You know, let the man think he got me.”

“You are incorrigible.” Silas’s exasperation was evident.

“Yes, but that is why I am so bloody sought-after,” he said with a chuckle as he stared at the terrace behind them. “Speaking of which, I best be going before St. Giles finds me here.” With a quick bow, he turned to her. “Lady Mallory Hughes, I presume?”

“Yes.” Her voice quaked, and she took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “That is I.”

“Your resemblance to your sibling is also remarkable,” Slade crowed before turning and rushing toward the hedge maze.

“Wait!” she shouted. “You know my brother?”

“I may owe him a quid…or five hundred,” Slade threw over his shoulder with a shrug as he disappeared into the maze.

Mallory stood silently at Silas’s side long after his twin had disappeared from sight, the fog of their warm breaths mingling in the cold December air. At some point, the evening chill had fled, and a heat now surrounded her.

It finally hit her then, Silas had touched her face, held her gaze, and no vision had invaded. She’d sensed it coming, waited for it to slam into her conscious, but something in his stare had kept her grounded in the present, not some alternate future.

“Tell me of these visions…”

Mallory kept her eyes trained on the maze when she spoke for fear his interest would quickly turn to disgust, and he draw away from her. “When I come into contact with people—skin-to-skin—or touch objects, I see things. Things that have yet to happen, but will in the future.”

“And you saw this moment with Slade?” he asked.

“Yes, when you and I touched that first day at Tetbery—”

“Your eyes?” It was a question he did not wait for her to answer. “They cloud, turn a deep grey as if a storm rolls over your sight.”

“You noticed?” It was then she turned to him. His spoke with near reverence, not the sickened tones others used when speaking of her skill, not that more than a handful of people had been trusted with their family affliction. “My father begged me not to speak of it until after we were wed.” She turned away from him then, ashamed she’d agreed to dupe Silas. “I understand if my curse is—”

Silas lifted his hand, caressing her arm before pushing back her hood. “It is not a curse. It is a gift…a very special, awe-inspiring gift.”

“Not according to my family,” she confessed.

“Then they are not looking upon the situation with open eyes.” His finger lifted her chin until their eyes met. “What have you seen of our future?”

She knew her eyes clouded with his question—not with a coming vision but sorrow, defeat.

“Come now, tell me.” His thumb lightly caressed her cheek.

“In every vision of my future, which I see only through touching those close to me, I am alone.” It was gut-wrenching to admit. “But our betrothal gave me hope for a different outcome.”

“And who says you’re destined to continue down the path those have envisioned for you?”

“My visions have never proven false before tonight. And even with that, it was not completely inaccurate,” Mallory said, shrugging. She could not let Silas know how much she prayed the visions would not come true.

“Then I think it is up to us to change the path fate has set for you.” He drew her close, their bodies pressed together, melding as if she belonged there, in Silas’s embrace. “Would you like to know what I think on the matter?”

“I think I would,” she whispered into the night, her stare holding his. If she looked away, perhaps this moment would disappear as if it had never come to pass. She could not stand to live with that.

“I think,” he started, pausing to place a kiss on her forehead, “we are bound by far more than our betrothal agreement. We will not be held apart by someone else’s vision of our future. With only the Christmastide moon above, and you and I below, I promise to give you the future you seek. I can promise you a home—several homes, if that’s what you wish—a family, and me. If that is enough…”

“More than enough.” It was as if he’d read her mind, knew the things she longed for most, and promised to give all he possessed to make her not just content in their marriage but happy.

“That is, if you can look past Slade’s rakehell ways and are fond of troublesome young girls who ask too many questions,” he continued in a rush.

“You need not convince me, my lord,” she said with a smile. “Even without the signed betrothal, I believe you are correct. We are bound under the Christmastide moon.”

“My family is not extensive—” he paused, glancing toward the castle. “—well, until recently, I haven’t thought my family larger than my siblings and mother, which is not much to offer, but they are kind people. Loving and caring. They will support you—us, in whatever future we decide to embark on. I may not have unlimited funds as most men of the ton, but we shall live comfortably—in London, or at Ditchley Hall, if you prefer.”

It was more than she’d ever dreamed possible for her future.

Above them, a sudden glow caught her notice—the moon, it was as if it had brightened, acknowledging the truth Silas spoke and binding them together ever the more.

It was then it hit her…with more force than any vision had.

“My home, our home, will be wherever we are together, be it London or your country estate.” There was no fear with Silas at her side. If he deemed London was where they needed to be, then she would be there with him. If he preferred a quiet existence in Hampshire, so be it. He would never allow any harm to come to her, and she’d already promised herself to care and watch over him. “I will follow you anywhere.”

He shook his head, and Mallory feared she’d misspoke. “No.”

“No?” She knew her face paled for he leaned close, his hands cupping her face once more.

“No, I’d prefer you stand at my side—my partner in all matters, not follow my lead.”

Not follow his lead, Mallory pondered.

Pushing to her tiptoes, she asked, “Do you truly mean that, my lord?”

When he nodded, Mallory pressed her lips to his, their bodies drawing close—his arousal evident in the way his hard length pressed against her belly, even through the layers of clothes, she felt every glorious inch of him.

Oh, though theirs was a marriage of convenience—managed and arranged by others—Mallory had little doubt it would also be a love match.

The Christmastide moon as her witness, Mallory would love this man for as long as fate allowed her breath.