Mallory sat in the atrium at Ditchley Hall, allowing her eyes to drift shut and a smile to settle on her lips. The humid air and scent of budding blossoms was her solace for the morning as servants scurried about the estate in preparation for her wedding to Silas.

She set her pruning shears on the workbench beside the sack of soil she’d carried in from the old, decaying shed in the far corner of the lawn area without opening her eyes. The room, with its many varieties of plants and flowers, had become one of her favorite spots at Silas’s country estate since she and Aunt Hettie had become regular visitors after they departed Cornwall.

Servants and family alike gave her time and solitude during the early hours of the day.

Sybil, Silas’s precocious younger sister, feared what the humid air did to her ebony locks. Slade was more often than not in London—or the local tavern in search of a wager. Aunt Hettie’s knees made it nearly impossible for her to move through the cluttered atrium.

Odd that she’d come to think of Sybil and Slade as family. They’d eagerly stepped into the roles of doting brother—Slade—and eager-to-please sister—Sybil. Mallory was happy for their welcoming nature and the opportunity to be a part of an actual family. They cared naught about her peculiar ways, nor judged her for her tendency to shy away from the unknown.

Since the new year passed, Aunt Hettie and she had come to think of Ditchley Hall as home.

Mallory sighed, opening her eyes and returning to her task as footsteps sounded on the cobblestone floor. The solid, confident stride was one she’d come to know—very well—over the past several months.

Silas.

Only he dared invade her brief hours of quiet.

His steps stopped directly behind her, and his hands settled at her shoulders, gently caressing. In quick order, his lips pressed to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he mumbled, trailing his lips down her neck.

The intimacy sent a shiver through Mallory and was likely one of the reasons she continued to visit the atrium each morning. Without fail, Silas came to her, and they were afforded a few moments, sometimes hours, of privacy before anyone came looking for them. If Aunt Hettie suspected their secret rendezvous spot, she mentioned nothing of it to Mallory.

“I am certain.” In truth, besides her commitment and budding love for Silas, there was nothing she was more certain of.

“It was much for Sybil to ask.” He straightened behind her, and the warmth of his lips at her skin receded.

“I am to be your wife—a countess, no less—and it will be partly my duty to see that Sybil’s debutante Season is a crush.” Mallory had never thought she’d readily agree to spend any time in London, let alone chaperoning and sponsoring Silas’s youngest sibling. Yet, when the girl had begged her to journey to town during the height of the Season, Mallory was helpless to do anything but agree. “Besides, I must familiarize myself with town life…it is long past time.”

“What about your…” His voice trailed off, and they both knew what he spoke of.

“They hardly come anymore, and none since our time in Cornwall has been the least bit unsettling,” Mallory said, setting her shears down and turning to face Silas. It was another peculiar occurrence. Her visions had receded, only invading every few weeks. And they spoke of happy years to come. Was it Silas whose presence kept the visions at bay? “With your mother returning to France after the wedding, even with your aunts’ assistance, Sybil needs a familiar face by her side.”

“And you are to be that familiar face.” He leaned down, placing a kiss to her forehead. “Yet, I cannot think to allow you to compromise your well-being to accommodate my family.”

“Our family,” Mallory proclaimed, stepping back to look up into his clear blue eyes.

“Yes, our family,” he said with a chuckle.

“How is Lady Lichfield faring?” Mallory asked, hesitantly.

“She still remains in her private chamber, but has allowed Aunt Regina to visit,” Silas confided. “I think she is counting down the days until her return to Paris.”

“It is where she is comfortable, and we cannot deny her that.” Silas’s mother was an enigma that was not easily understood. The woman was almost childlike in demeanor and preferred her own company to that of others. Even Aunt Hettie had found it difficult to draw the woman out. “Aunt Hettie has spoken of your mother, and her happiness in Paris. She will be taken care of, and we shall visit when it is safe.”

Silas wrapped his arms around Mallory and pulled her close. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“That is very good, because I must insist we see Mary Louisa as often as possible.”

“When are your parents arriving?”

“Mother sent word to Aunt Hettie that they’d be arriving today, likely before late afternoon.” It was the only unease that hadn’t been banished during the months spent getting to know Silas and his family. His family had been more than welcoming to her and Aunt Hettie. Mallory would go so far as to say that she’d grown closer to Slade and Sybil than she’d ever been with her own brother, Adam. “They will stay only two days and then return to London.”

“That is likely for the best, However, we will journey to town next month.” Silas was determined to set to rights Mallory’s strained relationship with the marquess and marchioness, though Mallory had stated it was not something to hedge one’s bets on—as Slade commonly phrased it. “Oh, and I came in search of you for a reason.”

“Other than a few stolen kisses?” she teased, thankful the conversation had steered in another direction. “Because I am not sure I can spare a moment if—”

Silas captured her lips, cutting her words short.

And Mallory could think of no other place she longed to be, and no other man she desired to be there with.

It was still inconceivable that they’d found one another despite their different upbringings.

Yet, with time, their bond had only grown stronger and deeper, defying everything Mallory had feared her future would hold.

Silas sighed, their lips parting, and a frown creasing his face. “While I would relish nothing more than to remain here in the atrium with you until our morning nuptials, I fear we cannot.”

An inkling of dread crept down her spine. “Why ever not, my lord?”

“Because, our honored guest has arrived, and I cannot think of anything more fitting than to parade our love before the man, as he was fairly certain I would muck things up long before now.”

Her stomach fluttered, and her heart raced at his mention of love. Swallowing hard, she said, “Surely, he was not so rude as to say that…”

“But he was thinking it, I assure you,” he replied with a wink.

“Then by all means, let us not tarry, and rush to greet the esteemed Mr. Horace Peabody to welcome him to Hampshire.” Their mutual family solicitor had been the source of much merriment over the past several months. Mallory had discovered he’d been the lone man privy to both Mallory’s secrets and that of the Lichfield family; yet, he’d championed their match. She was greatly looking forward to making the man’s acquaintance at long last. When Silas moved to her side and offered his arm, Mallory slipped hers through his without a second of hesitation. “I suppose we owe Mr. Peabody our most sincere gratitude, do we not?”

“I guess it is only his due,” Silas said, straightening his shoulders. “Though, I am hesitant to abandon our solitude, even for Mr. Peabody.”

Mallory patted his arm, her light laughter echoing in the vaulted room.

As they approached the door that led into the main house, the frame shuddered as it swung open, crashing into the wall behind it. Slade skidded into the atrium, his boots slipping in a puddle created when Mallory had given the plants their morning watering.

“What in the bloody hell?!” Silas immediately pushed Mallory behind him as if preparing for danger. “Slade, why are you panting so hard? And your pants look as if you’ve rolled in the muck in the stables.”

Mallory pushed from safety and laughed once more. “Yes, Slade,” she echoed. “What are you up to now?”

To his credit, Slade gained his balance and bowed to his future sister, but could not quite keep his attention focused on Mallory or Silas, his stare straying over his shoulder. “Good morn, my lady. Brother.”

Silas waved off the man’s attempt at pleasantries. “Did you hide Lady Hettie’s needlepoint again?” When Slade’s chest puffed as if offended at the accusation, Silas continued, “Put flour in Sybil’s face powder?”

“Of course not, dear brother, I learned my lesson well where Sybil is concerned.”

“Then what has you breathing hard and fleeing as if the Devil is on your tail?” Mallory questioned.

“The Devil,” Slade mused, rubbing at his chin. “Yes, I think we can all agree the Devil has arrived at Ditchley Hall.”

“What in the blazes does that mean?” Silas’s voice thundered, and the windowpanes quaked in response, yet Slade seemed unaffected by his elder brother’s demand.

“By the way, the Devil goes by the moniker Earl of Bristol.” Slade’s voice dropped to a whisper as if saying the name would conjure the man. “I must be going before he finds me here and demands my soul!”

Mallory couldn’t help but find the irony in Slade’s proclamation. It had never crossed her mind to think of her brother, Adam, as the Devil; however, Slade’s words held merit. “Come now, my brother would not dare cause injury while staying as a guest at Ditchley Hall. Besides, any outstanding debt owed to my brother has been discussed and satisfied.”

Unease prickled at the nape of Mallory’s neck when Slade turned his focus to the ground at his feet.

“Slade,” Silas growled. “What are you not telling us?”

“Well”—he cleared his throat before bringing his eyes back to Mallory and Silas—“it appears I have incurred another debt with Bristol, and he means to collect it—or a pound of flesh, as it goes.”

“Another debt—“ Exasperation laced Silas’s words.

“Tell us that is not so.” Mallory sighed, fearing Adam’s need for justice.

“’Fraid so. Must be going before he stumbles upon me again.” Slade winked at Mallory as he slipped past and ducked low as he moved toward the rear of the atrium and the safety of the expansive gardens beyond.

“I did warn you about the precocious girl and scoundrel of a brother, did I not?” Silas mumbled.

“Well, I suppose it is only fair we both claim our unconventional families.” Mallory paused, turning into Silas’s embrace and staring into his intense, cerulean eyes. “However, no matter their strangeness, it does not change how I feel about you.”

His brow arched high. “Tell me, Lady Mallory, how do you feel about me?”

Did she dare say the word?

Perhaps Silas thought it too soon—or too ambitious for this connection at this point.

Yet, there was no denying it was there…a love that bound them together.

“Silas, I love you. That is the only word sufficient to express my feelings for you.” She didn’t dare look away or break eye contact, for she wished to know where his heart lay.

The smile that spread across his face brightened even the darkest corner of the atrium, though late-morning light pierced the windowpanes on all three sides.

Mallory held her breath, and waited; though Silas did not let her wait long.

“I believe that is the only term I can use, as well.” He brought his hands to cup her cheeks, and suddenly, she was standing in the middle of Castle Keyvnor’s gardens again, the cold December night sending a chill through her and banishing the humid air of the atrium. “I love you, Mallory.”