THE HORSE’S HOOVES rang out on the granite cobblestones of Heriot Row, raising sparks as the rider from Bellhorne reined in his mount and vaulted to the pavement in front of the Pennington town house. As he banged on the door, rousing the footman and the rest of the household, the bells atop St. Andrew’s a few blocks away pealed out the hour of three.

Handing off his message for Lady Millie, he was back on his horse in minute and racing through the murky predawn light toward Baronsford.

The message from Captain Bell was clearly rushed and relayed very little information, except to tell her that Phoebe had already started feeling labor pains, and she wanted her sister with her.

Millie cried, she laughed, and then she felt the urge to get on the road immediately. As her maid helped her dress and pack, she called for a driver and footmen to have a carriage ready. When the housekeeper ordered the maid out to prepare for the trip, Millie stopped her. She wouldn’t be taking her. She had another plan.

An hour later, the carriage clattered up to the entrance of White Horse Close. One of her footmen offered to take a message into the inn for her. But she wouldn’t have it. She cared nothing about society’s rules now. What did reputation matter when there was no certainty of tomorrow?

It was well past four in the morning when she rapped on Dr. McKendry’s door, and he pulled it open. Her heart skipped at the sight of him, bathed in the dawn light coming in the window in his room. Untidy hair, drowsy eyes, his shirt open and exposing a muscular chest. His trousers hung low on his hips, and his feet were bare.

He became immediately alert as soon as he saw her. “Millie, what’s wrong?”

“I know it’s completely inappropriate to come here. And I understand I have no right to ask this of you, that I’m abusing our relationship.”

“What is it? Tell me. Ask anything.”

“Phoebe is in labor. She wants me with her in Fife. The babe is coming early.” Panic washed through her, and the words came tumbling out. “What if something goes wrong? What if everything goes wrong? I’m frightened. I think I’m going mad. Sad thoughts . . . horrible thoughts . . .”

Millie didn’t realize she was shaking until Dermot pulled her into his embrace and she felt his muscular arms around her. He caressed her back and shoulders, whispering reassuring words in her ear. She pressed her cheek against his warm chest, breathing in his scent and holding him as he held her.

“She needs me. But I’m filled with terrible doubts. I expect the worst. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go to her.”

His chin brushed against her hair. “You’re her sister. And you are strong. Plenty strong. And you’ll fight the battles that need to be fought. Slay the monsters that threaten. You’ll do everything you need to do. You’ll go there and stand beside her and hold her hand and support her. She’ll get through the childbirth, and all will be well. Think it. Believe it. All will go well.”

Phoebe’s beautiful face appeared in her mind’s eye. Phoebe the writer. Phoebe the danger seeker. Phoebe the opinionated sister who was different from Millie in personality and temperament. And yet, they were like two halves of a whole. Where one erred, the other mended. Where one slipped, the other kept them on solid ground. They loved and complemented each other.

As recently as a year ago, where one went in the world, the other followed. Then Phoebe married Captain Ian Bell, and life had changed for both of them. It was the natural progression, and Millie had embraced it with happiness. Now, she only wished the child would come into this world without difficulty, that it would bring joy and laughter to Bellhorne, where they’d been absent for so long. The Bell family had been in mourning for a long time, ever since Ian’s younger sister Sarah had been lost to them.

Tonight, however, the focus was on Phoebe. Millie agreed with everything Dermot said. And whatever she was going through with her own health, it had no business intruding on what needed to be done for her sister.

He drew back, tilting her face upward. His thumbs brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. “Better?”

“Much,” she whispered. He was a gift. His words were what she needed to hear. “You’re the only one who knows what I’m going through. The only one who understands.”

He caressed the line of her cheek. His eyes studied her, as if he was branding into his memory this moment. Millie wished she could stay here, gathered in his arms, forever. How easy it would be to press her lips against his, to run her fingers on his skin, to close the door behind them and shut out the world.

But her sister needed her.

“My carriage is waiting. And I know . . . it’s a hardship, an inconvenience . . . but would you consider coming with me to Fife?” She drew in her breath and held it, realizing the imposition of such a favor. “I’m sorry. I should never have—”

“I’m honored that you ask me. Wait for me downstairs. I’ll be right down.”

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THE TEN EASY MILES from Edinburgh to Queensferry passed in absolute silence, for Millie sat with her arm tucked into his and her head against Dermot’s shoulder. He was pleased she was able to find comfort enough from him to sleep. She’d drifted off even before Castle Hill had dropped out of sight behind them.

Dermot watched the flat and rolling fields and villages and the occasional ruined tower house as the rising sun cast shadows against the front wall of the carriage. He kept telling himself that attraction didn’t need to evolve into affection. Caring for someone could exist independently of love. It was only logical.

The rawness of his emotions told him, however, that he was far too late for such quibbling. His feelings toward her had been changing, deepening. Each time they met only served to bring them closer, building on a foundation that was laid before they were even introduced.

But it was the disease afflicting her that was making him frantic. He was more than worried, he was becoming desperate. Each day, she came one step closer to being too late. He was a surgeon. He knew that timeliness was critical. He understood the dangers she faced, but something needed to be done. She had decisions she needed to face. And yet, he couldn’t force her to do anything. He certainly wouldn’t tell her family, regardless of the fact that Wynne and her sister Jo were his closest friends.

He’d made that mistake before, and it led to Susan taking her own life.

The Firth of Forth was smooth for the ferry crossing, and ahead of them, the skies over Fife were clear. Standing beside Millie, he hid his concerns, telling himself he was here for her. What he alone could offer had to suffice. It was the way she wished it. How he felt about her, the fears that plagued him, needed to be kept in check. They were secondary to her desires.

In anticipation of Millie’s arrival, Captain Bell had a carriage waiting for them at the ferry dock for the remaining sixteen miles of their journey.

She sat beside him, as before, her head against his shoulder, her bonnet on the seat across from them. She was so at ease with him that his heart swelled. They’d been following the coast road for quite some time when Dermot looked over and saw she was awake. He brushed his chin against the softness of her hair. Her hand slipped into his, and the way their fingers entwined spoke of more than friendship. Suddenly, he felt a burn in the back of his throat.

“Have you thought over any of the suggestions I made yesterday?”

She rubbed her cheek against his coat and stayed silent.

“If you’ll allow me, I can make arrangements for you to meet several surgeons. Good ones. You can choose the one you want.”

A second hand rested on his sleeve. She was staring out the side window.

“Millie.” He pressed her hand. “Talk to me. Tell me you’re considering it.”

She lifted her face and looked up at him. He saw the tears welling up, saw the trembling lip.

“As friends. You must promise me. You’ll not care for me more than you would for any mere friend.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s far too late for that,” he replied, then leaned forward to kiss her.

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MILLIE WANTED THIS, but she feared it. Her body and her heart ached to be in Dermot’s arms, but her mind charged her to remember his past and his loss.

Unfortunately, he was right. It was far too late.

His lips pulled away as if sensing her hesitation, but she was not about to let him go. Millie raised herself and kissed him again. A fire was racing through her, immolating all vestiges of reason. She wanted him.

She moved in his arms, trying to get closer to his body. He lifted her and set her on his lap. Her hands moved over his shoulders, his back. Her mouth sought his and found it.

As he kissed her again, she opened for him. He groaned his approval. His tongue was searching, tasting. She wanted more. She’d never experienced passion, but she knew it could be all-consuming. And she wanted to be consumed. She needed him.

Millie’s hands moved inside his coat and waistcoat. She wanted to tear open his shirt, feel the hot skin she’d pressed her face against when she’d come for him at the inn.

She shifted restlessly in his lap, feeling him rise hard against her. His hands took hold of her waist, and he broke off the kiss.

“Millie, I’m falling too quickly.”

She moved again. “Then fall. Please fall. And take me with you. Show me.”

Dermot’s hands framed her face, and he looked into her eyes. “I can’t. I won’t take advantage of you. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“When you’re so vulnerable.”

“Is this vulnerable?” Millie kissed him again. This time, she tried to pour all the longing she felt tearing at her into the heated press of lips, into the primal dance of their tongues. “I want you, Dermot.”

His reaction was immediate. His arms tightened around her, his mouth as greedy as her own as he gave as much as he took. Millie clung to him, teetering on the edge of sanity as he caressed and molded her dress against her body. Every inch of her body was alive.

But when she expected more, he pulled back slightly. “Will you still want me tomorrow?”

“I will,” she promised, floating in a haze.

“And the day after?”

She brushed her lips against his. “I will.”

“Will you want me next month?”

Now it was her turn to draw back a little, and she saw the sadness in his eyes. Tears welled and rolled down her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to his. She understood what he was asking.

“I will.”

“Then you must fight this . . . for me. And you must allow me to fight it with you. The two of us will claw our way through, forge a path for our future, however hard it might be.”

Millie wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder.

She wanted that future. She wanted everything he asked for. But she was afraid.