The next day sunbeams splattered through the thin curtains of the room, and a strip of cerulean blue ocean was visible through Charlotte’s window. Unfortunately, neither image managed to banish the memory of her husband sprinting from her bedroom like a petty thief the night before, and she made her way warily down the steps.

The innkeeper ushered her to the breakfast room. Charlotte had stopped in posting inns with her family on their way to Norfolk, but those had been filled with groggy-eyed travelers attempting to barrel sufficient food into their mouths with efficiency. This place exuded calm, and the innkeeper led her to a table.

“The spread looks delicious,” she said.

“I am very glad, Your Grace.”

Your Grace.

It was the first time someone had referred to her as such, and she attempted to act calmly, as if those were words that she’d always assumed would be her destiny. She spread dark apple butter on a roll, proud that her knife did not wobble.

“The duke should be out shortly,” the innkeeper continued, and Charlotte despised the flurry of butterflies that seemed to flutter against her spine.

If she’d had any doubts on the duke’s dashingness, their kiss would have dismissed them. They’d kissed, and unlike last time, he had not done so on the bidding of someone else. For a blissful moment, everything had been utterly wonderful.

It was still utterly wonderful, she reminded herself.

“Ah, Your Grace.”

“Charlotte.” Callum’s deep voice rumbled, and she turned around. “How did you sleep?”

“Rather well,” she said. “And you?”

Their conversation felt stilted, but the images that flashed through her mind were anything but ordinary. What would have happened had Callum stayed?

It would be most convenient if the man were not nearly so handsome. She grabbed another roll and lathered black butter onto it. It wouldn’t do to contemplate the way his muscles had felt beneath his shirt and tailcoat last night, and how their height difference hadn’t truly mattered after all when he’d held her in his arms.

“I’m going to take you exploring the island today,” he announced.

“Oh?”

“Have you been fishing?”

“Naturally not. Besides, that’s not a ladylike venture.”

He leaned closer to her. “I know it’s not. That’s why I thought you might like it.”

“I think there might be an insult in that.”

“There’s not.” He winked, and the action seemed to cause those butterflies to invade her chest again, as if the man managed to conjure them with his mere gaze.

She made herself ready quickly, and soon they strode through Saint Peter Port.

“Are you quite fond of fishing?” she asked.

“Not excessively fond,” he said. “I haven’t fished in a while. But I used to. Quite frequently.”

“In the Highlands.”

“No better fishing in the world,” he declared.

“Then why haven’t you been back in years?”

He turned to her, and the glimmer in his eyes disappeared. “How did you know I haven’t been back in years?”

“I may have overheard Lord Braunschweig speaking about it. He had an invitation to go to Scotland, but he was pondering not attending.”

“And he stated my lack of recent visits as a reason for him not to visit?”

“Precisely,” she said, but her voice wobbled.

The pleasant expression on Callum’s face vanished, and he raked his hand through his hair. “My reasons for not liking Scotland have nothing to do with anyone else. They are personal.”

She stiffened. “You don’t have to explain.”

“Thank you,” Callum said quietly.

They passed pastel-colored stone homes. Seagulls darted above them, but the world seemed somewhat less idyllic than before. Charlotte lengthened her steps, and soon they left the small town and strode into open fields, dotted with distant farmhouses. Clouds fluttered over the sky.

“The secret to fishing is good fishing tackle,” Callum declared.

“I’d rather assumed it was finding a good location,” Charlotte said.

“That too,” Callum said. “You already show talent.”

Charlotte giggled. “Are we going to get poles?”

“I thought we would just throw spears into the water.”

Charlotte must have looked surprised, for Callum grinned. “Guernsey’s style of fishing is not that different from the type favored in Britain.”

“It will still be a novel experience for me.”

Callum led them to a small cottage and emerged with fishing supplies. His hair was tousled, and his buckskins already muddy from their walk. He looked nothing like the polished, aloof aristocrat she’d seen at Sir Seymour’s ball.

“You love nature,” she observed.

“I suppose I do.”

“Why didn’t you join the navy?” Charlotte murmured.

“I was too worried they might send me to Virginia and battle in an unnecessary war with the former colonies.”

“Oh.”

“Blood shouldn’t be spilled casually. France was where the real battle was. I wasn’t going to punish some fresh-faced youths whose ancestors had had the temerity to fight for a fraction of the freedom I have.”

“That’s very noble.”

“I have my moments.” Callum’s eyes sparkled, and Charlotte turned away and shaded her face. No need for him to know that his gaze exceeded sunrays in strength.

Callum led her over an increasingly rocky path, toward the sound of a river. “Tell me if it becomes strenuous.”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said.

Charlotte might be nervous around other people, but rivers were rather less intimidating.

“I thought you might prefer this to spending the rest of the day with Lord Braunschweig and his sister,” Callum said.

“You supposed correctly.”

“Excellent.” They rounded a bend, and a small stream lay before them. The water moved quickly, as if eager to reach the channel.

Charlotte stared at the clear water. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good,” Callum said. “Then let’s start here.”

Charlotte took a seat on a rock, and Callum settled casually beside her, before proceeding to tell her about the complexities of fishing tackle. Happiness thrummed through her.

*

THE DAYS WERE LONG and filled with sunshine. Charlotte and he explored the island. In the evenings, they sometimes dined with Lord Braunschweig and his sister, but mostly they were together. Callum should miss London. He’d been able to indulge in all the city had to offer, but he realized it was the countryside which he craved.

Charlotte and he had taken a boat to explore the other side the island. They pulled the boat onto the shore and then strode through the idyllic landscape. Charlotte exclaimed over the variety of flowers.

“I must confess to having grown quite fond of hills,” Charlotte said.

“You don’t miss Norfolk?”

“I miss my family.”

Callum swallowed hard, and her eyes softened.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently. “You must miss your family too.”

“They’ve been gone a long time,” Callum said.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

No.

It didn’t.

“How did they die?” she asked.

“It’s my fault they’re gone,” he confessed.

He stiffened.

He hadn’t meant to tell her that. He’d never told anyone that.

“What on earth do you mean?” she asked.

“It’s nothing.” He glanced at the landscape. “This almost reminds me of Scotland.”

“Callum,” she said sternly. “How could it possibly be your fault that they died? I hardly imagine you spent your youth murdering relatives.”

“Then perhaps you should broaden your imagination,” he said glumly.

Her eyes widened, and he sighed. “I’ll tell you. I-I hope you won’t think worse of me, but I understand if you will.”

“Heavens. What is troubling you?”

“I acted poorly as a child,” he said. “I was...naughty.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Most children are naughty.”

“I doubt you were.”

She flushed. “I enjoyed the indoors.”

“Anyway. I was naughty. I didn’t listen to my parents. I played with everyone, even the local children. Even when I was expressly told not to,” his voice wobbled. “I’d disobeyed them before. But this time—” His lips twisted, and his voice had become hoarse.

Charlotte rested her palm against his shoulder, the same action that she might have done with her sister, and he eased into the sensation, as if to draw strength from their sudden intimacy.

“The next door children were sick. My parents didn’t want me to get sick. They were right,” he said shortly, jerking his head away from her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “But you’re fine now.”

He swung around. “But they’re not. They’re dead. Don’t you see? It was my fault. If I hadn’t played with them, I wouldn’t have gotten sick, and then my parents wouldn’t have died when they were younger than I am now.”

His voice sounded hollow, and she longed to pull him toward her. Instead, she squeezed his hand.

“You didn’t know,” she said.

“I was warned,” he said bitterly.

“If you had been told your parents would die if you disobeyed them, I’m certain you wouldn’t have.”

His shoulders seemed to relax. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He tilted his head toward her. “Thank you. No one else knows.”

“Not your brother?”

He shook his head vehemently. “I wouldn’t want my brother to know.”

“He would understand,” she said.

“The one person who knew was not understanding.”

“You said no one else knew.”

He looked away. “He’s dead now. Lord McIntyre. My guardian.”

She frowned. “And he was unkind.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “He used it. He promised to keep my secret, while threatening to tell Hamish.

“I’m so very sorry.”

He stared at her, fighting the urge to kiss her. She hadn’t run away. She didn’t appear horrified. She just seemed utterly lovely.