The Graylocke ancestors stared at Freddie with varying degrees of disapproval, but at the very least, it was a respite from the chaos in the rest of the abbey. Even the duke’s cleverness hadn’t been able to hide the fact that someone had been shot and a guest killed during supper last night. The servants flitted from room to room, gathering in groups to speculate.

The guests were worse. Although they should be packing in preparation of leaving early this week, the entire east wing was filled with sobbing, bacon-brained women bewailing who would be next—as though the Graylockes would allow a rampaging killer to roam free! Those not sniveling spread gossip like the plague, speculating that Harker had been killed in an illegal duel over a woman; now every debutante’s reputation was suspect. Packing was conducted with doors wide open and women strolling alongside the strong, fearsome men they browbeat into escorting them, lest they need protection. Although the dowager duchess roamed the halls, assuring everyone they were in no danger, the ninnies of the ton seemed determined to fear the worst.

Freddie wouldn’t mind half so much if their agitation hadn’t unsettled Charlie even further. Last night, as Freddie had listened to her mother recite the same tale to Charlie as she had to Freddie beneath the oak, Freddie had tried to muster some sort of relief that her father was alive. But no, even if he’d left at the crown’s behest, he’d still abandoned his family and left Freddie to pick up the pieces. At the moment, she was feeling a little churlish at Mama, as well. Clearly, Mama wasn’t nearly as weak a person as she’d pretended all these years, perhaps for Harker’s benefit. If Mama had only taken responsibility for the family instead of seemingly fallen apart, Freddie wouldn’t have had to grow up so quickly.

Maybe she might even have the same charm and polish to attract a husband as Charlie.

Therein lay the rub. Until she’d met Tristan, she’d never wanted or needed a marriage. But he made her feel beautiful, strong, and protected. With Tristan to support her, she felt as though she could take on the world.

Oh, blast. She didn’t want any husband. She wanted Tristan Graylocke. A man she hadn’t spoken to since the messy debacle yesterday. Granted, Freddie had been occupied for most of the night in dissuading Charlie from haring off to France to find their father. And neither Tristan nor the duke had surfaced from the west wing of the house, where the physician had rushed to tend Mr. Keeling, the man who had been shot. In a few short hours, she would depart Tenwick Abbey. She might never see him again.

She didn’t quite know where her family would go, now that Harker was dead. But Freddie was resourceful. She would take care of her family. The thought of doing it alone, without Tristan, made her weary. He’d said he loved her…but he’d been trying to sway her to his side. Which, admittedly, she should have been on all along.

It all worked out for the best.

So she told herself, but Tristan hadn’t proposed. He hadn’t sought her out. Perhaps he didn’t care for her as much as she did for him.

She eyed the door leading to the passage ending in the west wing. A swarm of butterflies took wing in her stomach. If she wanted to know for sure, maybe she had to seek him out.

She rose from her makeshift seat of a sturdy pedestal, leaving the ugly bronze statue she’d moved on the floor next to it. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped toward that ominous door.

“You’re a difficult woman to find, Freddie.”

Her heart somersaulted as Tristan’s voice echoed in the cavernous chamber. She turned. He leaned against the frame of the door. The daylight pouring in from the high windows illuminated the chiseled planes of his face, but cast his eyes in shadow.

Freddie licked her lips. She dropped her gaze to her feet as she traversed the length of the hall, determined not to trip. When his boot steps rang on the stone floor, she raised her gaze to meet his. There was something fierce and determined in his eyes. It stole her breath. Did he mean to kiss her?

She stumbled and collided against his chest as he leaped to catch her. His firm muscles rippled beneath his clothes. His arm slipped around her waist, pressing her against him as she found her feet once more. She raised her gaze. The desire to kiss him mounted. She stepped away, instead.

“I didn’t know you were looking for me. I needed a moment away from…everyone. It’s difficult to think up there.”

Tristan took a small step forward. His gaze was locked on her mouth. Absently, he said, “Do you have something pressing on your mind?”

You.

Freddie swallowed. “With Harker dead, I’m not sure where we’ll go. We won’t have a home much longer.” Not that Harker’s townhouse had ever felt like home to her.

Reaching out, Tristan caught one of her hands. He held it between them, over his pounding heart. Could he be half as nervous to see her as she was to see him? He studied every inch of her face, from her eyelashes to the freckles on her cheeks. When his gaze met hers squarely once more, he murmured, “You can stay here.”

She licked her lips. “That’s very kind, but—”

“No.” His hand tightened on hers. “It isn’t kind. It’s selfish. I don’t want to be parted from you, Freddie. I want you to stay here…as my wife.”

Her breath caught. “Are you proposing to me?”

He nodded, a short, curt thrust of his head. He opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to speak again. “If you’ll have me. You’ve seen what my life is like. It involves danger and secrets. I’ll have to continue my cover as a gambler and carouser. That’ll mean late nights in London.” His grip lightened on her hand as he shifted to examine her fingers, tracing them with his. “I’m probably not the kind of husband any woman would want.”

“Will you be faithful to me?”

His hand clenched on hers. He met her gaze, his eyes sharp. “Always. I love you. My God, Freddie, you have to ask?”

She covered their joined hands with hers and leaned closer. “I love you, too. Don’t make yourself out to sound like you’ll be a monster. Don’t all men drink and gamble?”

He hesitated. “Most. Some don’t stay out as late after marriage.”

“I’d wager that’s because they have beautiful wives awaiting them at home.”

A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. When he leaned closer, she tilted her face up, hoping for a kiss. Instead, he whispered, “I would certainly have that. What do you say, Freddie? Will you be my beautiful wife?”

A thrill ran through her at the thought that he found her beautiful, born in part because she knew he did. With him, she felt wanton, seductive. It was a powerful feeling, one she looked forward to feeling for the rest of her life.

“Yes.” Worry constricted her chest as she thought of her father. “Promise that you won’t gamble us into debt, though.”

He laid a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “I gamble at the crown’s behest, with Crown funds. You don’t have to worry.”

Gambling could be addictive, an urge a man couldn’t shake, but Tristan didn’t seem to have that urge. He would have made good on it while she was here if he had. If he developed that addiction in the future… They would face the future together. Living without him wasn’t an option.

She leaned closer, pressing her body against his. “I believe now is the time for you to kiss me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is it?” He obliged, pressing his mouth to hers in a sweet, lingering kiss.

Passion ignited between them and that kiss grew fierce. Freddie threaded the fingers of her free hand into his hair. Her other hand was still trapped between them alongside his.

When he broke the kiss, they both panted. They parted for only an instant before Freddie swayed closer, needing him to hold her up as her knees weakened. Their lips met again, then parted. Quick, butterfly kisses that she couldn’t get enough of.

Tristan drew away. “I’ll leave for London posthaste.”

She tightened her hand on his, keeping him near. “Why?”

One side of his mouth raised in a rueful grin. “My dear, we’ll need a special license if we’re to have any hope of not anticipating our wedding vows.”

Her cheeks flamed and she bit her lower lip, as much in expectation as modesty. “Perhaps we ought to announce our engagement first.”

“More delays,” he bemoaned, but he offered his arm to her nonetheless to escort her from the room.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “The reward will be that much sweeter.”

He raised his hand to cover hers where it perched on his sleeve. His presence beside her was soothing and strengthening. They walked in companionable silence, the noise of the abbey mounting the closer they came to the guest wing. This time, instead of feeling overwhelming, it was a storm she could brave. No doubt they were about to give the rabble something else to squawk about, in any case.

She canted her head to admire the line of his jaw as she asked a question that had much weighed on her mind over the past week. “Where did you hide the book, by the way?”

He grinned at her. Butterflies batted at her stomach. He had no right to be so handsome.

Then again, considering she would be the sole object of his affections, perhaps he had every right.

“I can’t tell you, or I’ll never be able to hide anything from you!”

She turned her face to press her lips into his shoulder. “You won’t need to hide anything from me, remember? We aren’t enemies anymore. We’re on the same side.”

“So we are.” His gaze softened. “In that case, I would be more than happy to show you my every hiding place, my dear. After the wedding.”

Freddie had the feeling that that would be a rather wicked exploration, indeed. She couldn’t wait.