Faith Digby’s fingers trembled far too violently to risk lifting her teacup and saucer for a calming sip of chamomile. With this many butterflies in her stomach, she doubted she’d ever feel tranquil again. The last person she had ever expected to see sat three feet away from her on the other side of the dinner table.

Zachary Nash, Lord Hawkridge.

Her skin had prickled before he’d even walked into the room, as if her body had sensed his presence like a flower senses the sun.

The years had been both cruel and kind. His jaw was stronger, his muscles more defined, his shoulders wider… But the jacket that contained them was faded from repeated use and worn at the seams. The cravat was close to threadbare, though brilliantly white and folded into effusive perfection.

His cheekbones and jaw were impeccably free from whiskers, leaving nothing to distract the eye from that full, sensual mouth Faith remembered so well. His hair was the same dark brown and perfectly coiffed, his eyes the same long-lashed hazel, brilliant and captivating. But she would not let herself be captivated. Not again. Not by one such as him.

The package might be as tempting as ever, but the man inside was not.

Her presence at dinner tonight was partly because she was as much a fixture of the school as the chandelier overhead—and just as tarnished—but also because she was looking forward to speaking with Dahlia and Simon about the exciting new plans for the next fundraising show they’d been working on for so many weeks.

The words were no longer on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t wish to speak of her charity work in front of Hawkridge. She didn’t want him to know about her life at all.

Her lips tightened. Why should she? He had already turned down the chance to share it.

But she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her inner turmoil. She never gave anyone that satisfaction. She would remain as stoic today as she had been the day he’d left her behind so many years before. She would present her façade of ice. No. Not of ice; ice could melt, and she was done melting for him. Her façade was now porcelain. It could crack, it could break, but for now it would remain as emotionless and unreadable as that of a doll.

It was her only defense. She could not let him see how he affected her so long after he’d broken her heart. He need not know the way her heart thundered in her chest, the way her breath caught in her throat, the way her lips parted every time she glanced his way.

Not that she meant to glance his way. She could not possibly let him back into her life. He’d broken her heart once. Now, he was even more dangerous. He could never know.

“We splurged for meat today,” Dahlia whispered to her under her breath. “Which means there are knives at the table. Just let me know if you’d like me to slide mine between his ribs.”

Faith dared not attempt even a weak smile, lest her carefully crafted mask begin to crack.

Dahlia had been her first friend and, for a long time, her only friend. Now they were like sisters. Their bond was unshakable. But Dahlia’s temper was as fierce as her loyalty, and Faith could not allow her best friend to destroy her marriage by stabbing her brother-in-law at the dinner table.

“Not required at present,” Faith whispered back. “If I change my mind, I will give you a sign.”

Dahlia’s husband, for his part, appeared uncharacteristically mystified. As the most decorated inspector of the Bow Street runners, Simon was used to knowing all the facts of any given situation he had been assigned to investigate. Being caught unawares was an uncommon circumstance.

Out of loyalty to her best friend, Dahlia had clearly kept Faith’s secret, just as Dahlia had sworn to do for her when they were both young. However, now that Simon knew there was a mystery afoot, he would not rest until he had uncovered every rancid speck of past history.

Faith froze. She could not allow Simon to poke about in her life any more than she could allow Hawkridge to upend it. She would have to act as though there was no mystery here. Just a little misunderstanding. Water under the bridge. Why, she’d forgotten about that old drama. It never crossed her mind anymore. Nothing to investigate. Everything perfectly normal.

She straightened her spine. This was her chance to sell him on that fiction by acting the part.

“How was your day today, Simon?” she asked pleasantly as one of the student “footmen” presented the table with a large tray bearing spiced vegetables.

The skeptical look in the investigator’s eyes indicated he was far from forgetting the ripple of shock Lord Hawkridge had caused with his exalted presence, but Simon was an absolute love, and would not purposely make anyone feel awkward. That trait might be her saving grace.

“It was my last day in the old neighborhood,” Simon answered after a moment. He glanced at Hawkridge. “I am glad you joined us. You are family, after all.”

Guilt picked at the scarred edges of Faith’s heart. While she personally would have been thrilled never to see Hawkridge again, he was Simon’s estranged half-brother.

Because Hawkridge was a lord and Simon a lowly bastard, the inspector would not be welcome at the marquessate. It was very likely that the two would only be able to see each other going forward by planned meetings such as this, well out of the public eye.

Faith’s heart ached in sympathy. Her parents were not of his class, but she could see her family whenever she pleased.

She would simply have to make it through dinner before falling apart.

Faith did her best to focus on her boiled vegetables and not on her one-time lover. She was determined to think of him not as Hawk, as he had become in their youth, but as untouchable Lord Hawkridge, who he was now. A marquess and a stranger. Nothing more, nothing less.

“How was your day?” Hawkridge asked, meeting Faith’s eyes for the most fleeting of moments before focusing pointedly on Dahlia. “Er, ladies?”

Dahlia glared back at him without responding until Faith kicked her ankle beneath the table. Her fingers shook with embarrassment.

She would not make a scene. Not out of any desire to spare Hawkridge, but because she had moved on. She’d had to. They had both done unforgivable things in the past. Faith had decided long ago not to compound those errors with additional reckless choices. She was no longer a foolhardy, lovesick girl. She was the administrator of a boarding school. A model teacher. An adult.

It was time to act like one.

Faith glanced over at the student footmen keeping dutifully to the shadows and gave them a proud smile. “My day has been wonderful, because our students make it so. Thank you, ladies. You’ve outdone yourselves with this meal.”

All three of the uniformed girls blushed in unison.

Once a week, the students put on a special meal for their headmasters. The girls loved the ritual and the chance to show off their culinary talents. Normally, Faith loved their shared evenings, too. Tonight, however, she would rather be anywhere else.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape Hawkridge. Not in her mind, not in her dreams, and now not even at her boarding school.

If she could make it through this dinner with the least interaction possible, she would dedicate herself to figuring out how to never let such an occurrence happen again.

“Is this the first time your students have served a meal?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Simon replied with obvious pride. “They take turns performing all the duties required to run a school of this size, in order to be better prepared to work in various capacities, should they choose to stay on.”

Hawkridge’s brows lifted as though he were impressed despite himself. “That’s an ingenious idea.”

“Not mine, I’m afraid.” Simon gave a crooked smile. “One of Faith and Dahlia’s many strokes of brilliance. Tonight is a ‘Headmistress Supper.’ A special occasion, where a limited number of the most outstanding students are selected to perform each role. The girls must vie for jealously guarded slots.”

“This meal is leagues better than anything conjured from my kitchen,” Hawkridge said with a self-deprecating smile.

Neither Faith nor Dahlia smiled back.

“We hold Headmistress Suppers fortnightly.” Simon’s eyes brightened. “You’re more than welcome to join us at any time.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Hawkridge demurred.

Faith did not wish for him to intrude either. Her stomach clenched. She hoped this didn’t mean her former paramour would be hanging around the school more often, but suspected she was out of luck.

Panic slid beneath her skin at the thought of having to sit across from him again and again. She hid her trembling fingers beneath the serviette on her lap. God help her. Faith didn’t know which was more in jeopardy: her self-respect or her self-control.

Hawkridge was as impossible to resist as a whirlpool at sea, breaking her defenses, dragging her under, drowning her with his power. When he’d promised to marry her and never returned, she’d sworn never to allow herself to be hurt again. But just seeing him tonight hurt. Hearing the familiar timbre of his voice hurt. Smelling the familiar scent of his soap. Sharing the same space.

She tried to keep her eyes focused on Dahlia and Simon, but it was impossible not to stare at Hawkridge’s soft brown hair, his soulful hazel eyes, the curve of his smile. She tried to listen to Simon discuss his new assignment, but all she could hear was the old memories rushing back. The afternoon at the lake, the evening under the stars.

Desperate, she tried to focus on the unusual treat of a succulent lamb shank being served at the school, but all of her favorite foods tasted like nothing in her mouth. Not with her tongue remembering the taste of his kisses, the scent of his skin, the feel of his mouth against hers.

Her breaths tangled. The wooden chair was too hard, her linen bodice too tight, her heart pounding far too loud.

She’d survived the past ten years by reminding herself that she would never, ever see him again. That even if their paths should someday cross, her broken heart was now cold as stone. Impenetrable. Unable to be hurt anew. Certainly not foolish enough for all the old feelings to come rushing back.

The wanting. The hurt. The anger.

She could not possibly make small talk with him over the dinner table as if none of it had ever happened.

“Faith has been an instrumental help to Dahlia,” Simon was saying to Hawkridge.

“A help?” Dahlia’s chin jerked up indignantly. “Faith is a godsend. She enriches the lives of everyone she touches. She makes me a better person and she does no less for the four-and-twenty students in our care.”

Hawkridge’s eyes widened with surprise and interest. “Faith—that is to say, Miss Digby—teaches at this school?”

“She owns it,” Dahlia shot back before Faith could respond. “We are co-administrators, but there is no doubt Faith is the backbone. When I started this school, I could scarce raise enough money for three meals a day. Faith turned everything around with insight and efficiency. Thanks to her five-year plan, our venture is well on its way to being self-sufficient.”

Hawkridge’s expression could only be described as stunned. Then, impressed.

Faith resented him for it. And herself for caring. ’Twas bad enough to be forced to have dinner with the “gentleman” who had taken her virginity and left her behind. The last thing she needed was for him to be proud of her for making something of herself despite him.

Very well, perhaps not the last thing. The one hundred percent very extremely last thing she needed was the way he had been looking at her every other moment. The way he was looking at her right now. As if his soul had been waiting for her all his life.

It wasn’t new, she reminded herself sternly. That was how he had always looked at her. When she was young and foolish, she’d believed she was special. Now she knew it was how he looked at everything. He might even have loved her once…

But she had never been special. Not to a man who loved everything. Hawkridge had forgotten her just as easily as any of the myriad other pleasures that came and went from his charmed life.

Her spine caved. What hurt most wasn’t that he hadn’t cared about her. It was that he had, yet he’d nonetheless walked away without a second thought. She had been foolish to think she would somehow be an exception.

That was not a mistake she would ever make again.

“Faith.” Hawkridge’s voice was low, his eyes intent. “May we talk?”

“No.” Her voice was so hoarse, even Faith herself was uncertain she had spoken the word aloud.

She glanced at her friends. Simon and Dahlia were too deep in a conversation about his current Bow Street investigation to realize Faith and Hawkridge had spoken.

He followed her gaze, and shook his head. “Not here, of course. Privately. This is between the two of us.”

Privately? Vertigo assailed her. She could not possibly entrust herself alone with him. That was exactly how this disaster had begun.

“There is no ‘us,’” she bit out in anger. “There hasn’t been in years. You made your position quite clear in your letter.”

“I am sorry.” Hawkridge lowered his voice, his eyes pleading. “You’ve always deserved better. All I want is the chance to—”

“You already had your chance,” Faith interrupted. Of course he was not serious. He had never once been serious about her. She was done with his lies. “Once you got what you wanted, you walked away. I’ve no doubt you intend to do so again. You will have to find someone else.”

She tore her gaze from his before she could glimpse his expression. She didn’t want to know how he felt. She didn’t want to know anything else about him at all.

A trio of student footmen with pinafores and plaited hair skipped up to the silent table to present their coup de grace: blackberry tarts for dessert.

God save her. Faith lifted her fork with trembling fingers. The blackberry tart looked wonderful. There was no way she could eat it.

Stomach churning, she wondered if Hawkridge remembered the last time they had eaten blackberries together. He had told her he loved her. That the moment he assumed control of the marquessate, his first act would be to make her his wife.

None of it had been true. Overnight, he had disappeared completely from her life.

She would not forgive him.