Bryce knew what his butler was going to say before he opened his mouth. “My lord,” Radcliff began in that dry affected tone of his. “Regarding Miss Potter…”

Eve.

Bryce hadn’t been able to get her name out of his head since she’d mentioned it to him the previous day.

“Yes, Radcliff, I am aware of the impropriety of her prolonged stay here, but what would you have me do? I cannot throw her out, nor am I able to transport her to Amberly Hall. So what choice do I have but to ensure she is comfortable and well cared for while she is here?”

“None whatsoever,” was Radcliff’s shocking reply.

Bryce stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

The older man raised his bushy eyebrows, took a step forward, and closed the door to Bryce’s study behind him. “If I may speak plainly, my lord?”

“Of course.” Bryce leaned back in his chair. He was more than a little curious to hear what his butler was going to say.

“When Miss Potter first arrived,” Radcliff began, “I was very much opposed to the idea of her remaining here, even though there was no alternative, given the road conditions.”

“Your point?”

“Well, the thing of it is…” Radcliff drew a deep breath. “After the incident, your lordship has stopped all attempts at courtship, so I was thinking, hoping actually, with Miss Potter spending several nights here in your home without chaperone, you might consider making an offer. Of marriage, that is.”

It was something Bryce had been thinking over, though he did not say so. He was far too intrigued by the fact Radcliff appeared to be blushing. “I have not compromised her,” he murmured.

“No one will know that.”

Wincing, Bryce met his butler’s eyes directly. “You’re right there. Everyone will think the worst.”

“Then perhaps—”

“Miss Potter deserves a choice. She did not stay here of her own free will. On the contrary, she made a valiant effort to leave. So I intend to help her do so once the roads become passable. If it comes to it, I expect you and the rest of the servants to say she was never alone in my company.” Yesterday, he’d decided not to let her go. Today, with a clearer mind, he’d acknowledged that doing so was his only option. For one thing, he wouldn’t keep her by force, and for another, she had to be given the freedom to make her own decision.

Radcliff nodded. “You have my full support, my lord, though I do wish you would reconsider. Seems to me the two of you would get on well as husband and wife.”

“Not when she finds out about what I did.”

Radcliff snorted. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Nobody has ever believed that. Not even my own family.” His shoulders grew tense so Bryce made an effort to relax them.

“Yet another reason for me not to like them.”

Bryce smiled. He appreciated the loyalty. “But you like Miss Potter?”

“I do. Which is why I think it might be best if you were to tell her what happened yourself.”

“It won’t change her purpose in coming here. What she wants is to go out and make good connections. I am not a good connection, Radcliff. Which is why I intend to have her brought to the Havisham home at the first opportunity. Her friend can take her dancing at the assembly hall and introduce her to gentlemen more eligible than I.”

Radcliff sighed. “Very well, my lord, but as your butler and longtime employee, I think it is my duty to tell you when you are being an idiot.”

The comment was so swiftly delivered and with Radcliff’s typically affected tone, it took a moment for Bryce to comprehend that the man had insulted him, at which point he had departed the room, leaving Bryce alone to reflect upon their conversation. It was tempting to do what Radcliff suggested–to convince Miss Potter that, under the circumstances, she really did not have other options but to marry him. It would certainly put an end to his craving for her since she would finally be his. But it would also be inexcusably selfish. And because he cared about her, he wanted to give her the chance to fulfill her dreams – to reach for the future she’d come here hoping to gain.

Drumming his fingers upon his desk, he resolved to go and check on her. The maid he’d assigned to her care had told him she was awake an hour ago, which meant she must have finished her breakfast by now. He stood and paused. If he truly wanted to protect her virtue, he’d keep his distance until she was able to get on her feet and meet him downstairs. But that could take days, by which time the roads would likely have cleared, and she’d be well on her way to her next destination.

To hell with it.

She was already in his home. His sitting by her bedside was hardly going to make matters any worse. So he went to the stairs, taking them two at a time in his sudden haste to see her. No woman had ever consumed him as much as she did.

Reaching her door, he stopped for a second to gather his composure. It wouldn’t do for him to look like an eager young lad succumbing to love. Yet that was how he felt. His heart pounded and his body trembled while his stomach turned itself inside out. Love? It couldn’t possibly be. He did not know her well enough. And yet the idea of her lying in there, hurt and in pain, was enough to make his soul ache. So he drew a breath and knocked on the door as calmly as he could manage, intent on hearing her tell him how she was feeling.

“Come in,” came the soft response.

He carefully opened the door and stepped inside without closing it again. Whatever the world might think, he would do what was right and proper, keeping his conscience intact even if his heart did break as he feared it might do the moment Eve left.

She was propped up against a thick pile of pillows, her face turned toward him so he could observe her eyes. They were unbelievably clear today and infused with warmth. His heart stuttered a little at the possibility it might be due to his coming to see her.

If only…

“I was beginning to think you might have forgotten about me,” she said, when he was close enough to study her features. Her bottom lip dipped subtly in the middle, and her nose was not as straight as one might think when looking at her for the first time.

He gave her a teasing glance and pulled up a chair. “A woman who’d rather sprain her ankle than remain underneath my roof?” He sat. “I couldn’t possibly do that.”

Crossing her arms, she presented him with a bit of a pout, “I did not choose to fall and hurt myself.”

“No. I don’t suppose you did.” He grew once again serious while he studied her beautiful face. “But you ought to have considered the possibility of such a thing happening, or worse.” His throat worked while he thought of what might have happened if he had not found her when he had.

“You’re right,” she whispered. And with those words, she did something he would not have expected–she reached out and placed her hand over his.

A jolt of awareness shot through him, slamming his heart against his chest. Her fingers were soft and warm, so delicate and gentle in their every movement. Staring down at them, he found himself transfixed. He couldn’t move or speak. All he could do was save every aspect of the touch to memory and watch as her fingers curled around the sides of his much larger hand, holding it briefly–too briefly–before letting go.

Expelling the breath he’d been holding, he tried to gather his thoughts so he’d sound more coherent when next he spoke. But it was proving difficult when all he could do was feel his skin tingle right there where it had made contact with hers. It was as if every bit of awareness he owned had been pushed into his hand, leaving it bereft in the wake of such unexpected sweetness.

Flexing his fingers, he blinked before meeting her gaze once more. “I’m right?”

She chuckled lightly, easing the tension brought on by her touch. “This time.”

That made him smile. “Just this time?”

She nodded, her eyes lit with a sudden hint of mischief. “It will be a shame if you get too conceited.”

“I wasn’t aware I was at risk of doing so,” he said with a grin.

“You’re not as long as I am here to ground you.”

Her comment reminded him she might leave at any moment, as soon as the weather was more agreeable. Which was something he did not want to think of right now, so he settled himself more comfortably in his chair and said, “Tell me about your childhood, Eve, about your family and where you grew up.”

Her startled expression confirmed she had not expected him to say that. “Why?”

He smiled and told her honestly, “Because physical attraction isn’t enough. I would also like to get to know you properly.”

* * *

Fearing the next syllable to leave her mouth would make her sound like the befuddled nitwit she’d turned into, Eve pressed her lips together while staring up at the man whose face had become so dear in such a short time. She’d been ridiculously pleased when he’d opened the door, and she’d seen it was he who had come to see her. And when she’d taken courage and reached for his hand, it had been with every bit of emotion he’d begun to instill in her heart.

Hearing him speak of his physical attraction toward her, however, reminded her of their scandalous encounter in the library and of the provocative words he’d spoken both then and the following morning. With no more effort, he’d awakened a keen desire inside her, a desire compelling her to act without any consideration for her own safety. Her intention had been to preserve her sanity since the alternative would be surrender.

Except she was now confined to a bed without much chance of anything untoward happening. And Ravenworth had just confessed an interest in getting to know her better. To say she wasn’t thrilled by this was an understatement, because it meant she wasn’t the only one hoping to forge a bond that transcended lust and desire.

“Eve?”

Blinking, she forced herself to gather her wits. “I, er, I grew up a few hours north of London, in the village of Dashford. My parents owned a decent-sized property, a five bedroom house my grandfather helped them acquire.”

“That sounds like an exceedingly comfortable home.”

“It was.” She thought back to how she’d played in the garden there. Funny, her memories only included bright sunny days. “There was a tall oak tree behind the house that my sisters and I used to climb. It had a swing attached to it. One of those with really long ropes that can make your belly soar.”

“I wish I could have seen you on that swing,” he murmured. “Judging from your smile right now, I imagine you found great joy in it.”

“I did.” Focusing, she said, “I also enjoyed picking berries. Mama was especially fond of raspberries and blueberries, so we had several bushes. And there were always flowers too. Bright displays for us to pick and carry inside. The lilacs were probably my favorite.”

“Is that why you choose to use lilac perfume?”

Stunned by the intimacy of the question, she quietly nodded. “You’ve noticed.”

His eyes seemed to darken slightly. The air grew thicker. “Not doing so is impossible.”

“Just as impossible as it is for me not to smell the scent of sandalwood and pine you seem to favor?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “Just as impossible as that.”

Holding his gaze until she started to squirm with restless discomfort, Eve swallowed and quickly returned to the safety of what she’d been saying. “I was happy. We were happy. As a family.”

“So what changed?”

His voice was quiet and tender, and yet she could hear the urgency behind it, telling her the answer mattered to him. That, alone, was enough for her to share what she’d never shared with anyone besides her sisters.

“Mama got sick and Papa began to lose focus. He worried about her so much, it affected his work. He wasn’t particularly skilled at it to begin with, but at least he’d made the necessary effort.” Closing her eyes, Eve allowed herself to remember a past she rarely chose to revisit. “As Mama got progressively worse and it became clear she would not survive, Papa took solace in drink. His brandy became his best friend, more so after she died. He gave up on work and on himself. We lost the house in Dashford and were eventually forced to sell our Mayfair townhouse too.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and this time it was he who placed his hand over hers, startling her with his touch so, her eyes sprang open. He was leaning toward her, his expression grave and full of compassion.

“Me too,” she said. “My oldest sister, Josephine, managed to procure another home for us. It’s not in as affluent a part of town as Mayfair, but it’s still respectable enough. She has done so much to help us all through this change of circumstance. So has Louise. Both are working in an effort to give me a proper Season. Their greatest hope for me is to make a respectable match, to marry well so I might restore our place in society to some extent.”

Ravenworth’s hand tightened around hers, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, Eve sensed he was finding it hard to speak. Eventually, he nodded and said, “Then that is what you must do.”

It was a reasonable statement. She couldn’t understand why it made her heart feel as though it were breaking. But it did. Perhaps because the words sounded so final, as if he would not be a part of this process. He’d take her to Margaret when doing so became possible. Her acquaintance with him would come to an end. He was an earl, after all, and she’d given him every reason to avoid any kind of attachment to her. With this in mind, she drew her hand away from his, unwilling to let herself hope for something that would not come to pass.

“We all have our duty. I’m sure you have yours too.”

“I used to think so,” he said, “but that was before…” Looking away, he held himself completely still for a moment. When his eyes met hers once more, the penetrating depth of it left her breathless. “My reputation is not what it once was.”

“How so?”

She could see he was clenching his jaw. Whatever it was he was trying to say, getting it out was proving difficult. In the end, he chose not to answer, asking instead, “Would you throw away your chance to make a respectable match on a man who’s been shunned by his own family? On a man who will never again be invited to dinner parties or balls?”

The notion he might be guilty of something awful enough to warrant such harsh condemnation was startling. “What happened?”

Wincing, he stood and shook his head. “Your answer is in your eyes, Eve. What happened no longer matters.”

Speechless, she watched him take his leave. The door closed, and the hot sting of tears surprised her. Their connection had been severed. He’d avoided expanding upon the truth, which meant it had to be terrible. Especially if his own family had cut all ties to him on account of his actions.

Still, after everything she’d shared about her own past and her current situation, she would have appreciated blunt openness. Instead, she’d been given innuendo. He’d denied her the chance to make an unbiased decision by avoiding the facts. And as she reflected more on it, the evasiveness with which he’d spoken, she decided she was not going to let him hide behind the fear of what she might think of him when he told her the truth. Because that was what this had to be about. In light of his question, she could think of no other reason.

What happened no longer matters.

How wrong he was.

If he was beginning to feel for her a fraction of what she felt for him, what happened was possibly all that mattered. It would either convince her to fight for him, or to let him go.

But when he returned that afternoon and she tried to raise the subject again, he asked her to leave it alone. His voice was firm and unyielding, informing her that pleading with him would give no results. Which meant she might have to ask someone else. So she tried her maid in the evening, asking the woman a few leading questions. None resulted in satisfying responses, however. The maid’s loyalty to Ravenworth was unfortunately impressively apparent. So was Radcliff’s and that of every other servant with whom she attempted to speak for the next three days.

Ravenworth himself stayed on his best behavior, entertaining her with cards and the occasional game of chess. He read from the book she’d found in the library when all she’d been wearing had been her nightgown. But as he did so, he kept his distance, remaining detached in a way she found thoroughly vexing. It felt like he was preparing himself for her departure, like he’d come to terms with the prospect of saying good bye and would not allow further emotional attachment to form between them.

“I think the road will be clear by this afternoon,” he said while he stared out of the window one morning. He’d been standing there for a long moment with his back turned toward her. “I will send a note to the Havishams letting them know you plan on joining them tonight.”

“So soon?” It was impossible for her not to sound disappointed.

Smiling wryly, he turned to face her. “Not soon enough, I expect, if you ask them. They will no doubt be pleased to have you in their midst and to know you are safe.”

“They’ll know I was here for a week if you do as you suggest.”

“Yes, but the plan I had of returning you to the main road and pointing you in the right direction so they might think your carriage was simply delayed went out the window when you sprained your ankle. I cannot in good conscience allow you to walk alone, even if you are feeling better.”

“So then…”

“You will simply have to tell your friend what happened. And if she fails to believe I made no attempt to seduce you, my servants have promised to inform her that you and I were never alone behind closed doors.”

“I suppose that is technically true.” Even if she hadn’t been properly dressed on one of those occasions. “In any case, Mrs. Havisham and I have known each other since we were little girls. I’m sure she would have no reason not to believe my account of the events that have taken place since my arrival.”

Giving her a blunt look that made her want to shake some hint of desire out of him, he crossed to the door and said, “On the contrary, she has every reason to suspect the worst.”

He was gone before she could question his comment, which prompted her to punch the mattress. “Ugh!” The man had developed an infuriating habit of saying something dramatic whenever he made his exit. And, once again, it made her wonder what he could have done to invite condemnation, because she’d seen no hint of the scoundrel he claimed to be. Not when he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her.

* * *

Seated behind his desk in his study, Bryce signed the missive he’d written and blotted the ink. He folded it and added his seal before taking it through to Radcliff. “Please have someone deliver this to Mrs. Havisham immediately.”

“Are you sure?” Radcliff asked. He stared down at the crisp paper Bryce held toward him.

“Yes. Miss Potter leaves today. I’ve already told her to pack.”

“What if—”

“There is no what if, Radcliff.”

He thrust the letter forward, forcing his butler to take it. Eve’s purpose was clear. She meant to marry a man who might return her and her sisters to their rightful positions within society. He was not that man and never would be. Love was not enough, and God help him, he did love her. He’d suspected it ever since he’d found her lying in the snow and a piece of his heart had shattered. He’d struggled against it since then, dreading the moment when she would leave him. But with each passing moment, his love for her had increased. Which was why he would do what was in her best interest and let her go.

“She is destined for better things than what I have to offer.”

The dubious look in Radcliff’s eyes said he did not believe an ounce of that. But it didn’t matter. The important thing was Bryce did what was right for Eve and gave her the chance to have the life she’d been dreaming of when fate had landed her on his doorstep. Which was why he flinched when the knocker rapped loudly against the front door. His heart almost ceased beating when Radcliff opened it to reveal the displeased expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Havisham, who’d apparently come looking for their guest.