The sun rose early this time of year, and when Annabel opened her eyes and checked the clock on the table beside her bed, it was barely half five. The room was still quite dim, so she slipped out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and walked to the window to open the curtains. Her grandmother may have given tacit permission for Sebastian to stay in her room the night before, but Annabel knew that he could not be there when the rest of the house woke up.

Her room faced east, and so she took a moment at the window to enjoy the sunrise. Most of the sky still held the purple tones of night, but along the horizon the sun was painting a brilliant stripe of orange and pink.

And yellow. Right there on the very bottom, yellow was beginning to creep into view.

The slanted light of dawn, Annabel thought. She still hadn’t finished that Gorely book, but something about the first line had stayed with her. She liked it. She understood it. She wasn’t a particularly visual person, but something about that description had resonated with her.

Behind her she heard Sebastian rustling in the bed, and she turned around. He appeared to be blinking himself awake.

“It’s morning,” she said, smiling.

He yawned. “Almost.”

“Almost,” she agreed, and turned back to the window.

She heard him yawn again, then make his way out of bed. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and letting his chin settle on the top of her head. “It’s a beautiful sunrise,” he murmured.

“It’s already changed so much, just in the few moments I’ve been watching it.”

She felt him nod.

“I almost never see the sun rise this time of year,” she said, feeling a yawn coming over her. “It’s always so early.”

“I thought you were an early riser.”

“I am. But not usually this early.” She turned in his arms, looking up to face him. “Are you? It does seem the sort of thing one should know about one’s future husband.”

“No,” he said softly, “when I see the sun rise, it’s because I’ve been awake too long.”

She almost made a joke about staying out too late and attending too many parties, but she was stopped by the look of resignation in his eyes. “Because you can’t sleep,” she said.

He nodded.

“You slept last night,” she said, remembering the slow, even sound of his breath. “You slept quite soundly.”

He blinked, and his face took on an expression of surprise. And maybe a little wonder, too. “I did, didn’t I?”

Impulsively, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Perhaps this is a new dawn for you, too.”

He looked at her for several moments, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I love you,” he finally said, and he kissed her back, softly, and filled with love, on her lips.

“Let’s go outside,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

He let go of her and went back toward the bed, to the pile of his clothing, lying rumpled on the floor. “Go on,” he said. “Get dressed.”

Annabel allowed herself a moment to admire his naked back, then managed to snap herself to attention. “Why do you want to go outside?” she asked, but she was already looking for something to wear.

“I can’t be found here,” he explained, “but I find myself loathe to leave your company. We shall tell everyone we met for an early-morning stroll.”

“No one will believe us.”

“Of course not, but they won’t be able to prove we’re lying.” He flashed her a grin. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Annabel found herself practically racing to pull on all of her clothing. Before she could even throw on her coat, he grabbed her hand, and they took off running through the house, stifling laughter all the way. A few maids were up and about, transporting jugs of water to all of the guest rooms, but Annabel and Sebastian just scooted on by, tripping along until they reached the front door and the fresh air of morning.

Annabel took a deep breath. The air felt wonderful, crisp and clean, with just enough cool moisture to make her feel dewy and new.

“Shall we go down to the pond?” Sebastian asked. He leaned down and dropped a kiss on her ear. “I have marvelous memories of that pond.”

Annabel’s cheeks turned hot, even though she rather thought she ought to be beyond blushing by now.

“I’ll teach you to skip stones,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll manage that. I tried for years. My brothers quite gave up on me.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “Are you certain they were not, perhaps, employing a bit of sabotage?”

Annabel’s mouth fell open.

“If I were your brother,” he said, “and I believe we may both give thanks that I am not, I might find it amusing to give you false instruction.”

“They wouldn’t.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Having never met them, I cannot say for sure, but having met you, I can say that I would.”

She swatted him on the shoulder.

“Really,” he went on, “Winslow Most Likely to Win at Darts, Winslow Most Likely to Outrun a Turkey—”

“I came in only third for that.”

“—you’re quite annoyingly capable,” he finished.

“Annoyingly?”

“A man does like to feel that he is in charge,” he murmured.

“Annoyingly?”

He kissed her nose. “Annoyingly adorable.”

They had just about reached the shore of the pond, so Annabel yanked her hand free and marched down the small, sandy stretch. “I am finding a rock,” she announced, “and if you don’t teach me how to skip it by the end of the day, I shall …” She stopped. “Well, I don’t know what I shall do, but it won’t be pretty.”

He chuckled and ambled over to her side. “First you must find the right sort of rock.”

“I know that,” she said promptly.

“It must be flat, not too heavy—”

“I know that, too.”

“I am beginning to understand why your brothers did not wish to teach you.”

She gave him a dirty look.

He only laughed. “Here,” he said, reaching down to pick up a small stone. “This one is good. You need to hold it like this.” He demonstrated, then put it in her palm, curving her fingers around it. “Your wrist should be bent just so, and …”

She looked up. “And what?” His words had trailed off, and he was gazing out over the pond.

“Nothing,” he said with a little shake of his head. “Just the way the sun is hitting the water.”

Annabel turned to the pond, and then turned back to him. The reflection of the sun on the water was beautiful, but she found she preferred watching him. He was looking at the pond so intently, so thoughtfully, as if he were memorizing every last ripple of light. She knew he had a reputation for careless charm. Everyone said he was so funny, so droll, but now, when he was so pensive …

She wondered if anyone—even his family—really knew him.

“The slanted light of dawn,” she said.

He turned sharply. “What?”

“Well, I suppose it’s a past dawn now, but not by much.”

“Why did you say that?”

She blinked. He was behaving oddly. “I don’t know.” She looked back over the water. The sunlight was still rather flat, almost peachy, and the pond seemed almost magical, nestled in with the trees and gentle hills. “I just liked the image, I suppose. I thought it was a very good description. From Miss Sainsbury, you know.”

“I know.”

She shrugged. “I still haven’t finished the book.”

“Do you like it?”

She turned back to him. He sounded rather intense. Uncharacteristically so. “I suppose,” she said, somewhat noncommittally.

He stared at her for a moment more. His eyes widened impatiently. “Either you like it or you don’t.”

“That’s not true. There are some things I like quite a bit about it, and others I’m not so fond of. I really think I need to finish it before rendering judgment.”

“How far along are you?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” he protested. But he looked exactly like her brother Frederick had when she had accused him of fancying Jenny Pitt, who lived in their village. Frederick had planted his hands on his hips and declared, “I don’t,” but clearly he did.

“I just like her books a great deal, that’s all,” he muttered.

“I like Yorkshire Pudding, but I don’t take offense if others don’t.”

He had no response to that, so she just shrugged and turned back to the stone in her hand, trying to imitate the grip he’d shown her earlier.

“What don’t you like?” he asked.

She looked up, blinking. She’d thought they were done with that conversation.

“Is it the plot?”

“No,” she said, giving him a curious look, “I like the plot. It’s a bit improbable, but that’s what makes it fun.”

“Then what is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She frowned and sighed, trying to figure out the answer to his question. “The prose gets a bit unwieldy at times.”

“Unwieldy,” he stated.

“There are quite a lot of adjectives. But,” she added brightly, “she does have a way with description. I do like the slanted light of dawn, after all.”

“It would be difficult to write description without adjectives.”

“True,” she acceded.

“I could try, but—”

He shut his mouth. Very suddenly.

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

But he had definitely not said nothing. “You said …” And then she gasped. “It’s you!”

He didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and gave her an I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about expression.

Her mind raced. How could she not have seen it? There had been so many clues. After his uncle had blackened his eye and he’d said that he never knew when he might need to describe something. The autographed books. And at the opera! He had said something about a hero not swooning on the first page. Not the first scene, the first page!

“You’re Sarah Gorely!” she exclaimed. “You are. You even have the same initials.”

“Really, Annabel, I—”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m going to be your wife. You cannot lie to me. I know it’s you. I even thought the book sounded a bit like you when I was reading it.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “It was actually what I liked best about it.”

“Really?” His eyes lit up and she wondered if he realized that he’d just admitted it.

She nodded. “How on earth have you kept it a secret for so long? I assume no one knows. Surely Lady Olivia would not have called the books dreadful if she knew—” She winced. “Oh, that’s awful.”

“Which is why she doesn’t know,” he told her. “She would feel dreadful.”

“You are a very kindhearted man.” She gasped. “And Sir Harry?”

“Also does not know,” he confirmed.

“But he’s translating you!” She paused. “Your books, I mean.”

Sebastian just gave a shrug.

“Oh, he would feel terrible,” Annabel said, trying to imagine it. She did not know Sir Harry very well, but still … they were cousins! “And they’ve never suspected?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh my.” She sat down on the big flat rock. “Oh my.”

He sat down beside her. “There are some,” he said carefully, “who might think it a rather silly, undignified pursuit.”

“Not me,” she said immediately, shaking her head. Good gracious, Sebastian was Sarah Gorely. She was marrying Sarah Gorely.

She paused. Perhaps she ought not to think about it in quite those terms.

“I think it’s marvelous,” she declared, tipping her face up toward his.

“You do?” His eyes searched hers, and in that moment she realized just how very important her good opinion was to him. He was so confident, so comfortable and easy in his own skin. It was one of the first things she had noticed about him, before she’d even learned his name.

“I do,” she said, wondering if she was awful for loving the vulnerable look in his eyes. She couldn’t help it. She loved how much she meant to him. “It will be our secret.” And then she laughed.

“What is it?”

“When I first met you, before I even knew your name, I remember thinking that you smiled as if you had a secret joke, and that I wanted to be a part of it.”

“Always,” he said solemnly.

“Perhaps I can be of help,” she suggested, giving a sly smile. “Miss Winslow and the Mysterious Author.”

It took him a moment to catch on, but then his eyes lit with the fun of it. “I can’t use mysterious again. I’ve already had a mysterious colonel.”

She let out a snort of mock irritation. “This writing business is so difficult.”

“Miss Winslow and the Splendid Lover?” he suggested.

“Too lurid,” she replied, batting him on the shoulder. “You’ll lose your audience and then where will we be? We have future gray-eyed babies to feed, you know.”

His own eyes flared with emotion, but still, he played along. “Miss Winslow and the Precarious Heir.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s true you probably won’t inherit, although thankfully I won’t have anything to do with it, but still, ‘precarious’ sounds so …”

“Precarious?”

“Yes,” she agreed, even though his sarcasm had not been disguised in the least. “What about Mrs. Grey?” she asked softly.

“Mrs. Grey,” he repeated.

“I like the sound of it.”

He nodded. “Mrs. Grey and the Dutiful Husband.”

“Mrs. Grey and the Beloved Husband. No, no, Mrs. Grey and Her Beloved Husband,” she said, with an emphasis on “her.”

“Will it be a story in progress?” he asked.

“Oh, I think so.” She reached up to give him a kiss, then stayed there, their noses touching. “So long as you don’t mind a new happy ending every day.”

“It does sound like an awful lot of work …” he murmured.

She pulled back just far enough to give him a dry look. “But worth it.”

He chuckled. “That didn’t sound like a question.”

“Plain speaking, Mr. Grey. Plain speaking.”

“It’s what I love about you, soon-to-be Mrs. Grey.”

“Don’t you think it should be Mrs. soon-to-be Grey?”

“Now you’re editing me?”

“Suggesting.”

“As it happens,” he said, looking down his nose at her, “I was right. The ‘soon-to-be’ has to be placed before the ‘Mrs.,’ else it sounds like you were Mrs. Something Else.”

She considered that.

He gave her an arch look.

“Very well,” she gave in, “but about everything else, I am right.”

“Everything?”

She smiled seductively. “I chose you.”

“Mr. Grey and His Beloved Bride.” He kissed her once, and then again. “I think I like it.”

“I love it.”

And she did.