The breath lodged in Gray’s throat as he raced into the neighboring box. The swinging curtain buffeted his arm. As the assassin pulled the trigger, the report deafened him. His heart stopped beating as Charlie flung herself at Mother. Her momentum carried both women to the ground.

Heaven help him. It was bad enough his mother’s life was in danger. He didn’t know what he would he do if the woman he loved died.

His ears rang as the assassin fumbled for something in his pocket, ammunition or perhaps another loaded pistol. His instincts, honed from years of war, took over as he battled with the attacker. The traitor wasn’t willing to submit without a fight.

Gray slammed him against the side of the box as his hearing cleared. The ring of the gunshot and rush of the blood in his ears was overpowered by the screams and shouts of the panicked mass of bodies in the theater. Breathing shallowly, he blocked out the sounds, focusing on the opponent in front of him.

It felt as though a lifetime passed before he rendered the man unconscious—a lifetime during which Charlie might be dying or already dead. The moment the man fell limp in his arms, Gray thrust him to the ground and ran to check on the two most important women in his life.

The two old biddies, friends of his mother, hovered over the women on the ground. Are they still alive? “Move,” he commanded tersely. He didn’t have the energy to curb his rudeness, not when every muscle in his body was attuned to the fate of the women on the ground. He’d dressed gunshot wounds in battle before. If he could only reach them…

Mother’s friends stepped back, the curtain of their skirts revealing the women on the ground. Mother’s mouth was tight, and she fought a grimace as she sat up. Charlie’s face was flushed. With one curl clinging to the side of her mouth, she tilted her face back and asked, “Are we safe to stand?”

When he nodded, she held out her hands to him. If he helped her stand, he would pull her into his embrace. She didn’t want to marry him, and such a public display of affection would tie them together irrevocably. Unable to touch her in any meaningful way, he crouched and held her hands tight over his heart. “The devil take me, Charlie, why would you do that?”

She stiffened. “I saved your mother’s life!”

He lifted her hands to his mouth, muffling his words as he breathed in her clammy skin. “Yes, and in so doing, you nearly stole mine.”

He hadn’t truly understood the depth of his feelings for her until her life was in jeopardy. He had once thought her wild and unlovable, but the opposite was true.

She was wild, yes, but she was also ladylike, fierce, and accomplished. Never in his life had he met a woman better suited to him, and he was certain he would never meet another woman like her again. Until he’d nearly lost her, he hadn’t realized how much he needed her in his life—not only today, but every day thereafter.

He didn’t want to marry her out of fear of having gotten her with child; he wanted to marry her so he would always come home to her. Now that their lives had intersected, he didn’t know if he could live without her.

But she’d already refused his proposal once. She didn’t want to marry him.

The thought muted the danger of the moment and disconnected him. He helped her to stand then aided his mother. When the taller of the older women—he didn’t know which was Mrs. Biddleford—asked after the assassin, Gray numbly explained how he’d incapacitated the fellow but left him where he fell. Showing a great deal of mettle, the two biddies volunteered to watch him until help arrived.

It didn’t take long. By the time he herded his mother toward the door as Charlie explained the situation, he spotted several figures moving against the current of the thinning crowd below. Morgan, easily identifiable due to the streak of white in his hair, led the figures.

The threat against his mother had been thwarted.

* * *

Late that evening, a disgruntled footman let Gray into Brackley’s townhouse and led him to the study. He helped himself to the whiskey on the mantel as he awaited his sister. Despite knowing that his mother was now safe, the threat contained, and everyone in the network on high alert to prevent future attacks, Gray was no more at peace.

He couldn’t stop thinking of Charlie. In a day or two, he’d have to sail down the Thames and back to his ship. Tomorrow, he had an appointment with an admiral in London to explain the situation with Lieutenant Stills. Through the course of that meeting, Gray would no doubt be commanded to resume his position at sea.

Although he would put in a request for special leave as soon as possible, he would have to leave Charlie behind. She was such a dynamic, lively woman, and he worried that someone else would notice her worth and she would fall in love while he was away. His stomach tied itself in knots around the smooth burn of whiskey.

“Anthony?”

He turned at his sister’s sleepy voice. It was long past midnight. He must have woken her. She ran her fingers through her loose hair, arranging it over her wrapper as she stepped into the room.

“What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Other than to drink your husband’s whiskey?” Gray tried for a smile, but it fell flat.

When he took one of the armchairs facing the hearth and the burning branch of candles there, Lucy took the seat opposite him. “Aren’t you going to offer me some of your stolen whiskey?”

He smirked. “You’re the lady of the house. Can’t you pour your own?”

“It tastes sweeter when you do it.”

Bollocks. He didn’t correct her and smiled as he stood to fetch her a tumbler. He poured a scant finger into the bottom of the glass then offered it to her.

As she sipped, he asked, “Brackley… He’s good to you?”

She looked him in the eye. “I wouldn’t be married to him if he wasn’t.”

Gray swilled the amber liquid around his glass as he reclaimed his seat. “He has a history…”

“I know of his past. We love each other, Anthony.”

Nodding, he took a sip. He savored the burn as he swallowed, buying himself time to think. In a soft voice, he admitted, “I love Charlie.”

“I thought so. It’s clear there’s something between you.”

He stared into his glass. “She won’t marry me.”

The silence between them lengthened. After swallowing the last of the alcohol, he set the tumbler on a low table between them. Lucy had her lips pressed together. She still stared at her glass.

“You know why,” he guessed. From the way Charlie had spoken of Lucy, he suspected Lucy was the one person in the world who best knew Charlie’s mind, and that included Charlie’s mother and sister.

Lucy rearranged a lock of her black hair. “She wants adventure. She doesn’t want a husband and children to hold her back. Perhaps if you give her time… ”

“I may not have time,” he said, his voice tight. “I’m going back to the war in a couple days—”

He hated the look of disappointment that crossed her face. It was the same look Mother gave him whenever he left after a leave. The pleading in Lucy’s voice was no better. “Must you?”

He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice even. “Of course I must, Lucy. I’m a captain in the Royal Navy. I have a duty to my country and my crew.”

“Fulfill your duty here. Our brothers do.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Lud, it seems even Mother does.”

“I have no talent for subterfuge. I’m a seaman. I wouldn’t know who I was without my ship and the purpose it affords me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You knew who you were before you signed up to go to sea.”

No, he hadn’t. He’d been a boy, and one who acted out to get his father’s attention. Gray had never known true discipline or true purpose until he’d joined the navy. He couldn’t imagine leaving it. In fact, the concept made his stomach cramp. Imagining life in London, without the sea breeze in his hair or a new vista on the horizon, felt as though fetters clamped around his wrists and ankles.

Now he knew how Charlie felt about marriage. If only he could prove to her that she was wrong. He would never seek to hold her back. In fact, if he could, he’d bring her with him.

He stood, looking down at Lucy. “I’m going back to my ship, Lucy. I must.”

She looked glum as she stared at her hands. She didn’t say a word. That uncharacteristic silence, more than anything, told him how devastated she was to hear he was leaving again. Perhaps one day, she would understand. Perhaps Charlie could help her understand.

“I’m sorry to have woken you. Good night.”

As he strode for the door, Lucy glanced up. “I think Charlie loves you, too.”

His heart skipped a beat. He detoured to kiss the top of her head. “That was all I needed to hear.”

Perhaps he had reason to hope, after all.