Claire nursed the brandy in her snifter, twirling the cut glass round and round in a slow, methodical motion as she sat curled on the settee in her library. It was nearing dawn, but the curtains had been pulled closed and the room was dark save for the fire burning in the hearth. Red and gold flames flickered distortedly through the lens of the crystal, enthralling and eerie all at once.

That’s how she felt. Distorted, one step removed from reality, altered somehow…

Not even in the dark days following Clarence’s death did Claire feel this awful sense of…nothingness. She supposed that by throwing herself into taking his place and solving his murder, she’d just distracted herself with a purpose.

But now…

Now there was no purpose. And nothing could distract her from the fact that her brother, her twin, a part of her very soul, had been murdered because of her.

If she’d not been so precocious, soaking up everything she could learn when she’d discovered her gift for languages. Or if she hadn’t pushed her brother and uncle to let her translate and break codes for them, just because she wanted to feel useful. If she had only stayed in her place and left war things to the men, Clarence might still be alive.

Not to mention Uncle Jarvis.

And what of Andrew?

He’d almost been killed tonight, too.

Because. Of. Her.

A tear slipped down her cheek unbidden. She didn’t even bother to swipe it away. The very thought of lifting her hand to her face exhausted her. If she could just lay her head down and sleep, would it be such a terrible thing if she never awoke?

The sound of the heavy oak entryway door closing in the foyer reached her, followed by the murmur of voices. Andrew must be back from the War Department, and be conversing with Wallace. Probably instructing the butler to pack his things so that he could be off to Wellington with what they’d discovered.

Back to duty. Back to war.

And she’d be left here alone.

No family. No lover. No purpose.

“May I have one of those?” Andrew said as he entered the library and saw her sitting there, still rolling the snifter absently between her palms.

“Of course,” she said, and started to rise.

“No, no. I’ll get it.”

She watched him as he made his way to the sideboard. His strides had a hitch to them, where he now favored his right leg. His handsome face sported reddened cheeks from the chaffing wind outside, except for the ugly purpling bruise along his left cheekbone where one of those awful henchmen had planted him a facer. She was glad she’d shot the man. She only wished she’d had a four-shot barrel so she could have shot him again.

Still, the sight of Andrew’s injuries pained her. They were her fault, too.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked.

Andrew stopped, mid-pour, and turned back to her. His head tilted, and his eyes turned down in the corners with concern as he heard the tenor of her voice. “Whatever for?”

All of the awful emotions she’d pushed down burst through the wall of numbness inside her. She couldn’t stop her lip from quivering any more than she could stem the tide of sobs that crashed over her.

In the midst of that storm, she felt Andrew’s arms close around her. He’d rushed to her side while her eyes were blurry with tears, and now pulled her to him. He held her close as she poured out her grief and her guilt about Clarence and Uncle Jarvis and almost getting him killed. He said nothing, only rocked her gently through it all.

At last, her tears dried up and her sobs were reduced to sporadic hitches. She rested her tired head against his strong, warm chest and closed her eyes. She breathed him in, filling her senses with him so she’d have a store to remember him by.

Andrew’s voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating beneath her cheek. “Do you think Clarence would rather it have been you that was killed, instead of him?”

“What?” she said, lifting her head at his startling question to stare at him. “Of course not. Why would you say such a thing?”

“Why do you think Clarence went to work for the War Department?” he asked, rather than answer her. It was rather an annoying habit, answering a question with another question, she decided. Perhaps she should stop doing it.

“Because he wished to do his part to defeat Napoleon, I suppose.”

“Indeed. And he did. He uncovered many a plot in his days working for Marston, things he likely never told you of,” he said.

And then he proceeded to share stories of Clarence’s successful missions that he’d learned when he’d briefed his superiors at the War Department. Claire’s heart swelled with pride. She’d always thought Clarence was a hero, but it was nice to know others had, too.

“Do you think if Clarence had known about this treaty, that he wouldn’t have given his life trying to stop it?” Andrew asked when he’d finished.

“But he didn’t know. It was my—”

“Or that he wouldn’t have died to save all those men at Vitoria?” Andrew interrupted.

Claire swallowed, understanding where he was headed with this. “He would have sacrificed in a heartbeat,” she whispered.

“Without your involvement, thousands more would have been lost on the Peninsula, and we might very well still be mired in war there instead of having Napoleon on the run. It may be true that because of your involvement, Clarence lost his life—”

Andrew soothed his words with a touch, running his hand gently across her brow and into her hair.

“—but because of Clarence’s death,” he went on, softly, “we were able to uncover Napoleon’s bid to turn the tide of this war back in his favor. You and I both know that Clarence would have given his life a hundred times over to prevent that. Or to protect you so that you could.”

Claire heaved a breath. She understood what he was saying, but—

“I know of what I speak,” Andrew said, tipping her chin so that she was looking up at him. “Tonight, when I let myself be taken to draw the villains away from you, I was glad to do it.”

She gasped. “You went with those brutes without a fight? Why would you do that?” She already had to live with Clarence’s death on her head. How would she have survived Andrew’s, too?

“I was glad to die, just to keep you safe. So that you could continue doing what you do best, for the good of England. Clarence would have been, too. Because he loved his country. And he loved you.”

Andrew framed her face with his hands, his eyes intense. “As I do.”

Her heart tripped. Had Andrew just said—

“Well.” His smile tipped in a half grin. “He loved you differently than I do, but that’s not what matters. What matters is—” Andrew dipped his mouth to hers for a kiss that melted her toes. He waited until she’d opened her eyes again to finish his thought. “—I love you, Claire. And I want you to be my wife.”

Tears sprang to her eyes once more. Goodness, when had she become such a watering pot?

Andrew was asking her to be his wife.

Did it matter anymore that his proposal was six years late? They’d been so young then. They both were and were not the same people anymore. Would the Andrew of today make the same choice?

As if he’d read her mind, he said, “If I could go back in time, I would never have walked away from you. I’m so sorry.”

Claire touched his cheek. “I, too, wish that it were different, but I won’t waste another minute of my life with regrets. I love you, too.”

She turned her face to kiss his palm. Then she smiled against it. “As Clarence said, life is too precarious to live it without the one you love by your side.”

As she spoke her brother’s words aloud, any last vestiges of anger at him dissolved. Regardless of all that had happened in the past, she knew Clarence had loved her. That’s what she would choose to remember.

And that’s how she would move into the future.

“I would be honored to be your wife.”

She lifted her lips for a kiss. This was how she would choose to remember Andrew on the long nights she was alone, waiting for him to return from war. This feeling of security wrapped in the strength of his arms, the sizzle of heat wherever their skin met. As they made love in the dawning hours of the morning, Claire did her best to savor every touch, every sigh, every moan of pleasure. And she tried not to think of the coming day, and how it would take him away from her for God knew how long.

But as they lay in one another’s arms after, she couldn’t put off the question any longer.

“When do you leave for France?”

Andrew opened his eyes, and she tried to memorize the sleepy, sated look in them and how the green softened when he was well satisfied, too. “I don’t.”

“What?” She scrambled to a seated position, uncaring of her state of dishabille. “But you said you were to rejoin Wellington as soon as Uncle Jarvis’s murder was solved. Who will be taking word to him so that Napoleon’s and San Carlos’s couriers can be cut off?”

Andrew laughed, and rose up on one elbow. “Let’s start with the easier question. Four teams were already dispatched in the night. One to Toulouse to meet Wellington with the news and set up a net to try to catch the couriers before they leave France. One to Catalonia to spy on General Copon, who you said is to aid one of the couriers through the Peninsula when he arrives. A third to track General Palifax, who we guess took a more northerly route with his copy of the treaty. And the fourth directly to Madrid to try to head the situation off diplomatically.”

Claire blinked. “That was…quick. And thorough.”

“The War Department is taking this bit of intelligence very seriously. Which leads me to your first question.” Andrew pushed up into a seated position across from her, and she did her very best not to let her eyes drift down the expanse of his muscled chest.

“More than ever, the War Department is recognizing how valuable Abchurch, and the work the code breakers do there, is to the war effort. They’ve asked me to stay on and I’ve agreed. On one condition.”

Relief bubbled up inside Claire. Andrew was staying in England. “What condition?”

He reached out and touched her face. “That when you’re ready, you join me.”

“Join you?” she asked. Damn it, she must stop doing that, she reminded herself. “I can’t continue on as Clarence,” she said. “I’ll need to lay him to rest properly. It’s only fair to him and to others who loved him to know that he is gone and to be able to say goodbye.”

Andrew was shaking his head. “Not as Clarence, love. As yourself.”

“Myself?” Oops. Well, it would help if Andrew started making proper sense instead of making such questionable statements. “A woman would never be allowed at Abchurch.”

“You will be. You see, I told my superiors all about how invaluable your work was at Vitoria, and Greeves vouched for your skills in several other matters, as well. I insisted that if they wanted the best man for the job, they should have her.”

Claire sat there, speechless in any language.

Then she said, “You’re not going to hover over me all the time, are you, like some overprotective husband?”

He huffed. “I’ll try my best not to. I confess, it will be incredibly hard for me. But you’ve proven to be quite adept at protecting yourself.”

Happiness filled her. She wasn’t going to be alone, after all. She would have family, love, and purpose.

And best of all?

“At least I’ll never have to tie a cravat knot again.”

A wicked grin flashed over Andrew’s face and one eyebrow shot up. “Don’t speak too soon, dearling,” he said. “I have a few knots I’d like to show you…although they require a poster bed as well as a cravat or two.”

A thrill shot through her as she tried to imagine what he meant.

A few hours later, she knew precisely.

And Claire decided cravats weren’t so bad after all.