Max and Titus took their time returning to Maidenstone Abbey. They didn’t want to arrive at the same time as Cressida and Antonia, and Atticus had ridden to Plymouth to learn which ships were leaving the port the following day, so they rode to Salcombe to see whether there was any evidence of Durrant’s presence in the neighborhood.

A quick stop at the village pub verified there were no strangers in town. He recognized a few men from the bonfire the night before. The bleary eyes and tired faces showed that many of them had enjoyed the festivities long after the upper classes had left.

On another night, he would have been one of them. He was still one of them. But he was also, after Lucy’s proclamation, the supposed heir to Maidenstone. When he walked into the inn, the men tipped their hats or tugged their forelocks. The innkeeper, a man named Barker, was entirely too deferential as he showed Max to the best table in the room.

“It will all come out right in the end if you’re the new lordship,” Barker said, handing Max a small tankard of ale and a meat pie only moments after Max sat down. “Begging your pardon, of course.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Max deflected.

Barker shook his head. “Maidenstone needs a Briarley. And Miss Lucy needs a better husband than the lot they’ve invited to stay at the abbey. Begging your pardon again.”

The men nearest to them nodded. It rattled Max more than he would have guessed to know that the village was on his side.

He didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve the men who came to introduce themselves, scraping and bowing while taking his measure. He didn’t deserve Barker cheerfully saying that he would put Max’s bill on the abbey account.

Max was one of them. He wasn’t one of the people still asleep in the abbey, wasting half the day. The knowledge made the pie turn to ashes in his mouth. There wasn’t enough ale to wash away the betrayal he was going to inflict.

But he finished his meal even though it settled like rocks in the pit of his stomach. He would be on the run again soon enough. Max knew better than to waste food. Before riding back to the abbey, he gave a few coins to Barker, instructing him to buy a round of ale for the men in the room — and left another coin with instructions to send word if any strangers arrived in Salcombe that day.

When they reached the stables at Maidenstone, Max was surprised to find Lucy standing outside. She was chatting with the head groom, but from the way her gaze followed Max as he rode up, he wondered if she was waiting for him.

He didn’t want to see her this morning. In fact, he’d thought of taking the coward’s way out and avoiding her entirely until it was time to leave. Her face, with those gorgeous dark eyes, was already destined to haunt his dreams. He’d rather that his memories be of the night before, when he’d thought he could keep her — not of how she would look when she realized he’d betrayed her.

She looked at him with a worried frown. The handful of days they’d known each other wasn’t enough to say that she would “never” do something, but he suspected that, in a normal circumstance, she would never wait for a man outside the stables.

“Is something amiss?” he asked as he dismounted.

“I should ask you the same question,” Lucy said. “You don’t usually ride this late in the morning.”

“I went to the village to see how the townsfolk fared after last night’s revelries.”

“And did they fare better or worse than you?” she asked.

There were shadows in her eyes and her grin didn’t quite erase them, but her tone held the ghosts of the night before. In her voice, he heard all the teasing, all the pleasure, all the longing that her body had awakened in him. His mouth suddenly ached to kiss her — to devour her. He wanted to cup her face with his hands and hold her until all the doubts were gone. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the nearest bed — or into the gardens, where the threat of discovery would add fuel to the flames between them.

But if he did that, knowing he was going to leave her, he would never forgive himself.

“I’m sorry, what was the question?” he finally said.

She laughed. Some of her shadows disappeared. “It doesn’t matter. I doubt either of us care to discuss the village at the moment.”

Behind him, Titus snorted softly. Lucy’s gaze slid toward him. Shadows returned as she watched Titus lead the horses into the stables. “How long has your groom been in your employ?” she asked.

“Only a few weeks,” he said. “I didn’t need a groom in London.”

“And Cressida’s maid? Did you hire her at the same time?”

“Not exactly the same time,” he said, unwilling to give a precise answer — unsure of what Cressida may have told her the day before. “Is there a reason you’re concerned about my servants?”

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip in an entirely uncharacteristic moment of hesitation. Her lips made him think of other things — but he wasn’t blind to the risks. The job could still go wrong if he made a mistake. And these particular questions told him he was on the verge of one.

Finally, she sighed. “I have so many questions, Max. And I don’t want to ask any of them.”

She’d heard something. Something that caused her to doubt him. The look on her face was exactly the look he hadn’t wanted to see — the look of a woman who knew she was about to be betrayed, but still hoped, against all reason, that she was mistaken about what she’d learned.

“What’s made you have questions?” he asked. “You didn’t seem to have any last night.”

He hated himself for trying to turn it back on her — it was a low, despicable act to imply that it was her fault for doubting him.

But Lucy was too strong to let him trick her so easily. She raised an eyebrow. “If I recall, I had questions yesterday, until we were distracted. And the day before that. From the moment I met you, really. It’s beyond time that we had a frank discussion.”

He started to sweat. The August sun beat down on his coat. His top hat didn’t do much to protect him. But it was Lucy’s gaze that he wanted to escape.

He expected her to begin questioning him immediately. As always, she surprised him. “Will you walk with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

“I thought you wanted to interrogate me.”

“I do,” she responded. “But it’s hypocritical of me to demand answers from you when I haven’t been forthright either. I’m willing to take the first step if you’re willing to meet me halfway.”

She stepped toward him, offering her hand. He felt like she was offering him a cup of poison — the means of his self-destruction.

“You don’t owe me anything at all,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

“This isn’t about owing you. It’s about trusting each other. Will you walk with me?”

She was offering her hand, but it was so much more than that. It was partnership, not power. She wanted him to walk beside her, not kneel at her feet. She saw him as an equal. She would give him everything — if he would give her everything in return.

No one had ever treated him as an equal. His family loved him, but he was responsible for them. Durrant had been superior to him; he would never forgive Max for leaving their gang. Every relationship he’d had in London was transactional at best — food or sex traded for money or protection, or stolen outright from those who thought they were better than him.

The dream of this life — this better life, with her as a willing partner — was so powerful that it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

“Don’t trust me with your secrets, Lucy,” he said, trying to warn her away. “You’ll regret it if I’m not the earl.”

The shadows in her eyes deepened. But her hand was steady, hanging in the air between them. “We’re not going to let you lose. And anyway, my secrets are mine to keep or give away. Walk with me?”

He couldn’t say no without telling her why. And he couldn’t say no without admitting, to himself and to her, that there was no future for them.

So he gave her his arm. They walked, mostly silent, through the grand formal gardens behind Maidenstone. When they reached the farthest corner ten minutes later, she opened a gate in an ivy-covered wall. A field stretched out before them. A small, well-worn footpath led toward a cluster of cottages in the distance.

It was all too bucolic, too perfect. Bees hummed in the field. Birds sang from their perches on the wall. Lucy carefully shut the gate. “It’s not too much farther,” she said.

They headed away from the woods, away from Salcombe. He and Titus had ridden in this vicinity before. There were no ancient monuments here — only cottages and fields, where the bulk of Maidenstone’s agricultural activity took place.

“I take it you’re not showing me more jewels?” he asked, attempting a joke to lighten the mood.

She laughed. “No. Something more precious than that.”

He couldn’t see her eyes since her bonnet obscured the side of her face, but under her levity, he could tell how serious she was. He tried to guess what she wanted to show him. Some hidden Briarley treasure? Some evidence that she wasn’t what she said she was? She’d finally acknowledged that she had a secret — but what could it be?

They walked for another five minutes, single file down the narrow footpath, with Lucy leading the way. She didn’t sway her hips the way she did when she was trying to distract him — whatever she was about to show him had commanded all her attention.

When the footpath finally emerged from the field, Lucy stopped abruptly. She turned to face him. He realized that she was under more strain than he had guessed. “Promise me that if you have questions, you won’t ask until we walk back to Maidenstone.”

“I promise,” he said. “Why are you worried?”

She took a deep breath, looking so pale that he wondered if she was going to cast up her accounts on his boots. “I’ve never told anyone before. Other than Grandfather and Emma and the servants, of course.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said quickly.

“I do,” she said, her intentions firm despite her thready voice. “I can’t expect you to tell me the truth if I won’t give you the same courtesy.”

She turned away before he could stop her. She strode the final fifteen yards to the first cottage — a small, trim house with cheerful curtains in the windows. There was real glass, a well-kept yard, and fresh paint. Whoever lived there was more prosperous than the average farmer.

She opened the door without knocking. Max was still several yards behind her, but he heard the squeal of a child’s voice. Lucy was popular with her tenants. She probably had candy in her pocket for the children….

She stooped, picking the child up — the child who had run to the doorway to greet her. The girl wasn’t shy with Lucy — she laughed as Lucy kissed the side of her neck. “I think I’ll eat you up,” Lucy said, kissing the girl again.

“Don’t eat me!” the child shrieked, in a voice that said this was a game they’d played before. She shook her head violently, her hair flying — hair the color of caramel, with the same curls that Lucy currently hid beneath her bonnet.

The same curls….

Lucy brushed the hair out of the girl’s eyes. The tenderness in the gesture, the simple pleasure she took in the moment, told Max everything.

It hit him like a punch to the jaw. Lucy turned, still holding the girl — a girl who looked like her. A girl who looked like the children who would visit his dreams someday — the children Lucy and Max might have had, in a different life.

“New footman, Mama?” the girl asked.

Lucy laughed, but it sounded strained. “No, Julia. This is Mr. Vale. Will you show him how pretty your curtsey is?”

She set the girl down. The child dipped, wobbling a little as she tried to manage both her feet and her pinafore. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vale,” she said gravely, holding out her hand.

He couldn’t breathe.

The little girl wiggled her fingers. “Mama says you kiss my hand,” she said imperiously.

He knelt down in front of her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Miss Julia.”

He kissed her hand, but Julia suddenly turned shy. She snatched it back, then grabbed her mother’s skirts.

Her mother. Lucy.

Max looked up. Lucy watched him carefully. But when Julia pressed her face against Lucy’s leg, Lucy dropped down to their level. “Shh, my darling girl,” she said, brushing Julia’s hair back again. “Mr. Vale is Mama’s friend.”

Julia nodded. But she watched Max with wide, wary eyes.

The same wide, wary eyes Lucy had trained on him.

He had so many questions. And so many emotions. He had no idea what predominated — was it surprise? Anger that Lucy had kept this from him? Curiosity?

He certainly wanted to know everything. Primarily, he wanted to know who the father was. But he’d promised Lucy he wouldn’t ask questions until they were walking back to Maidenstone.

He wouldn’t break that promise — especially not in front of a child who might not be ready for answers. But he couldn’t help being annoyed that Lucy had introduced him to Julia in such a way that he couldn’t ask anything.

He tried to remind himself that it didn’t matter. By this time tomorrow, he’d be on a ship, on his way to a new life. Lucy’s past was as little of a concern to him as her future was.

But it was hard to remember that he didn’t need to care. The girl looked to be around the same age Cressida had been when their father had died. She wouldn’t remember anything about this morning meeting with “Mama’s friend.”

Lucy would, though. Would she later think that he’d left because of this?

Everything finally clicked into place. Whoever had gotten Lucy with child had not been honorable, or else she would have married him long ago. That explained why she didn’t trust men.

And it explained why she’d been willing to give herself to a man of Max’s background.

He shouldn’t have resented her for it. But once the suspicion was planted, it bloomed immediately, a poisonous flower taking root in his brain. She’d probably asked him to marry her because a man of his class would be more likely to accept a bastard. She’d probably thought he’d be so grateful for an earldom that he couldn’t possibly complain about Julia.

That wasn’t the action of someone who saw him as an equal.

He shook his head, trying in vain to dislodge the poison. This wasn’t the place for accusations. Not with Julia still holding her mother’s skirts, smiling shyly at him.

He couldn’t help but smile back. Her grin widened, but she hid her face in Lucy’s skirts again, peeking out occasionally to see if he was still there.

“How long has she lived in this house?” he asked Lucy, still kneeling beside them.

“Since the week before the guests started to arrive,” she responded. “She belongs in the nursery at Maidenstone, but she’s staying here with her nursemaid until the party is over. Are you being good for Mrs. Pearce?” she asked Julia.

Julia shook her head, giving them an entirely Briarley grin. “Why’d you come back today? Want to play again?”

“I can’t, darling. I wanted Mr. Vale to meet you. But I’ll be here tomorrow morning, like I always am.”

Julia heaved a huge, dramatic sigh. They argued a little bit about when Lucy would come back. All Max could do was watch. It was obvious that Julia adored her mother — but it wasn’t the awed, speechless adoration of an aristocratic child who rarely saw her parent. Julia expected Lucy’s love and Lucy poured all of it out for her.

Lucy held Julia like she wasn’t ashamed of her. There was no hint that Julia was a secret, or that her existence would ruin Lucy forever if anyone knew of her.

Durrant would love to know this secret.

The thought of Durrant shook him out of the moment. Max stood and looked around. Durrant couldn’t be anywhere nearby. But his note had referenced what Lucy had said at the mausoleum the night before. How closely was Durrant watching them?

This was the kind of information that Durrant would pay dearly to learn — and would then use to keep Max in line.

He told himself that he should leave immediately, for Lucy’s sake more than his own. But that was a convenient excuse. He knew he shouldn’t abandon her moments after she had voluntarily shared her deepest secret. Lucy would think the worst if he ran away from her now.

But he couldn’t keep looking at Julia and thinking of what it would be like if she was his daughter. He couldn’t think about whether Lucy had offered to marry him because she liked him or because he was a convenient rube who would be too dumb and grateful to care.

More, though, he couldn’t stand the fact that Lucy had clearly been used and betrayed before — and that he would be the one to do it to her again.

That knowledge — more than her lies, more than the dreams of the life they could have had — broke him.

But it was nowhere near as bad as how he would break her when he left.