Lucy had finally divulged her biggest secret. Max eyed her pensively — she knew they weren’t done with this conversation. But the sun was still shining. Julia was chattering away, happily oblivious. The world was unaffected.

She couldn’t believe how relieved she felt. She was almost dizzy with it. Her body felt like she’d been carrying a basket on her head for miles longer than she’d intended to — and when the weight was removed, everything felt a bit like jelly.

Julia started to squirm next to her. “Mama, can I show ’Sephone to Mr. Vale?”

Lucy nodded. “Be quick — we have to leave soon.”

Julia ran into the house. She charged forward like nothing could stop her, completely fearless. Lucy watched her go. Always there was a moment when it looked like she might trip on her pinafore or crash into the doorpost. But Julia avoided disaster and disappeared into the house, looking for her doll.

“She’s mostly certainly a Briarley,” Max said drily.

Lucy smiled. “I’ll need to make her into a lady someday. But she’s not quite four. There’s time for those lessons later.”

“Did you run around like that when you were her age?”

There was no judgment in his voice — at least, nothing she could hear. “Probably worse, since I had Octavia to get into scrapes with. We used to pretend to fight dragons in Maidenstone Wood. It was far more fun than standing for dress fittings and learning how to pour tea.”

They were still crouched down, waiting for Julia to return. Max’s gaze traveled over Lucy’s face and down to her breasts, which showed to advantage in one of her favorite muslin walking dresses. “I happen to like the way you dress,” he said, his voice dropping. “But you’ve had more adventures than I guessed.”

His eyes came back to her face. She looked away, suddenly feeling shy. The weight of her secret had been lifted, at least temporarily — but there were still questions he would expect answers to.

She would have to tell him about Chapman. But she didn’t want to think of Chapman. She hadn’t realized how much his ghost had followed her around until this week, when her heart demanded permission to love Max instead.

But she wasn’t the only one with secrets. There were questions she should expect answers to as well. Ferguson, Claxton, and all the rest had given her plenty of reasons to doubt him. She owed it to Maidenstone — and to herself — to ask Max why he was there and what his background really was.

Julia ran out of the house, cradling Persephone in her arms. She flung the doll into Max’s midsection, barely missing his manhood, and Lucy couldn’t help but laugh.

It was all so painfully bittersweet. Right now, in the sun and fresh air, with Julia’s giggles in her ears, all Lucy wanted was this. If she could have a simple country life, with Max, Julia, and the possibility of more children in the future, it wouldn’t matter if she never had an adventure again.

That life didn’t require Maidenstone Abbey. It only required Max to say yes. Her dowry was big enough to buy a cottage with. There wouldn’t be enough for anything luxurious, but Max wasn’t used to luxury anyway….

But she was spinning a dream out of spiderwebs and fairy dust.

Julia wouldn’t be accepted by society if she was the bastard daughter of a poor noblewoman and a lying shopkeeper. Lucy could make tea and grow flowers, but she’d never cooked anything in her life — her idea of a cottage was something with six bedrooms, a cook, two maids, and at least one footman. She might be able to adjust, but would she resent Max someday?

And she knew nothing about Max except for how she felt when she looked at him. Would he still want her if Maidenstone didn’t come with her?

Their reckoning was coming, more quickly than she wanted it to. She delayed the inevitable for a few more minutes by telling Julia a story about one of Persephone’s adventures — the doll had the most shocking experiences with pirates and wizards and dragons when Julia was napping.

She couldn’t delay forever, though.

When she finished her story, she kissed Julia goodbye. Her daughter, ever a Briarley, demanded that Max kiss her hand again. She wasn’t shy anymore. Her curtsey was positively coquettish.

“Your mama taught you well, Miss Julia,” he said gravely, as Julia giggled. “Thank you for introducing me to Persephone.”

“You’re welcome. Au ’voir,” Julia said brightly. She gave Lucy a hug and a kiss, extracted a promise for another visit in the morning, and ran back into the house to tell Mrs. Pearce the latest story about her doll’s adventures.

“You’re teaching her French?” Max asked as he stood up and offered her his hand.

She let him pull her up. “Only a few phrases so far. But if this war ever ends, she might have better luck in Paris someday than she will in London.”

They stood together, face to face and only inches apart. He looked every bit the country gentleman — still dressed for his ride, with gleaming Hessian boots and a perfect top hat.

She knew he wasn’t a gentleman, though. How had he learned to play one so well?

Now that her doubts had been planted in fertile soil, fed and watered by her family’s accusations, she couldn’t help but notice the other details she’d willfully ignored. Like how indistinct his accent was. Or the small scars on his face.

Or how easily he’d picked the lock on Callie’s chest the night before.

“How did you…?” she started to ask.

He cut her off. “Finish your story about Julia, if you please. And then I’ll answer any questions you have for me.”

She glanced at the door. Mrs. Pearce had shut it, but there was no guarantee Julia would stay inside. As the day advanced, it grew more likely that one of Lucy’s houseguests would ride in this direction. “Let’s walk back to the gardens. We can find a secluded place to talk there.”

Max nodded. They walked back the way they’d come. Maidenstone sat in the distance, waiting for them. She’d made this walk at least once a day for the past three weeks, and yet she always held her breath when she finally walked through the gate and into the gardens.

They were particularly lush in late August, except for the patch of roses that had been harvested for the mausoleum ceremony. But it was the lushness of the end, in those last weeks before autumn, when blossoms were overblown and some plants had turned leggy. She and her gardeners tried to contain it, pruning and cutting to maintain order. Under it all, though, was the sense of time moving on and the knowledge that this summer’s garden would soon be gone.

She led Max to a small, hidden grotto — one of several follies installed by her ancestors. Max shook his head as he entered. “You have no idea how insane this all looks to someone else, do you?”

Lucy looked around. She’d brought him here because it was the closest, but it wasn’t particularly impressive. Others had expensive Italian tiles or replicas of ancient statues. This one merely held a wide, elaborately carved stone daybed. The back half was a curved wall of stone, perfectly concealing one end of a secret escape route that the first earl had built from the abbey to the gardens centuries before. The front half was supported by pillars. Hanging vines created a curtain that protected them from view. A stream ran nearby, bubbling over carefully placed rocks. This section of the garden wasn’t as formal as some of the geometric arrangements closer to the house — here, the impression was supposed to be of natural wonder, even though the stream was artificial and the vines were as carefully cultivated as any shrub or plant.

“Other gardens have grottoes,” she said. “But Maidenstone’s are the best.”

Max laughed. “A Briarley would think that.”

“And you don’t agree?”

He looked around the grotto, running a hand down one of the vines near the entrance. “No, I agree. It’s all perfect. I haven’t seen a place so perfect in all the world.”

His voice was even, but when she glanced at his face, something gave her pause. Something that looked like memory, or regret.

He met her gaze. “It’s perfect for you, Lucy. You belong here, don’t you? I’ve never known anyone so rooted to a place. You’re like a princess from a fairy tale, kept in a castle waiting for a suitor. You can’t possibly go anywhere else.”

She found it odd that he wasn’t asking questions. The most obvious one, like who had given her a child, would have been the first thing out of most men’s mouths. But Max was looking at her like the most important question was whether she would ever leave Maidenstone.

Maybe she should have flirted. Prevaricated. Done the passive, willing thing that was expected of a woman of her class.

Instead, she held onto his gaze and said, “Do you want me to leave?”

He took a breath. “I would never ask you to.”

“You look like you want to ask me.”

His short laugh sounded tortured. “Bloody hell, Lucy. Don’t tempt me.”

His accent slipped. She heard a hint of the docks — of a life she couldn’t understand.

A life he didn’t want her to know about.

“What if I want to tempt you?” she said slowly.

He stepped back as though the question was a threat. “Don’t. You know, in your heart of hearts, that you can’t have me and Maidenstone both.”

“I can if you’re the earl.”

“It’s time to admit that it’s a fantasy,” Max said.

“But I saw the Bible,” she said. “Your ancestor was legitimate. We can prove it.”

Max shook his head impatiently. “Papers don’t matter in the end. Hard to claim an earldom if Ferguson and Thorington throw their weight against me.”

“They won’t,” Lucy responded. “If the investigation proves your claim, Ferguson will support it.”

“Will he?” Max started to pace, his steps more agitated than she’d ever seen him. “And what if I’m the earl but my past actions disqualify me? Will he support me if he thinks I’m unsuitable?”

Lucy wanted to reassure him. But there was nothing she could say that was entirely true. Not when everyone in her life had told her that morning that she probably shouldn’t trust him.

So she sat on the daybed, clearing space so he could keep pacing. When he showed no sign of slowing, she said, carefully, quietly, “Why do you think you’re unsuitable?”

That brought him to a halt. “I’ve never heard that tone from you before,” he said.

“What tone?”

“The tone that says you don’t really want to know. I thought you wanted to know everything.”

He joined her on the daybed. She leaned against his shoulder — somehow taking comfort in him, even though he was the most uncertain part of her life. “I don’t think I want to know,” she whispered. “But now you know why I have to think of more than just myself.”

He put his arm around her. They sat for a minute in silence, with the stream gurgling in the distance and birds chirping from their hidden branches. She wasn’t a princess in a fairy tale, but this moment — the moment before the fall — felt enchanted.

Then he kissed her head. Even through her bonnet she could feel the goodbye.

“I shouldn’t tell you,” he said. “I also have to think of more than myself. My family depends on me.”

“Are your secrets worse than mine?” she asked.

He laughed. “Definitely worse.”

She sucked in a breath. But she didn’t pull away. “Tell me, Max.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do. And I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t agree to that until you know what you’re promising,” he warned.

Lucy pulled away from him so that she could watch his face. She needed to read the reactions there — but she also wanted him to see that she was as serious as she could be about the vow she was making. “I won’t tell. I’m not stupid enough to say that your past can’t possibly change how I feel about you. But that doesn’t mean I’ll betray you.”

“That’s not very romantic,” he said. She felt more relief than she would have guessed to hear some of his old teasing return to his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to say that nothing could change how you feel?”

“Of course,” she said. “But now that you’ve met Julia, you can probably guess why I don’t have the most romantic notions.”

His eyes darkened. “You deserve better than whatever happened to you.”

“I deserve exactly what I got. If anything, it should have been worse. Julia makes up for a lot of it.”

“Where’s her father?” he asked.

“He died before she was born.”

Max nodded sagely. “I knew you would kill any man who wronged you.”

She laughed. For a moment, they could have been joking about anything — strangely, it felt like flirting to pretend that she had the heart of a murderess. “Don’t mistake me — I thought about it. But I caught the man kissing Octavia less than a week after the last time I’d slept with him, which made me realize he never intended to follow through on our ‘secret engagement.’ I told Octavia’s brother, Julian called the man out, and their duel was the end for both of them. Octavia was the one whose reputation was ruined. I’d left London before I knew I was pregnant. Grandfather and I agreed to hush it up — easy enough to do, as long as I don’t leave Maidenstone with her.”

It wasn’t a funny story, but she was able to say it lightly now. Julian and Chapman’s deaths had happened four years earlier. Enough time had passed that the initial trauma had subsided. Most days, she was able to be grateful for Julia without thinking too much about what had happened.

But for Max, the news was new. He didn’t speak after her confession.

“I’ve shocked you,” she finally said.

He shook his head. “Surprised me. But I’m not shocked.”

“Really? Not shocked that I have a daughter?” It felt so good to say it out loud — to acknowledge Julia with someone who mattered.

Max shook his head again. “Shock implies judgment. I can’t judge you for doing anything you must do to keep Julia safe.”

“Then you know I won’t judge you either,” she said.

He didn’t take the bait — didn’t immediately offer his secrets to her. In some ways, she still didn’t want to know anything about his past — or, at least, anything that would prove her family right for questioning his background.

But she couldn’t stay ignorant forever. The only option left was the direct approach. “What have you done for your family, Max?”