On his third straight day of working in the garden that week, Reese wiped the sweat from his forehead, tossed his scrub brush into the bucket, and stepped back to survey the results. The entire surface of the pavilion gleamed bright white in the sunlight. He’d cleaned every inch of the steps, floor, pillars, and roof, just as Sophie had suggested.
During the hours he’d labored, he’d had plenty of time to think—mostly about her.
And he’d realized two things.
First, their relationship had reached a critical point—the precarious, pivotal moment when the scale could easily tip toward success or failure. He’d experienced the same moment in the midst of battle. Every minute felt like an hour, and every move could end in victory or defeat. In a fight that had lasted for days, the outcome hinged on one heartbeat in time.
Not that he and Sophie were enemies—far from it. But their relationship couldn’t continue on as it was, couldn’t stand still. They had a choice to make: charge ahead together or retreat to their separate lives.
The second thing that Reese realized was that if he wanted to keep Sophie—and God knew he did—he needed to make a strategic move. Not pretty flowers or colorful lanterns or hot baths.
Sophie may have liked those things, but now she was demanding more. She wanted him to read the letters he’d been hiding away. She wanted him to face his ugly, shameful past. Which meant he was going to have to give her the one thing he’d hoped to keep buried forever—the truth.
It was risky as hell, and it was going to hurt like the devil.
But he’d been in this situation before—behind enemy lines, under attack, and down to his last bullet.
If there were any other option, he would have jumped at it, but he knew in his gut that this was the only way for him and Sophie to have a shot at a future together. He was going to have to bare his godforsaken soul and hope that she stuck around.
At least for another week or two.
“Rule number four,” Sophie recited, finishing up her usual welcome to the members of the Debutante Underground. “We shall always speak the truth, the best we know it. Now then, I believe we’re ready to begin. Would anyone like to read this week’s column?”
Several women raised their hands to volunteer, but Sophie’s gaze was drawn to Violet, the maid she’d met a couple of weeks ago. She sat on the edge of her chair, her face pinched and pale. Her thin shoulders trembled as though she was chilled, even though the room was toasty. “Violet, are you feeling well?” Sophie asked.
“Excuse me,” the dark-haired woman mumbled, pushing her chair back from the table and rushing toward the door.
Sarah, the young widow seated next to her, popped out of her seat. “I’ll make sure Violet’s all right,” she said to Sophie. “Please, proceed with the meeting.”
Sophie nodded and selected another member of the group to read. But as soon as the discussion was underway, she slipped out the door of the shop to see how Violet was faring. Sophie found her and Sarah in the alley outside the shop. Violet leaned against the brick wall with her eyes closed, greedily inhaling the cool night air. Sarah stood beside her, giving her shoulder gentle, soothing pats.
Sophie shot Sarah a questioning look, and the pretty redheaded woman responded with a smile that was both sad and serene.
“Violet,” Sophie said softly, “do you require a doctor?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “This happens sometimes, but it always passes. I’m feeling better already.”
Sophie cast a skeptical glance at the woman’s pallor. “Are you certain?”
“I’m familiar with these symptoms,” Sarah said, matter-of-fact. “I’ve two young ones myself.”
Sophie blinked as Sarah’s words sank in, and she chided herself for not guessing the truth sooner. “You’re with child?” she asked, her voice tinged with both relief and concern.
The bright red flush on Violet’s cheeks was answer enough.
“When do you expect the babe?” Sarah asked gently.
“I think I’m about six months along.” A tear trickled down Violet’s face. “I haven’t told my family, although I’m sure they must suspect. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Sarah said, but lines marred her normally smooth forehead. “Can the baby’s father help?”
“No.” A sob erupted from Violet’s throat. “He fired me.”
Flashing hot anger pumped through Sophie’s veins. “Your former employer is the father?”
Violet nodded. “He was wonderfully kind at first. He treated me like he … cared. I knew he wouldn’t marry someone like me, but I never imagined he’d turn so cold and harsh. When I told him I was pregnant, he called me a … a trollop. He said the babe wasn’t his.”
“What a vile, pathetic man,” Sophie spat. She was already thinking of ways to hold him to account. Perhaps she could enlist help from Gray and Nash. Surely they could shame the cad into providing for Violet and her child.
“He behaved horribly,” Violet agreed. “But I’m afraid I’m no better. I let him seduce me with pretty words and trinkets. How could I have been so daft?”
Sophie grasped Violet’s slender shoulders and forced the young woman to meet her gaze. “Listen to me,” she said. “You are not daft. He was your employer, and he took advantage of you. He is the one who should be ashamed of his behavior.”
“Well, he’s gone now,” Violet said, sniffling. She took the handkerchief Sophie offered and fanned herself. “I’d rather not talk about him anyway.”
“I understand,” Sophie said, even though her blood still boiled. “What can we do to help?”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing anybody can do. All I want is to be able to support myself and raise my baby without being a burden to my family. But no man will want me for his wife, and no employer will want me as a maid.”
“You’re in a difficult spot,” Sarah agreed. “I know what it’s like to raise a child by oneself. But you mustn’t be too proud to accept help when you need it.”
“I’ll figure out something.” Violet pushed herself off the wall and drew her shawl around her, hiding her belly.
Sophie desperately wanted to help the young woman, but she didn’t have the faintest idea how. “I’ll give the matter some thought this week,” she said. “At the very least, you need a safe, comfortable home for you and your baby. Let me see what I can come up with.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Violet said briskly—as if she were embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of emotion. “I seem to cry at the slightest provocation these days, but I’m certain all will be well, eventually. In the meantime, I beg you both to keep my secret. I’ve no wish to bring shame upon my family—at least not until it’s absolutely necessary.”
Sophie was still thinking about Violet’s predicament a couple of hours later, when Reese met her just outside the tailor’s shop. But the sight of him pushed every thought, rational or otherwise, from her mind.
Moonlight glinted off his hair and dusted the broad shoulders of his fitted jacket. Silhouetted against the night sky, he stood there—a strong, silent Prince of Darkness—and her skin tingled with anticipation.
“Reese,” she whispered.
“You’re here,” he answered, exhaling in relief.
“Yes.” But there was a good chance that this weekend together would be their last. Since laying off the staff, her parents had been pressing her to announce her betrothal to Lord Singleton, and she didn’t have a particularly good reason to delay—at least not one she could tell them. “I’m glad to see you.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.” He raked a hand through his hair, which inevitably made her wonder what it might feel like to run her fingers through the thick, closely shorn strands. She curled her fingers into her palms so she wouldn’t be tempted.
But her traitorous feet carried her toward him, stopping when she was an arm’s length away. Never had she felt such a strong pull toward someone. She suspected that if she got too close to him, the force of their attraction would be too great to escape. They’d slam together like two magnets that had crossed a critical line of proximity—and they might never be able to separate themselves, might never willingly break the bond.
“Tonight feels different,” she admitted. He was more sober than she’d ever seen him, and the vulnerability in his eyes took her breath away.
“It is different,” he said, his voice deep and sure. “Every time we’re together, you pull me a little farther out of the lonely shadows and into the warm sunlight.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” she said, her heart swelling. “No one should reside in the shadows.”
“You say that now,” he quipped. “But the sunlight is bound to reveal a lot of scars.”
“I’m not intimidated in the least,” she replied.
He arched a brow, skeptical. “Let’s wait and see if you feel the same way in the morning.”
A shiver slithered down her spine, but she tilted her head and looked deep into those beautiful, haunted eyes. “Nothing you show me, nothing you tell me is going to scare me away, Lord Warshire.”
For the space of three heartbeats, he said nothing. Then, “I suppose we’ll see. Let’s go.”
She sat beside him in the carriage, wholly preoccupied with maintaining a bit of space between them. It seemed she was constantly fighting forces that conspired to push them together. A rut in the road or a sudden turn could launch her across the seat and into Reese’s lap. While the wicked part of her prayed for a violent jolt of the cab, the more sensible part of her held tightly to the door handle.
When they arrived at Warshire Manor a short time later, Reese led her into the house and stopped in the dimly lit, marble-tiled foyer. As always, the sight of the stonework and buttresses filled her with awe.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked. “There are sandwiches, fruit, and cakes in the kitchen.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but I ate an early dinner. Help yourself if you’d like something, though.”
“No, I’m fine.” He hesitated a moment, then frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any entertaining diversions or romantic surprises planned tonight.”
“Reese,” she said gently. “I adored our night in the garden and on the lake. But I also loved playing cards with you at the shop. You don’t need to amuse me. I just like … being with you.”
“I like being with you too,” he said earnestly. “Maybe too much.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “How have you been sleeping this week?” she asked briskly. Between his bronzed skin, gold-flecked hair, and strapping muscles, he certainly looked well enough. But the creases around his eyes suggested that the demons were never very far below the surface.
“You changed the subject,” he said. “Usually, I’m the one who avoids difficult conversations. I must be rubbing off on you.”
“You’re right.” But she wasn’t certain how to tell him about the latest developments at home or the necessity of having to move up her engagement. Her relationship with Reese was like a tropical flower that was just about to bloom; the news that she had to marry sooner than expected would kill it as surely as a late spring frost. All she could do was pray that the flower was heartier than it appeared.
“We do need to talk. Would you mind if I went to my bedchamber and changed first?” she asked. “You could join me there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll bring up a tray of refreshments,” he said nodding. “In case talking makes us hungry.”
She tossed a smile over her shoulder and made her way upstairs to her room.