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And all at once, Gillie’s features transformed from distraught to determined. “I’ll pay her a call right now,” she said.

“Good,” he said, sticking his arm out to flag down a passing cab. As soon as it rumbled to a stop, he unlatched the door and opened it, but then he paused, remembering something Lavinia had told him.

“Did your inquiries into Douglas come up with anything further?” he asked.

“Nothing much,” Gillie said.

“Lavinia mentioned that he’s purchased one of Wark’s warehouses. Why would he want that?”

Gillie shrugged. “He wants to store things?”

“But aren’t his factories up in Glasgow?” he asked. “There’s plenty of shipping along the River Clyde.”

“Give me a day.” Gillie started to climb into the carriage, but paused, one foot on the step and one hand framing the door. “And what will you be doing?”

“Going over everything that Lavinia found for us at Wark’s dinner party. Given our lack of progress, I thought it would be wise to meet again,” he said.

In fact, he’d woken up with the dawn, wrapped around Lavinia in the warm depths of her bed, not knowing how he could wait for their prearranged Wednesday meeting to see her again. He’d sleepily suggested they meet after his appointment. She’d kissed him deeply before saying yes.

Every moment spent with her was pulling him in deeper, yet nothing could quell the insatiable need to claim her, own her, deserve her. He realized now that, even through his hate, he’d never stopped caring for her. She was supposed to be his life, and that tie was still strong.

“You two . . . ?” Gillie prompted.

He nodded, bracing himself for a rush of questions or a display of womanly emotion—positive or negative he couldn’t be certain.

Instead, Gillie’s features hardened. “How are you going to run her operation if you’re in love with her?”

He scowled. “No one said anything about love.”

He couldn’t think in those terms. That was the problem. Once the operation was over, he would leave and Lavinia would stay here. She’d made it clear enough that she loved this life she’d built up herself—one that didn’t have a place for him in it. The pull of attraction between the two of them was powerful, but it wasn’t enough for him to risk opening himself up to the hurt he’d felt all those years ago. And he suspected that this time, if he lost his heart to her, it might never mend.

“What are you two doing then?” Gillie demanded as the cab’s horse nickered. “Is it only lust? Because you should both be smart enough to know that even with the best intentions that never works.”

“You should go. This wait will be costing you shillings,” he said.

“Home can afford it. We need to speak of this, Andrew.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said.

“There are rules in place about handlers and assets to ensure that assets stay safe. You know that emotions complicate things. They make us sloppy and prone to mistakes.”

“I know,” he muttered.

“How are you going to run Lavinia’s operation if you’re sharing a bed? Can you tell me that you’ll still do what’s best for the operation?”

“I don’t know!” he exploded, pushing a hand through his hair. It was a question that had been plaguing him since yesterday evening, when Lavinia had told him Wark had invited her to the prince’s ball. Surely it would be best to have an asset inside, keeping eyes on such a dangerous man, but a fundamental part of him couldn’t countenance it. The thought of her on Wark’s arm made him want to tear Wark in half.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he ground out.

“But it did, so face the consequences,” said Gillie sternly.

He dropped his head back.

“You don’t have a plan,” she said accusingly.

One of the first lessons Andrew had learned when he became a skipper was how not to let go. He’d learned that if he was angry or frustrated or terrified, he could ball that up and place it his chest, where it would burn brighter than coal, fueling him as he pushed himself to do things he never believed he would’ve been able to.

Over the past few days, he’d taken everything Lavinia had thrust at him and thrust him into—the pain, the joy, the anger, the lust—and shoved it onto that fire. It had burned down, purified, and hardened until, standing there on an Edinburgh street with his exuberantly dressed colleague who wore a sour face, he could see the truth of it all.