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She hunched a shoulder. “I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon, though I doubt anything you have to say shall change my mind.”

Unless it includes a vow of undying love and a marriage proposal.

If only such a marvelous thing were possible.

However, that was as likely as Mitchel Danforth becoming a monk or Francine Willoughby becoming a nun. And Aubriella was too pragmatic to indulge in fanciful dreams that would only lead to a broken heart.

They’d entered the outskirts of London, and a scraggly cat darted across the street. The city’s familiar stench surrounded them like heavy fog. Traffic had rid most of the street of thick snow, though the pavement was slick in places, and dirty snow mounds paralleled the lane’s sides.

“You have my word, Aubrie. Before the sun sets tomorrow, I shall knock upon your door.”

The horse snorted and swished its long tail—poor beast. It was probably just as weary as they were.

She sighed and fiddled with the horse’s mane. “I release you from your obligation to pose for me, Jack. I never should’ve asked that of you.”

Why did it feel as if Aubriella were saying goodbye to him, even though she’d vowed to wait a day before leaving? The pain impaling her heart hitched her breath, and she blinked away a fresh wave of stinging tears.

Unrequited love did indeed cleave one’s heart in two.

“I still want to know how you came by the information about Francine Willoughby.” No humor colored Jack’s words now. “I suspect I’ll not like the answer.”

“That’s why I shan’t tell you,” she quipped with far more light-heartedness than she felt.

He sighed, his breath tickling her neck.

“You still don’t trust me, Aubrie?”

How Aubriella wanted to, but she couldn’t.

Not with the Ladies of Opportunity. That must remain a secret.

Too much was at stake.