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Freddie sucked in a breath as he paced in front of the library fireplace. He’d skipped breakfast. Under the circumstances, he did not think he’d be able to eat a single bite.

He had much on his mind. But more importantly, Pippy was in the breakfast room. Lud, he was a coward—afraid to eat breakfast with his own wife.

But what else was he to do? He’d called her “my love” when he’d taken her captive during the snowball war yesterday. My love! What had he been thinking?

Perhaps that was the root of it. He hadn’t been thinking—it simply slipped out.

And he was certain she’d heard it.

At first, he’d been relieved because she’d continued with what she was saying. But then she’d stopped abruptly and asked him to repeat himself.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d pretended he didn’t realize which part she asked him to repeat. And then he’d lifted her into his arms. He told himself it was to confuse her…to throw her off balance so she would forget about what he’d said.

But in truth? He’d enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it. The feel of her in his arms was delightful. It was right. His arms still felt empty.

And her confinement had not been as intimate as he’d imagined. Not with both his sisters present.

“What are you doing in here? Have you already eaten?” Fin asked as he and Stan strode in. They each took a chair and made themselves at home.

Could they not see he wished to be alone? “I wasn’t hungry,” he said tersely.

“Lud, I was famished,” Fin said, patting his stomach. “It must be this north country air. It’s the only thing I can account for.”

“The food has not been disappointing—I’ll give Lady Dalmeer credit for that,” Stan said. He pierced Freddie with a stare. “I’ve hardly seen you. You’re always with your sisters…and your wife. And considering you’re the one who forced me to come, I find that rather vexing.”

Freddie shook his head. “Imagine that, a man spending time with his wife? That’s curious, indeed.”

“He has a point, Fred. It would be understandable if yours was a love match. But you were barely even friends, much less in love.”

Freddie licked his lips and resumed his pacing.

“Has the cat got your tongue?” Fin chuckled, but then his face sobered. “Wait.” He scooted forward, perched on the edge of his chair.

Freddie paused, but kept his back to his friends.

“You aren’t in love with your wife, are you, Freddie?”

Freddie turned to them and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Now Stan scooted forward. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

Freddie lifted his shoulders almost to his ears. “I mean, I don’t know. I have no notion what it is to be in love. I’ve never experienced it before.”

“Don’t look to me.” Fin lifted his hands. “I’ve never been in love before, either.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Come, now. I’ve known plenty of stupid people who thought themselves in love. It cannot be as difficult as all this to discover.” He sat back and put his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his fingers over his lips. “Perhaps you should tell us why you think you might be.”

Freddie looked at the ceiling. Were they really to dissect his feelings? Approach it as if it were something scientific? But as he had no better solution…“Very well.” He took the third seat in the quartet. “Yesterday, when I captured her in the snow, I called her ‘my love.’” He sat back and looked at Fin and Stan, as if that should be all the information they needed.

“And,” Fin said.

Freddie frowned. “Is that not enough?”

Stan scoffed. “I hardly think that conclusive evidence. It likely just slipped out.”

Fin’s head bobbed. “Stan has a point. But I find it disconcerting that this one point has caused you to question it. Is there more to it?”

Freddie rubbed his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Why couldn’t Miles and Grace have come? Surely she would have more insight to give than these two nodcocks. Lud, even Miles—as daft as he could be in such things—would be preferable to Fin and Stan. Freddie was uncertain why he was even discussing it with them.