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Left alone in the quiet hall, Julius and Audrey stood in awkward silence. He turned his signet ring between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze locked somewhere in the middle distance.

“We shall, you know?”

Audrey paused, teeth still pressing into her lip. “Shall what?”

“See that you have the support you need when you return home.”

She nodded slowly, uncertain of what that could mean. What could he or his noble friends possibly do to mend her soiled reputation? She imagined them penning earnest letters or offering testimonials, but society was not so easily swayed.

For her part, she intended to flee London as soon as they returned to the world beyond this hiding place. She would take what small adventures she could from their final days. The damage was done. She was ruined, and there could be no return. Not to London. Not to the lady the earl had hoped she would become.

A pang settled deep in her chest. She would have liked more time. Time to see the world through Julius’s eyes. To visit coffeehouses and galleries and strange corners of the city with him at her side. But soon, this would all come to an end. They would unmask the villain. And then she would vanish from his life entirely.

After they finished their tea, Audrey stood and declared that it was time to redress his wound. Julius followed her up the servants’ stairs, each step echoing softly beneath their feet, the narrow passage dim and faintly scented with lavender polish and soot. His thoughts were still tangled in the implications of Lady Abbott’s visit. He had long planned to assure Audrey that he would fulfill his duty—that he would wed her once their strange interlude came to an end—but each time he reached for the words, he faltered.

To speak of such things now would invite difficult questions, expose uncomfortable truths, and perhaps tarnish the fragile harmony between them. He would rather savor these few days, keep her laughter close and her presence constant before the inevitable return to Society's relentless order.

He had offered her a vague reassurance earlier, little more than a platitude. But she had appeared soothed by it, and so he had left it alone.

Once they reached his room, where the fire had been refreshed and a tray of fresh bandages and a basin of steaming water awaited them, Julius shrugged out of his borrowed jerkin and shirt. His movements were slow, deliberate. The linen stuck slightly to the bandages covering his wound, and he grimaced as he peeled it away.

Audrey moved with practiced ease. She fetched the armchair and positioned it by the bed, the legs scraping faintly against the floorboards, before guiding him to lie back. She took up her position beside him, humming some soft country tune under her breath as she unwound the old bandage. The cloth was tinged with faint pink at the edges, but not alarmingly so.

She cleaned the sutured gash with steady hands, the scent of fresh soap and the herbal tang of her poultice rising in the warm air. Then came the honey, cool and golden against his skin, before she bound it neatly with fresh linen strips. Her fingers were gentle, but efficient. Julius closed his eyes briefly, letting her care wash over him like a gentle summer breeze.

Then she rose and crossed the room with quiet purpose to pour him a cup of her dreadful brew. He took the tepid mixture without complaint when she returned, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. Audrey sat beside him on the edge of the bed, her skirts whispering against the coverlet.

“Audrey …” Julius began, but the words were not ready. Not yet.

She turned to look at him, and he was momentarily undone by the sight of her silver eyes, widened slightly in concern, above her bitten lip. That lip she so often nibbled at, as if it were the only thing anchoring her in the moment.

Silence stretched between them, long and fragile. He could feel the pull, the subtle gravity drawing them toward one another. Her gaze did not waver, and he began to lean forward, breath slowing, his body tightening in anticipation. His eyes dropped to her mouth, wanting to press his lips to hers, to know her in that small intimate way.

But before he could, her voice rang out with sudden revelation.

“I thought your eyes were hazel, but you have one green eye with a brown spot, and the other is brown with a green spot!”

He froze mid-lean, flinching slightly as she tilted her head for a better look. Few ever noticed. Most were too distracted by the other thing.

“Oh! I always thought you dyed your hair, but it is two different colors! How odd!”

His good humor slipped away, replaced by old embarrassment. He turned his head sharply, hiding from her inspection. It had always been a source of ridicule. At Eton, the other boys had called him names—striped mutt, badger’s heir—and though Oxford had brought friends and confidence, those early wounds had left their mark.

“Mock if you wish. Factually, both eyes are green. It is just the size of the brown spots is different,” he growled, irritation roughening his tone. The moment had been shattered.

But then, a gentle hand—bare and soft—rested over his. Her fingers curved lightly against his skin.

“I think … it makes you more interesting,” she said, and he looked up at her in surprise. There was no artifice in her expression, only sincerity.

“Truly?”

She nodded slowly. “I do not mean to offend, but it is intriguing from a medical standpoint, and riveting from a human one.”

Her tone held no mockery, only curiosity and admiration. He studied her closely, reading every flicker of her gaze. She meant it. All of it.

“Your father was encouraging regarding the issue.”

Audrey smiled. “Papa was the very best of men. He would have known precisely what to say to a young patient with such an unusual condition.”

A smile tugged at Julius’s lips as well, the storm within him receding under the warmth of her words. His thoughts returned to the kiss he had nearly taken, and the longing returned, curling low in his chest.

But a scratch at the door broke the spell.

One of the servants, no doubt arriving with fresh supplies.

Their eyes met and widened in shared amusement. They stood quickly, a silent accord between them. Julius crossed to the wardrobe to pull on a clean shirt, the fabric crisp against his skin. Audrey moved to the door, smoothing her skirts and clearing her throat before opening it.

He told himself the interruption was for the best. His wound still ached, and his head pulsed dully—a reminder that his body was not yet mended. He could not afford distractions.

No matter how captivating they might be.