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Audrey’s chest ached.

She was no longer certain whether it was from longing or dread.

Simon Scott emerged from his front door promptly at ten. The sky had turned a cheerful shade of blue, and the sunlight painted the street in soft gold. For once, the city felt almost pastoral.

Julius stretched his shoulders as he and Audrey observed from across the street, both in their borrowed disguises and perched on a bench outside a coffeehouse. His wound no longer throbbed, and for the first time in days, he felt almost whole. The aches in his body were fading, but the ache in his heart, entirely Audrey’s doing, persisted in a more complicated fashion.

He was content, he realized, to simply sit beside her and share this moment. Their companionable silence was surprisingly rich. The kiss they had shared hovered between them like a hummingbird, a secret that flitted in and out of his thoughts.

Scott, by contrast, was all polished composure. He walked like a man accustomed to deference, tall and lean with an elegant bearing. His clothes were fine, tailored to precision without ostentation—simple lines, quality fabrics. A man aware of his station, but unwilling to flaunt it. Julius noted the close-trimmed beard and dark brown hair, appreciating the subtle sharpness of his adversary’s aesthetic.

They followed Scott into a coffeehouse of higher repute than the one they had frequented near the vicar’s street. Julius took a corner seat where he could watch the man unobserved, gesturing for Audrey to sit beside him. She did so, a little hesitant as she adjusted her coat and pulled her beaver low over her brow.

Julius ordered coffee for both of them, though Audrey left hers untouched, her attention squarely on the suspect. She leaned forward on the rough wooden table, her chin propped on her hand, her gaze fixed.

Julius watched her.

Sunlight slanted across her features, catching the cool gleam of her irises, which were the silver of a moonlight reflected on a lake. Her lashes were fair and long, her expression thoughtful. He could not help but marvel at her ability to focus so completely even while in unfamiliar garb and surroundings.

He tried to remember if her father had shared those same eyes. He did not think so. It must have been her mother, whom he had never met.

The thought nudged a memory from the prior year, of a silly game he had played, reciting absurd verses to his friends under the guise of composing heartfelt poetry. He had used lines from a tradesman’s almanac, the kind full of preposterous declarations meant to woo shopgirls and scullery maids. His friends had laughed, and Julius had basked in the easy camaraderie of those carefree days.

Now most of those friends were married, entangled in domestic duties and sensibilities, and Julius had grown accustomed to a certain loneliness.

Until Audrey.

He stirred his coffee absently, watching her watch Scott. She was a puzzle. A woman of science and compassion, of gentle hands and fierce opinions. And she made him want things he had never expected to want. Companionship. Laughter. Shared purpose. A future that might contain more than silk cravats and late-night card games.

She shifted, her gaze sharpening.

“He is leaving,” she whispered, rising to her feet with quiet urgency.

Julius welcomed the interruption. His thoughts had turned too contemplative, shadows of uncertainty clinging to the edges of his mind. Audrey had been right though. That much he could admit. Days ago, over poor coffee in a questionable establishment, she had told him he could choose who he wished to become. He could forge a different path than the one carved by Lord Snarling’s severe expectations. The trouble was, Julius had no clear idea of who he was outside the part he had long played.

He pulled a few coins from his pocket and set them down on the scratched tabletop, rising to follow her as she moved down the pavement.

Simon Scott had taken a turn onto St. James’s Street, his long stride purposeful, yet unhurried. It was a fashionable thoroughfare, lined with the polished façades of exclusive establishments and clubs that had long served the city’s privileged few. Julius and Audrey followed at a measured pace, until Scott disappeared into one of the gentlemen’s clubs.

Audrey tilted her head back to consider the building, its clean lines and restrained elegance made more imposing by the uniformed porter standing at attention near the threshold.

“Shall we go in?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Julius considered. He tried to recall whether his name—or more accurately, his father’s—was on the list of members. There was a fair chance of it. Lord Snarling made a point of collecting club memberships the way some men collected horses. It was part of his network of power and influence.

“Wait here,” Julius murmured, shrugging off his overcoat and removing his beaver with a practiced motion.

The interior of the club was dim and hushed, filled with rich scents—leather, beeswax polish, and the faint tang of brandy from a decanter nearby. His boots made little sound on the thick Persian carpets as he passed through paneled rooms lit by filtered morning light. A steward approached, and Julius offered his full name and parentage. As expected, the name Stirling granted him swift admittance.

He found Simon Scott not far from an unused hearth, seated in a leather armchair and thumbing through a book with the kind of idle attention reserved for a man with no pressing engagements. There was no urgency about him, no sense that he was evading anything. He looked very much at home.

Julius made a note of it and retraced his steps, pausing only to collect his coat and hat before slipping out the front entrance.

Audrey stood leaning against a wrought-iron lamppost, watching the foot traffic with casual detachment. She brightened at the sight of him, her expression curious.

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“Reading,” Julius replied. “With no apparent care in the world.”