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“What do we do?”

“We head to Covent Garden. There are always crowds there. We can vanish in plain sight and switch our coats and hats at a tailor I know.” He paused, giving her a small smile. “We can disappear and reappear at will. Just like conjurers.”

Audrey nodded, her chest tight with nerves.

They made their way through the narrow streets, taking corners and cutting through alleys until they paused in a boarded-up shopfront. Julius surveyed their surroundings.

“There is no one,” he said at last.

Audrey frowned. “Did I imagine it?”

“Hard to say. It was strange, but I have not seen him again since St. James’s. Perhaps it was nothing.”

She bit her lip. “I apologize. I may have wasted the day.”

He shook his head firmly. “Not at all. Better to be cautious. Still …” His brow furrowed. “I am growing weary of this strategy. Following these men yields little. I wish I had a clearer memory of the blackguard who attacked me. I would far prefer to focus on that.”

“I wish I could be of more help,” she murmured. “It was so dark. He was covered from head to toe. I saw nothing distinct.”

Julius turned toward her and, to her surprise, gently lifted her chin with his gloved fingers. His eyes met hers, his gaze warm and steady.

“You have been of more help than you know. I may not be standing here without you.”

The words wrapped around her like a fluffy blanket. Audrey smiled, struck anew by the curious flecks of color in his eyes—brown, green, and something else besides. His gaze dropped to her mouth for the briefest instant, but then he released her and stepped back into the light.

The moment passed, but the memory of it lingered.

Julius was near bursting with frustration, not at her but at circumstance. They needed to return to Aunty Gertrude’s as quickly as possible. In public, with Audrey disguised as a man, even an affectionate glance might be misinterpreted.

So he quickened their steps, pausing frequently to ensure they were not followed. The streets felt longer than usual, the minutes stretched thin with waiting and wanting. At last, they reached the quiet lane and entered through the mews, Julius locking the door behind them with practiced haste.

He turned and found her watching him.

Audrey’s eyes were luminous, her expression open, unguarded. There was a moment, a heartbeat suspended in time, where neither moved. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and pressed her hands to his chest, resting her forehead just below his collar.

The contact stilled him. No heated embrace followed—only the simple, profound weight of her trust. Julius lowered his arms slowly, wrapping them around her shoulders and drawing her against him, careful and reverent.

They stood like that in the silence. Her breath was uneven, matching his own, and the sweet trace of strawberries still clung to the air between them. The yearning to tilt her chin and press a kiss to her lips stirred, but he resisted. Instead, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her hair.

They were treading a perilous line. Yet, it was not attraction alone that held them so closely in that moment. It was something deeper. Something unsettling in its intimacy.

He exhaled, slow and steady, then loosened his hold and stepped back.

Audrey looked up at him, clearly struggling for composure. Her lips parted, but no words came at first.

“What is this?” she asked softly.

Julius shook his head.

“I do not know.” His voice was low and rough with the weight of his thoughts. “I am a man of leisure who has spent much of his life in pursuit of enjoyment. And you … you are a woman of character and gentle upbringing.”

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, though her gaze did not waver.

“We should …” he began.

“Collect ourselves,” she said quickly, finishing for him. “And go inside. I will tend to your wound before your friend arrives.”

Grateful for her composure, Julius gave a slight nod. He followed her in silence, his thoughts a tangle.

He wanted to hold her again. Not with desperation, but with the intention of something lasting. Yet he had no certainty to offer. He had not even spoken to her of marriage, though it hovered at the edges of every moment they shared.

What manner of husband could he become? Could he return to Town, leaving her behind in Stirling, and remain faithful to a wife he saw but a few times a year? Could a marriage built on necessity blossom into something real?

He had spent so long railing against the idea of matrimony that he had never imagined this, caring so deeply for someone that the thought of her leaving made his chest ache.

Audrey deserved more than confusion and half-spoken promises. She deserved honesty and intention.

Until he knew what he could offer her, Julius knew one thing only—he must guard her heart as fiercely as his own. That meant keeping a careful distance. No more stolen moments. Not until he could offer her something real.

And not before he knew, without question, what that something was.