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“Real love is the love that sometimes arises after sensual pleasure: if it does, it is immortal; the other kind inevitably goes stale, for it lies in mere fantasy.”

Giacomo Casanova

SEPTEMBER 2, 1821

Audrey savored the gentle kiss Julius pressed to her brow, her eyes closed, unwilling to relinquish the precious illusion that they still had time. She had lain awake for an hour in the shelter of his embrace, her ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heart with only the thin linen of his shirt and the constraints of her gown between them.

She had not wasted a second. The loneliness would be sharp when it came.

But at least she had been granted this one perfect night alone together.

Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Julius was watching her, the early sunlight softening the angles of his face. His green-brown gaze held an unreadable depth, the quiet of morning casting a hush around them.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

Audrey’s heart ached. This, waking beside him in golden light, was what marriage might have been. What the first morning of union would have been like. A tender greeting at dawn, shared secrets in the hush of morning, the quiet certainty of partnership. She swallowed around the ache blooming in her throat.

“Good morning.”

“Filminster and Abbott will be here soon.”

The spell was broken. Audrey sat up, drawing the linen sheet across her chest as though to shield herself from the weight of the real world. Her time with Julius, unreal and golden, was slipping away like mist.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It is time to return.”

He rose from the bed, the light casting his tousled blond hair into a near halo, though there was nothing angelic in his gaze. She watched him stretch and turn toward the washstand before recalling her question.

“What of Patrick and Rose?”

Julius paused, glancing over his shoulder. “They are loyal. Fond of me in their quiet way. They will not breathe a word of our stay here. They saw you as my salvation, Audrey.”

Audrey released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “That is a comfort.” But her voice was taut. The dread of returning to London society—or worse, to the gossip that would surely follow her to Stirling—curled in her stomach.

Julius turned fully then, his gaze steady, searching. “I will protect you, Audrey. Your reputation will not be left in tatters.”

She averted her eyes. “There is little to be done,” she said softly. “But … I do not regret any of it.”

His footsteps sounded against the floorboards, and then his fingers found her cheek, coaxing her to meet his gaze. She looked up, searching his face, hoping but not daring to believe.

“I have a plan,” he said. “To take care of you.”

He stopped. For a moment, Audrey saw something flicker in his expression, a flash of emotion he quickly tucked away. Her breath caught.

“I …” he began, then shook his head. “We shall discuss it soon. Do not trouble yourself about Lady Astley or any other society gorgon.”

But he stepped away before she could ask what he meant. The moment was gone. He crossed to the washstand, and she slipped from the bed in silence.

Back in her chamber, Audrey bathed and dressed, her fingers clumsy with fatigue and dread. The comfort of Julius’s arms was gone, and in its place was the pressing reality of what came next.

Despite his promise, she could not see how he might save her. He was a lord, the heir to an ancient and influential title. She was the daughter of a provincial physician, with neither dowry nor name. He might care for her, might even believe himself willing to wed, but the ton would never see them as equals.

And Julius Trafford was not the marrying sort.

Audrey drew the comb through her hair, staring at her reflection, wondering how long it would take to forget the feel of his lips on hers.

Failing a wedding, Audrey was ruined beyond redemption. Despite Julius’s assurances, she knew the precariousness of her position. She clung to the fragile hope that the Earl of Stirling might yet support her efforts to build a future. Perhaps, by some miracle, word might not reach her quiet village, and she could resume her life as a physician, untouched by scandal.