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Worse still, he was not ready to let her go.

He had grown too accustomed to her presence—her clever insights, the calm confidence in her voice, her bright observations, and her wit. Her company soothed and challenged in equal measure. And last night, when she had lain in his arms, warm and trusting, her head resting over his heart, it had awakened something deeper than anything he had shared with a woman before this.

Julius sighed, resting his head against the cool stone wall.

Marriage leads to indifference.

So he had always believed. Had seen it with his own eyes. His parents’ unhappiness had colored his every view on the matter. But with Audrey … he was not sure.

Would marriage to her mean the end of their friendship? The end of the easy camaraderie they had developed? That thought unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

But what was the alternative? Letting her go? Retreating from this moment and letting the matter lie? They would part as friends, yes, but he doubted he would ever cease wondering what might have been. The very idea of her returning to Stirling alone, left an ache he had not expected.

He glanced at his timepiece. His friends would arrive soon. The moment for action was nearing.

Julius drummed his fingers against his thigh. It was unlike him to dither. Typically, he made his decisions swiftly and did not look back. But Audrey Gideon had turned his world on its head, and he was not entirely certain how to make it right-side-up again.

He did not want marriage, but he wanted to marry her.

He did not want to answer to anyone, but Audrey had never demanded he change, merely that he think. And he had. Constantly. About her. About them.

Above all, he did not want to cause her pain. She had saved his life, given freely of her care, her companionship, her trust. It would be a poor return to allow her name to be sullied without offering her the protection of his own.

I must do right by her.

But first, he needed to determine what right truly meant.

His wound gave a dull throb, a persistent reminder of all he owed Audrey. Was that what plagued him? The pressing weight of obligation to the avenging angel who had chased away his would-be assassin? Perhaps this muddle in his head was naught but a cloud of gratitude and guilt. If so, the clearest course might be to offer marriage with the stipulation they live apart, an arrangement that would allow both duty and distance. With such lines drawn, he could sort through the confusion at his leisure.

A brisk knock sounded against the painted wood, the rapping distinct against the hushed murmur of the awakening mews. Julius turned the handle and admitted Abbott, the rising sun casting long gold-edged shadows across the flagstones behind him. He shut the door with a soft click, the iron latch catching with a resolute finality.

They waited in the narrow alley, the muffled clop of hooves in the far distance and the rustle of leaves the only sounds to accompany the early hour. Julius leaned against the brickwork, the cool stone at his back grounding him. Morning scents drifted past—horsehair, old hay, a faint tang of metal. Neither gentleman spoke, well aware the brick walls of Aunt Gertrude’s property were as porous as paper to anyone passing by.

He used the moment of silence to impose order upon his thoughts. The mere presence of Audrey in the townhouse had tangled his mind in knots. He knew they must marry. He would take her to Stirling, see her settled. Then, perhaps then, he could find clarity. Abstain from other liaisons. Return to his pursuits. Once he understood his own path, they might forge a practical accord, an agreement that would protect them both and allow for discreet liberties.

Resolved, he shifted his stance. A decision had been formed. He required only time to regain his equilibrium.

“Are you going to let Filminster in?”

Abbott’s low hiss broke through the reverie. Julius blinked, startled to find himself still adrift in thought. He nodded sharply, motioning Abbott aside as he opened the door.

Brendan stepped through in the garb of a groom, his cap tugged low and a glower firmly fixed in place. He entered without a word, the tread of his boots muffled on the straw-scattered cobbles.

Once the door was secured, the three men crossed into the tack room, the faint tang of oiled leather and horse liniment clinging to the air. Brendan turned on his heel, expression thunderous with inquiry.

“My apologies. I was woolgathering,” Julius muttered, brushing dust from his sleeve as though it might dispel the lingering fog in his mind.

Brendan’s chestnut brows rose, eyes narrowing with suspicion as he exchanged a glance with Abbott. “About a certain young woman?” he asked, voice dry.

The insinuation hit like a slap. Julius straightened, shoulders snapping back. “Certainly not! I just … have news to impart!”

The fact that Brendan had guessed so readily needled him. Just because those two had tripped over their boots to marry did not mean he would do the same. He was no lovestruck greenhorn. He was different. Independent.

That he could still feel the imprint of Audrey against him, remember the way her dainty fingers had rested on his shoulder, was irrelevant. Mere distraction. Once everything was resolved, he would be himself again.

“We need to finish this. I believe I know who murdered the baron.”

The announcement rang through the room. Both men drew sharp breaths, their attention fixed on him.