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“It was most certainly a problem. I had no desire to see her, and I was doing my best to send her away when she flung herself into my arms, mere seconds before you arrived. The door was open … purposefully so. I knew you were expected for dinner, and I would have to be a halfwit to think I could conceal her presence.”

Lily’s face softened by degrees as she weighed his words. Her arms slowly unfurled, and she let her hands settle upon the edge of the settee. She turned away from him, gazing out at the muted green of the garden, where the last remnants of daylight caught the leaves in silver.

She did not look at him as she finally replied. “Be that as it may, it does not explain the gossip in the news sheets.”

Brendan frowned, caught off guard by the turn in conversation. “What gossip?”

“You and Lady Slight were mentioned.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “They claimed you were seen conversing with her intimately on the street.”

He ran a hand down the side of his cheek, the rasp of stubble under his fingers a small irritation compared to the one blooming behind his eyes. “So that is what started this.”

He exhaled slowly. “Harri—Lady Slight—approached me in Bond Street yesterday, before I met with Halmesbury, Richard, and Briggs. She suggested we might resume our former arrangement. I declined. Emphatically. She took offense—plainly. She had been drinking and, I suspect, brooding over why I would prefer the company of my wife to her own.”

Lily rose so quickly he took a step back.

“There is no need to coddle me, Brendan Ridley!” Her voice was bright with fury. “I am not some wide-eyed child. I am a grown woman, and I can endure the truth!”

He lifted his hands in confusion, utterly at a loss. “What truth?”

“That you were forced to marry me!” she cried. “That had the baron not been murdered, you would even now be sharing Lady Slight’s bed! That you never chose me!”

Her voice cracked, and the anger wavered at its edge, revealing the sharp glint of hurt beneath. “So do not stand there and pretend you would rather spend time with me than that … than that trollop!”

Brendan dropped into a nearby chair, his gaze turning upward to the ceiling with unfocused weariness. The ornate plasterwork overhead might as well have been a blank expanse of sky. Apparently, Lily believed him regarding the incident with Lady Slight, a trait he admired in her. It was part of her general impulse toward honesty and sincerity, and he valued it deeply even as he grappled with what to say next.

But how to address her envy of the attentions he had once paid to another? That was far less straightforward.

His feelings for Lily were growing at a pace that unsettled him. There was a kind of fondness budding between them, rooted in shared moments and her relentless authenticity, but he was not ready to unravel the matter of how their marriage had come about, not yet. That conversation required time. Intimacy. A sense of foundation. It was not a subject for raw hours like this one, clouded by gossip and misunderstanding.

They needed, above all, time together to build the affinity that was quietly forming between them. He hoped it might grow into something enduring. But this was not the moment to rush it.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet and crossed to where she stood. Her back was to the window now, and the last light of day haloed her figure in soft hues. He reached for her hands and enclosed them in his own, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of her sleeve. Her palms were icy through the gloves, but she did not pull away.

“I am here with you now,” he said softly. “The past is inconsequential to our present. I have spent every waking moment since you agreed to marry me ensuring your safety, taking steps to end this danger and to care for you.”

“So you do not deny you would be with Lady Slight tonight if I were not here?”

He suppressed a curse. Lily was warm-hearted, quick-witted, and generous, but Harriet’s appearance had kindled her jealousy. Now they were quarreling, when only an hour ago, he had been looking forward to dinner and the possibility of closing the distance between them … of drawing her into his arms and beginning the next chapter of their marriage in earnest.

“I cannot say where I would be,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even. “I can only state that I am here with you. And I have ensured the viscountess will never set foot in Ridley House again.”

Lily drew back slightly, her jaw tight. “And how many times has she been here?” she demanded, her voice taut with outrage. Her spine was straight, her chin lifted, and he hated the sight of her so guarded. His Lily was soft and quick with her thoughts, restless, inquisitive. She filled a room with life. He did not like this cold-eyed stranger glaring at him with fury.

“Never,” he said, the word ringing in the hush between them. “I have never invited her to my home. You are the only woman I have ever brought into this house or allowed into my bedchamber.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she bit down on her lower lip. “Pshaw!”

Brendan wanted to tell her what she needed to hear, but he wanted to be honest, too. And honesty, at least the sort that meant something, could not be conjured like a parlor trick. He was not entirely clear on what his feelings for Lily were, only that she made him feel something new. Hope, perhaps.

Hope that they might build a life that did not merely fulfill obligation. Hope that their growing familiarity might blossom into something deeper. Hope that, given time, he might know a genuine meeting of the minds with the woman fate had thrust into his path.

But until he gained clarity, he did not wish to speak promises he could not yet uphold. Since the morning of their wedding, they had been honest with one another, painfully so at times, and he would not toss empty words at her now simply to mend a quarrel. That sort of balm was fleeting, and he had learned from experience that it never healed properly.

They had only been wed three days, blast it. The ink on the registry was barely dry.

Lily rose abruptly, her skirts whispering against the carpet as she stalked back to the settee. She flung herself down with careless grace and stared at her slippers peeking out from beneath the hem of her emerald dress. That color, vivid and rich, suited her remarkably well.

But that was neither here nor there whilst they were quarreling.