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“Oh!” she cried, and then, again, lower, “Oh.” And then, to his utter astonishment, she said, “I wrote a letter. Years ago. To my sister. He read it.”

And then she shattered around him and underneath him, and if he had tried to stop himself from following her, he would not have succeeded, but he didn’t try. Why, when he was powerless against her?

A few minutes later, they were still breathing heavily. They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling.

“What did the letter say?” he pressed.

She remained silent, and as he came back to earth, a kind of shame rolled in. Why had he been so belligerent? Why couldn’t he trust her when she said she had the matter in hand?

It wasn’t as if he thought her incapable of handling her own affairs. Look at how far she had come in life, even with her father, and Mr. Hill, impeding her.

Perhaps another approach was indicated. Perhaps Diantha had had her fill of men meddling in her life.

He rolled over. Held himself up on his elbows and regarded her.

Oh, he adored her.

He flopped back over, unable to hold himself up at the same time he was contemplating the depths of his adoration. It was too much.

To his complete and utter shock, she started talking. It all came out in a single stream, her words nearly tumbling over one another. He stayed as still as possible, fearful if he moved even an inch, she might stop. “Lady Harcourt told me about a time years ago when she went on holiday and met a man she fancied and they had relations and not only did she not feel bad about it, she said the experience buoyed her and provided solace and gave her the strength to endure her unhappy marriage to the late earl, and even though I never said her name in the letter, Mr. Hill knew who I was talking about and said he was coming back in six months’ time, which is now five months’ time, and that if I didn’t agree to marry him upon his return, he would make the contents of the letter public.”

That was … unlike anything Simon had imagined. But it was the missing piece of the puzzle to why she was so intent on ruination, or, as she said, rendering herself ineligible for marriage.

He remained on his back, staring at the ceiling, partly because he still feared that too quick or too decisive a movement might startle her, make her bolt, but partly because he had no earthly idea what to say.

“Say something!” she cried, and the idea of her commanding his speech when he had just decided to withhold it would have made him laugh, had he not been so distressed.

He rolled back over. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her face and assure her that all would be well. But Simon didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.

“You ought to talk to Archie.”

It was the wrong thing to say; he knew it the moment it was out.

“And tell him what? That I betrayed his family and put their reputations at risk, so therefore he should … what?” Her voice was rising as she spoke. “Raise my wages even more than he already has? Call out Mr. Hill? No. I have it in hand.”

He wanted to demand she explain how she had it in hand, but he knew it would be futile. He settled for saying what was in his heart. Well, part of what was in his heart. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

It was still the wrong thing to say. She gazed at him for a long moment, and he heard what she wasn’t saying, that she had asked him for help. She had come to him first.

Oh, his heart.

“I should go.”

“Not yet!”

If she left, they would never get back here, to this place where they were naked together, bodily and metaphorically.

“It is later than it has ever been,” she said.

She was covering herself up—in both senses. She was redressing and running her fingers through her hair. And though it was happening invisibly, he didn’t need eyes to see that she was shuttering something inside her, too.

Was this how it was going to end, with such utter lack of fanfare?

“Diantha,” he called as she made to leave, and she must have taken pity on him—his voice had sounded eminently pitiable—for she paused by the door.

He didn’t know what to say to make her stay.

Nothing. The answer was nothing. He couldn’t make her do anything—and even if he could, he wouldn’t. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and said, “It is late enough—early enough—that you ought to be able to see Orion. Look for his belt. Look to the east to see the Pleiades, the seven sisters he hunts.”