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“Someone like Captain Lund.”

“Yes.”

She took a breath, and Samuel received the distinct impression that she was girding up her courage once more. “I wish to apologize for my behavior when you were last at my home.”

A familiar heaviness returned to Samuel’s chest. He had no desire to revisit that interaction; he thought on it far too often as it was. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “It is I who should be asking your forgiveness for not immediately disclosing our unlikely connection.”

“Given that I had just endured an abduction when we first reconnected, I do not think I was capable of comprehending much that day.”

“No, perhaps not.” He had reflected upon that carriage ride countless times, and the memory of carrying her to her bedchamber consistently caused his heart to ache with longing. He’d wrapped her in his arms again today, when she’d escaped the burning alley, but she’d pulled away long before his desire to hold her had been satiated.

“I was wrong to judge you so harshly,” Hannah continued. “And I wish you to know that I meant what I told Alfie. Your courage is without equal, but so, too, is your human decency.”

Samuel was momentarily speechless. After the mess he’d made of things, he’d scarcely allowed himself to hope that Hannah would ever see him in such a positive light.

“I . . . I hope that you still plan to attend Lady Telford’s ball with us,” she added.

With the reissued invitation, an invisible load dropped from Samuel’s shoulders, bringing with it a sense of lightheaded relief. His reaction likely should be attributed to what his inclusion in Lady Telford’s party meant for Bow Street, but he was honest enough with himself to know that it was far more about what it meant for his relationship with Hannah. “I hardly know what to say,” he said.

“I see.” She retreated a pace, and then, because she’d undoubtedly misinterpreted his stunned response, she retreated farther.

“Hannah, wait!”

He heard her gasp as her foot missed the edge of the step. Her arms flailed, and he lunged for her, pulling her to his chest right before she toppled.

“Are you hurt?” Samuel could hardly think over the pounding of his heart—although whether that was because Hannah had come so close to acquiring yet another injury or because she was clinging to him, he could not tell.

“No.” Her voice quavered.

If she could stand alone, he should release her. But for once, he allowed his heart to rule his head. Tightening his hold on her with one arm, he raised the other to gently smooth her curls from her face. “You are sure?”

“All I am sure of at present is that I do not want you to let me go,” she whispered.

Cupping her cheek with his hand, he marveled at the softness of her skin and willed himself to step away. “Do not torture me, Hannah,” he begged. “You know that I am in no position to act upon the feelings I have for you.”

“I wish that you would,” she said.

“No more than I wish that our situations were different,” he murmured. “But I can never be—”

She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. “Do you not see the man that you have become, Samuel? You are more than enough as you are.”

If he was dreaming, he prayed it would never end. Her words had given him license even as her touch had ignited something within him that only she could quench. He brushed a brief kiss across her fingertips before drawing her hand away. And as she gazed at him, wide-eyed, soot-smudged, and indescribably beautiful, the last of Samuel’s defenses crumbled. Unwilling to fight the ever-strengthening pull between them any longer, he slid his hand behind her neck, lowered his head, and claimed her lips with his.

Like a parched man at a mountain brook, he drank her in. The softness of her lips, the silkiness of her hair, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms. Awareness of her nearness, her goodness, and her acceptance pulsed through him, triggering a depth of emotion he’d never experienced before. He drew her closer. She breathed a gentle sigh. It was a hushed whisper of deepening trust, and he knew without a shadow of doubt that he had lost his heart to her forever.

A horse nickered. Somewhere close by. And then a man’s voice called out.

“Have they entered the house, Prescott?”

With a start, Hannah pulled away. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I must return to the carriage.”

“Of course.” Samuel took a steadying breath, frantically gathering his wits even as he mentally berated himself for becoming so caught up in the wonder of kissing Hannah that he’d completely lost track of time. “Make haste,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Before Prescott comes looking for us.”

They hurried down the steps.

“You are sure you wish to walk from here?” she asked.

“Yes.” He had to put some distance between himself and Hannah if he was to have any hope of focusing on the arson investigation. For the last hour, he had all but forgotten why he’d gone to the wharf in the first place. “Bow Street is not that far away, and I must speak with Clarke and Jealous to see if they had any success with their investigation of the fire.”