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Despite every instinct that urged him to believe in her innocence, he could not ignore the gravity of his mission. Protecting Lily and the baron must remain his highest priority. The stakes were too great.

If her father was indeed entangled in criminal pursuits, the truth had to come to light. It would fall to him to see it through. But perhaps, if he handled matters with care, he could shield her from the worst of the aftermath.

He could not allow sentiment to cloud his purpose. And yet … if he could forge some manner of alliance with her tonight, he might guide the storm rather than be swept away by it.

Frederick Smythe appeared remarkably cheerful about the turn of events. He closed the door behind him and strode across the room to settle into the chair behind his desk, as though nothing unusual had occurred.

Aidan noted with no small relief that Smythe registered no sign of disturbance in his study, no hint that a stranger had rifled through the drawers or left traces of an unauthorized visit. A small mercy, considering what was about to unfold.

“So, when is the wedding?” Mr. Smythe clapped his hands together, beaming with unconcealed glee. His eyes, so like his daughter’s, sparkled as he regarded the pair seated before him.

Beside Aidan, Gwendolyn let out a groan.

“Papa, this is not a time for jesting! We have a serious situation at hand.”

Her father’s grin only broadened. “Levity in the face of trials, my dear, is what makes life bearable.”

Aidan could not help the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. There was something undeniably infectious about the elder Smythe’s easy manner. His joviality and charm made him instantly likable. Too likable. That was precisely the danger.

Aidan reminded himself not to be drawn in. He could not afford to be softened by good humor or warm eyes. Not when there was a very real possibility that this man—this smiling, affable man—had been involved in a murder.

The thought chilled him. A necessary reminder. Lily’s attacker had not seemed dangerous either, not at first. Trust could be deadly.

It was time to direct the conversation.

“I have explained to Mr. Smythe what happened upon the terrace,” Aidan said, careful to keep his tone level. “And I have informed him of my intention to wed you.”

He glanced ever so slightly, watching Gwendolyn from the corner of his eye, keen to gauge her response.

Now, in this well-lit room, with the fire casting golden light across her features, she was even more arresting than he remembered. It seemed improbable, and yet it was true. Her profile, her posture, even the thoughtful crease in her brow. All of it rendered him speechless.

It was difficult to reconcile this composed, intelligent young woman with the one who had moments ago stood trembling beneath the stars, clinging to him as though drawn by some unseen force.

A rush of warmth spread across his chest, stealing into his throat, as memory returned unbidden. The feel of her lips. The shape of her. The unexpected sweetness of it all.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat before he could stop himself. A brief, involuntary exhale of memory and sensation.

Gwendolyn turned her head toward him, as if she had heard it. Her brow furrowed delicately.

Lord Abbott had emitted a low growl after his declaration, and Gwen stiffened at the sound. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit. When he had chosen to sit beside her, she had allowed herself to believe, if only briefly, that he was drawn to her. That there might be a spark of genuine interest behind his gallant offer.

But that sound. That deep, reluctant utterance.

It did not speak of attraction. It spoke of duty.

Resolve returned to her like an old friend. Marrying Lord Abbott might simplify matters. It might even be advantageous from a certain point of view. But it would not be right.

Forcing a gentleman into marriage was beneath her. A moral failing she would not permit herself to commit.

She was not without options. Her father had the means to support her modest independence. A quiet life, perhaps in the country, with books and lectures and letters. She could disappear from society’s eye and pursue her studies in peace.

“And I have informed Lord Abbott that I appreciate his offer, but it is not necessary.”

Her father’s grin faltered. It dropped from his face like overripe fruit tumbling from a sagging branch.

“Not necessary?”

Gwen nodded, firmly. She had hoped, naïvely, that her father might understand. That he might share her concerns about obligation and integrity. But the gleam in his eye earlier had revealed his excitement, his certainty that she had at last made a brilliant match.