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Aidan’s expression shifted, the furrow of concern easing into something far gentler. “You make me wish I had spoken to you about all this much sooner,” he said. “You offer a clarity that eludes even the most seasoned among us.”

She softened slightly. “I am a scholar. I weigh what is before me. Emotion has its place, but facts guide decisions.”

With a slow step, Aidan approached. He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her close until they stood chest to chest, the space between them narrowing to nothing. “And what of you?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Have you accepted the truth about yourself?”

Her breath caught as his hand brushed lightly against her temple, tucking back a strand of her hair. His gaze, so intent, searched her own, and her heart stuttered beneath it.

“Gwen, Gwen the Spotted Giraffe?” Her father had confessed after dinner to revealing her youthful secrets earlier that day in the interests of reconciliation, so she knew Aidan was aware of her past troubles.

Aidan leaned in to brush his lips over her freckled cheek. “I happen to like your spots, Gwen Abbott.” He rose to nuzzle at her temple, teasing her hair with his hot breath to make her shiver. “And I appreciate your height.” He raised his head to stare deep into her eyes. “And your name is exquisite poetry.” Aidan stroked her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Gwen.” He leaned in to steal a kiss. “Gwen.” He tilted her chin with his forefinger to gaze into her soul with impassioned chocolate brown eyes. “Gwen.”

Then he fell silent, giving her space to respond. Gwen opened her mouth, searching for words, but they slipped away beneath the weight of what he had just spoken … and how he had said it. His voice wrapped around her like a silken ribbon, gently binding her heart.

A breath escaped her lips. “I …” Her voice wavered, featherlight, as affection pooled and spread through her limbs. “I have realized that perhaps those girls … might have been wrong about me. About my … appeal.”

“Very wrong,” Aidan murmured, his voice husky with emotion. His gaze fell to her lips, and before she could gather her next thought, he dipped his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that was soft, searching, and full of longing.

Gwen responded instinctively, her hands rising to grip his shoulders, leaning into his embrace. But just as quickly, Aidan pulled back with a strangled groan, his face a study in conflicted anguish.

“What is it?” Gwen frowned, breathless. “Please do not tell me this is another secret.”

He stepped back again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to summon the courage to confess. “I may have been … thrown. From Valor.”

She blinked. “May have?”

“I was,” he admitted with a sheepish grimace. “The street was narrow and full of commotion. Valor was startled, and I took a rather hard tumble.”

Concern furrowed her brow as she stepped toward him. “That sounds terribly dangerous.”

Aidan’s face flushed. He could not quite meet her gaze. “It happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Gwen’s voice rose slightly in disbelief. “That explains why you insisted we sit in the dark. You were hiding something from me.”

He gave a guilty nod.

Gwen bit back her irritation. “Let me see, then,” she said, gesturing pointedly at his coat.

Aidan sighed, his movements deliberate as he rolled his shoulders and eased the garment off, folding it neatly and laying it on the bench at the foot of the bed. He then unwound his cravat with practiced fingers, placing it beside the coat. When he untucked his shirt from his breeches, Gwen’s breath caught. It was not scandalous, not exactly—he was her husband, after all—but it was still unfamiliar, still enough to send a flush creeping up her throat.

Her breath stilled the moment he drew the linen over his head.

“Aidan!” she cried, horror stealing into her tone.

His shoulder and upper arm were marred with vivid bruises. Deep red, dusky blue, and the sinister shade of dark plum. Gwen circled him swiftly, her hand covering her mouth. The contusions were worse along his back, a brutal smear of injury that covered nearly a quarter of his back.

“You could have been killed,” she whispered.

He cast his shirt aside and reached for her, drawing her close. She leaned into him, heedless of the bruises, laying her cheek against the warmth of his chest, grateful for the steady beat of his heart.

“Would that have been a bad thing, Gwen Abbott?” he murmured against her hair.

She lifted her eyes, blurred with unshed tears. “A very bad thing.”

“Then I shall be far more careful in future,” he promised solemnly.

Gwen reached up to touch the curve of his jaw, memorizing the planes of his face as though to anchor him to her world. There was a pause, heavy with feeling, before she asked, “Is it true? That I was the first?”

Aidan gave a small nod, his voice quiet. “It is.”