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“My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.”
Giacomo Casanova
AUGUST 31, 1821
They departed just before first light, their boots splashing through rain-washed puddles on the quiet streets of Mayfair. The air held the scent of chimney smoke, and a chill clung to Audrey’s cheeks as she pulled her borrowed coat tighter.
Montague would be abed, of that she felt certain. The blistering treatment would leave him weakened and irritable, and it might be days before he ventured beyond his home again. They had learned little of substance, but there was no time to linger. Their next course was clear—Simon Scott.
Audrey walked beside Julius, but her thoughts, traitorous and unrelenting, drifted to the previous night.
The kiss.
Her first.
Even now, the echo of it seemed to tremble across her skin. The soft press of his mouth, the surprising tenderness in his touch, the way her heart had leapt. Each time she drifted into sleep, the memory had returned like a whisper, coiling through her in breathless wonder.
She had awakened more tired than when she had gone to bed.
Why had she stopped him?
That kiss had been … magnificent.
Would she ever be kissed like again? Would anyone in Stirling dare to look at her that way once the truth of her time in London emerged? Her reputation would suffer. Her future would narrow.
And yet, even knowing that, part of her longed for a second kiss.
“Audrey?”
She startled. They had stopped walking. Julius was watching her with amusement written in every line of his face.
Her heart gave a skip.
“Forgive me. I was woolgathering.”
His grin was slow, warm, and wickedly charming. “I have thought of it, too.”
Her breath caught.
“All night, if I am honest,” he added, his gaze drifting, just for a moment, to her lips. “It is not so dangerous, is it? A kiss?”
Audrey flushed, warmth blooming across her cheeks.
“We should hurry if we hope to observe Mr. Scott,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.
But in her mind, she whispered the truth.
You are wrong, Julius. It is dangerous.
Not the kiss itself, but what it meant. What it awakened. He was not simply a charming rogue. He had a mind that noticed, a heart that cared, a spirit that laughed through pain. If she was not careful, she would fall for him entirely.
And that was a risk she could not afford.
You must remember your purpose, she told herself sternly. A baron is dead. A killer roams the streets. Julius could have died that night …
She cast him a sidelong glance as they continued their walk. He was humming under his breath, tipping his hat to a dog who trotted past as though it were a visiting dignitary. Light-hearted, irreverent, and yet somehow noble beneath the mischief.
