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Lily’s throat ached beneath the unyielding restraint.

This. This was what Brendan had warned her of. Wesley, frightened and desperate, had reached the edge and taken her with him. She might not walk away from this. And in the silence that stretched between moments, her heart spoke louder than fear.

She wished—oh, how she wished—she had spent the night in Brendan’s arms.

She wished she had told him that their wedding day had been the most precious of her life. That though circumstance had entangled them, she had never doubted that he was her heart’s true choice. That she loved him.

She had not said it. She had not said any of it.

And now, teetering on the brink of a terrible unknown, Lily wanted to live. Not just to escape, not just to survive, but to love fully. Fiercely. Foolishly, even. To feel the highs and lows, the aching beauty of loving someone who made the world feel whole again.

Brendan had been standing at the wrought iron gates to the square for some time. Finally, he straightened his shoulders with resolve. He could not allow Lily to leave without him. That was not his desire—not now, not ever—and it was time he proved it. He would no longer let silence speak for him.

He supposed he ought to be tracking down more names from his ever-growing list of potential conspirators, but this—she—came first. His wife deserved more than evasions and half-measures. With new determination, he set off for Ridley House. He would take Lily to Baydon Hall, where they belonged. Together. He would settle the misunderstanding between them and send for his trunks, as he had intended before Harriet’s sudden arrival had torn the moment apart.

When he reached home, Michaels answered the door at once.

“Where is Lady Filminster?”

“I believe she is in the small drawing room, milord.”

Brendan nodded and strode past him, crossing the foyer with urgency that bordered on haste. His heart thudded as he turned down the corridor. He would speak his heart. He would not lose her.

But as he neared the doorway, he faltered.

First John was stationed just outside the drawing room, his hands raised, palms outward in a placating gesture. His posture was tense, eyes fixed on something within.

“I assure you I will not enter!” the guard called out.

Something was terribly wrong.

Brendan rushed forward, boots slipping slightly on the polished floor as he reached the threshold—and froze.

Inside, Wesley held Lily against him, his arm braced tightly beneath her chin. Her chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, and fear radiated from her like a storm wind. Her wide brown eyes locked with his, luminous with desperation. In that instant, she looked straight into him, as if she had always known he would come.

“Do not enter, milord! I will kill her if you do!” the footman cried, wild-eyed.

Brendan’s instincts roared, but he held them back with iron restraint. Raising his hands slowly, he mirrored John’s posture. “Do not panic, Wesley. We can speak as men. There is no need for rashness.”

From the corridor behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed—Michaels. They halted abruptly just out of sight, and Brendan knew the butler had assessed the tension in the air.

“What is the meaning of this, Wesley?” came his deep, steady voice. “Has something happened?”

“She saw,” Wesley snapped. “She noticed something … a slip. She knows I was involved in the baron’s murder. I am afraid she must be my leverage now.”

Brendan’s pulse thundered at the sight of Lily in such peril, but he registered, dimly, that some of the wild panic had faded from Wesley’s face the moment Brendan had stepped back from the room.

Heaven have mercy! He should have sent Lily away the morning he had discovered his chambers ransacked. If anything happened to her now, he would carry the guilt for the rest of his days. And worse, he would lose the woman he loved.

Love.

The word resounded through him with painful clarity. He had fallen irrevocably, helplessly, in love with his wife. It had happened the night of their wedding, though perhaps the seed had been planted even before. There had been no stopping it, no slowing its bloom.

And if she were harmed, even the smallest, most beloved inch of her, it would shatter him.

Brendan dragged a hand through his hair, trying to push the storm of panic aside. He had to think. He had to talk, to keep Wesley engaged, and find a way to free Lily before it was too late.

“Did you kill the baron?” he asked, voice tight but calm.