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He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of her shawl before withdrawing, afraid of overstepping the fragile peace between them.

Madeline’s breath caught. For a moment, she looked as though she might retreat, then she steadied herself, eyes meeting his. She tilted toward him, and Simon submitted to his long-buried desires to lean down and capture her soft lips with his.

Honey and fruit lingered when he lifted his head to stare down at her in wonder. “You waited for me? All these years?”

There was a long silence, her eyes moistening with tears. “I … almost gave up. But you are my Eros. I would do anything to reunite with you.”

Simon swallowed hard, overcome by the thought of how close he had come to losing her forever. How he could still lose her, even as they were inches from finally uniting. But he had hurt her enough. He must come to her as an unburdened man and not drag the productive Bigsby household into his chaos. It was imperative that he prove he had not committed this gruesome crime without damaging her reputation.

“I am so sorry for abandoning you. And that I have nothing to offer you.”

“You are enough,” she whispered back, into the still of the night.

“Yet I must ask you to continue your wait because I cannot make any promises until I put an end to this firestorm.”

She reached up to caress his cheek, a brush of butterfly wings to quiet the despairing beast within. “I will be here.”

“I do not deserve your patience.”

Madeline pulled a face, tugging on his heart with the ironic humor reflected there. “Regardless, you have it.”

Patience be dashed! I have been patient for far too long.

Why had she allowed more than ten years to pass without taking a stand for herself? For Simon? For them?

Madeline stomped along the garden path after Simon’s departure with a tempest in her chest.

He was so utterly consumed by his family’s affairs—his neurotic family, who swilled spirits and walked through their days in the haze of laudanum and self-absorption.

While he insisted that no one in his clan could be capable of the flare of passion that had led to the death of the Baron of Filminster, Madeline had no such compunctions. She had witnessed the Scotts take advantage of Simon’s guilt over Nicholas’s accident for these many years and could well imagine one of them bringing down a sculpture onto the head of a so-called foe who stood between them and their selfish pursuits.

Especially one who threatened their peace or their purse.

Personally, she thought the Scotts were something of a miserable bunch, and that Simon was the only selfless member of the family, to a fault. How he had escaped the personality flaws of his brothers—who would put Narcissus himself to shame—his imperious late father, and his passionless mother was a question for the great philosophers.

As much as she liked John, and even Nicholas when he was sober, Madeline did not trust that they were incapable of doing wrong, given the right motive. One could like them, as she did, without believing them blameless.

Fortunately, Simon had agreed to speak with the duke after he met with his solicitors, but in the meanwhile, she was vexed. Vexed that destiny had seen fit to almost bring them back together, yet he was still out of reach.

And since Isla had already provided a false alibi that had been disproved, it would be even more impossible for Madeline to come forward in Simon’s defense. She would be met with disbelief and scandal. Simon’s mother was a vacuous doll who had ruined the only genuine advantage Simon had possessed in the aftermath of this heinous murder.

She could not fathom how Simon, a man so capable of managing the Blackwood estates, could have been so reckless as to allow an alibi that could be so easily disproved. It was likely he had gone along with it in a bid to protect Madeline, but it was stupid nevertheless.

What a dunderhead!

Patience had led to lost time and far too many mistakes to count. While Simon met with his legal firm, Madeline was determined to speak with Molly in the morning. There must be more that she could do than be patient!

Madeline had two problems to overcome. To protect Simon against the accusation, she needed to know if anyone in his household had perpetrated the crime. And, of higher concern, if one of Simon’s mad relations had killed a person two months earlier, he could be in danger.

Molly was the one person she could think of to speak to. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, an intimate knowledge of the eccentric Scott household, and no agenda other than to set things right.

If Madeline attempted to discuss these complications with her mother, Eleanor would be far too concerned that Madeline could be hurt or about losing her agreement to work with a matchmaker.

Talking with Henri would be useless. She was far too concerned with what the denizens of Parliament might have to say about this affair rather than Madeline’s personal desires or her integrity as a woman to support the man she loved.

Simon was waking from a slumber of servitude, and she was going to be here to assist him back to his personal quest to find his place in the world. Their place in the world. Together. As soon as she could overcome the last remaining obstacle to their happiness.

She entered through the library, shutting the terrace doors and turning to cross the room when she came face to face with her mother. Madeline shrieked in surprise, clapping a hand over her racing heart.