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“Next, Venus ordered Psyche to gather golden wool from dangerous wild sheep, whose very touch could kill her.”

Lucius Apuleius, Metamorphoses

October 4, 1821

He was in their garden, a full moon casting a silver glow on Madeline, who was dressed in a silk gown that flowed in the slight breeze. Trees stood watch over them, rustling like the roar of waves pounding a moonlit beach to create a bubble of time and space far removed from the ordinary world.

She turned slightly, smiling over her shoulder, a teasing curve of lips that caught the starlight. Mischief glimmered in her eyes, tender and knowing, and the sight pierced him with the ache of longing.

Simon stepped closer, his heart hammering as he reached for her hand. Her fingers trembled as they met his. He drew her toward him, unable to resist the pull that had haunted his thoughts for a decade.

Her breath caught. Beneath the silver light, she seemed not merely a woman but a vision from his dreams—graceful, luminous, and wholly his undoing.

He bent his head, and the world held its breath. Her perfume—sweet fruit and moonlit air—wrapped around him, stealing reason and silencing thought.

“Madeline,” he whispered, his voice breaking on her name.

She tilted her face upward, her eyes closing as though in surrender to something larger than either of them. His lips found her temple—a reverent kiss, brief yet full of promise. The contact sent a tremor through him, a fire kindled by restraint.

And then … nothing but moonlight and the echo of her soft sigh.

Simon woke with a groan, his body taut, his heart racing. Dawn crept through the curtains, pale and merciless. He tried rolling over to recapture the intoxicating dream, but it was no use.

He had found respite from his legal problems in his slumber, but now they clamored for his attention, shoving the illusion of Madeline out of reach. If he wished to wed his elusive Psyche, he would have to clear his name so he could claim her as his wife.

Madeline stifled a yawn as she entered the breakfast room, finding her sister seated at the table with a news sheet in one hand and a forkful of eggs poised in the other.

“Where is Mama?”

“She was summoned earlier for a meeting. Now that the coronation is done, the King has turned his attentions to building a palace worthy of his magnificence.”

“Ah. The one that has Parliament fearful over his grand tastes.”

“If grand means expensive, yes. They are still choking from the coronation bills.”

Madeline collected her plate of food, taking a seat at the table. After tossing and turning all night with worry over Simon, she was looking forward to speaking with Molly. She needed to eat and remove herself to the garden in short order.

She cut her fruit and raised a piece to her mouth when she realized Henri was staring at her with an apprehensive expression. “What is it?”

“The news sheets.” Her sister reached over to drop the folded page in front of her.

Madeline peered down, pulling a face as she read the report. “I thought Home Office was keeping it unofficial.”

“It appears someone spoke out of turn. There is no mention of an official declaration from Home Office.”

Madeline laid her fork down and leaned back to think. “He did not do it.”

“So you have said.”

“Mama agrees with me.”

Her sister twisted her lips in displeasure, capitulating. “Even so, if Simon’s reputation is destroyed by this, he could drag you—us—down with him. You must at least acknowledge the need for caution.”

Madeline sprang to her feet, vibrating with outrage. “Are you suggesting that I desert an old friend because of what people might say? Do you believe me so fickle?”

Henri leaned back in her spindly chair to think. “I suppose that would not be in character. It is just that … Oh, Madeline. I am your sister, and I do not wish to see you hurt again.”