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Marina lifted her hand and placed it gently against his face. “Are you certain you are ready?” she whispered, searching his eyes.

There was no doubt in her tone. She believed he could do this.

His gaze softened, the usual sharp control in those deep green eyes turning into something almost vulnerable. For a long moment he simply looked at her, as if he was unable to hide the way her nearness affected him.

“You are the one who gave me hope.”

His words stole the breath from her. Her lips parted as she searched his face. Heat spread across her skin that had nothing to do with the fading sun. Her fingers tightened instinctively against his face, and something in his eyes told her he had noticed every little reaction.

She swallowed. Then, very slowly, she reached for the mask. Marina carefully removed it from his face. The cloth slipped free and fell into her hand. Yet neither of them looked at it, both too lost in each other’s eyes.

She broke the stare, glancing toward the sky once again before looking back at him. “For now, let us leave the hat on,” she decided gently.

She stepped away, forcing herself to concentrate.

“I shall count the seconds,” she explained. “And then the minutes. We shall see precisely how long the setting sun may touch you before your symptoms begin.”

Ambrose considered her words before answering calmly. “To be honest, I am curious myself.” He paused, his voice growing more reflective. “For as long as I can remember, sunlight has caused pain in my eyes. My face becomes inflamed. Every year, even though I expose myself to less of it, I have felt the condition worsening.”

Marina listened closely.

“This is the first time I have taken such a bold step,” he admitted, his tone exposing a certain rawness she had not expected.

They waited, until she noticed something that made her smile vanish. Suddenly, the duke lowered his head, his face instinctively turning away from the sunlight, his shoulders stiffening. She looked toward the sky, then back at him.

“Eight minutes,” she whispered.

She hurried toward him and bent to retrieve the fallen mask. But before she could straighten and give it back to him, Ambrose moved. He brought his hands around her waist, drawing her against him. He pulled her closer, closer still, until his face was buried in the soft space between her breasts.

Marina froze, every thought scattering at the sudden, overwhelming intimacy of it. The solid weight of his head against her, the desperate strength of the arms locked around her waist. None of it felt practiced. It felt raw. Necessary.

Then she felt it. The tension in his body, the heavy rise and fall of his breathing. Her heart broke at the sight and feel of it. Ambrose was showing her his weakness. He was trusting her with it. His large hands remained firmly around her, holding her there as though she were the only refuge left to him.

“Should we return?” she murmured anxiously, her hands hovering above his shoulders.

“I want to stay here but I cannot. I…” Pain had begun to creep into his voice, and Marina’s heart raced with panic.

“Do you wish to go into the stream? I …” She turned and hurried to the water with the mask, dunked it in the icy stream, and pressed it against his skin.

“Ah…”

“Better?”

“Yes. But…”

She took his hand and led him away from the stream. “Come, I found a small cabin the other day while foraging. It is nearby.”

It was, in fact, only a few steps away. As they walked, he continued to press the cold cloth against his face. He stopped once to fill it with snow. Marina saw how red his face had already become and hurried on.

When they reached the cabin, he dropped into the rickety chair in the corner.

“I am sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “I hurt you.”

“No,” he said. “You did not. I should have ended the experiment sooner, but I was so pleased by how long I could stand it, and the pain came so suddenly…”

His face was red, the rash reminding her of how he had looked the night they first met.

“Does it hurt?”