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A little boy dashed out of the bushes a few feet away and ran at full speed until he reached them. William leaned down and listened to the boy’s hushed message, and his heart filled with happiness. Victoria had used their secret signal. She wanted to see him. He tossed the boy a coin before turning back to Grace. “I’ll arrange a meeting with your new savior and send you a note with the details.”

Grace turned away with a nod but paused. “Be careful, William. They will come after you next.”

William chuckled softly and threw the stump of his cheroot to the ground. “They have never stopped coming after me. Although your concern is refreshing.”

“We used to be friends,” she said, her back still turned to him.

“No, we didn’t.” He crushed the glowing embers of his cheroot under his booted heel. “And we shall never be.”

Grace didn’t answer. She just slunk away into the shadows quickly and seamlessly, leaving William to wonder if she had been there to begin with. The damned woman was like a ghost.

Letting out one last breath mingled with cheroot smoke, he turned on his heel and climbed the steps into the small cottage outside of which he had been smoking.

He walked inside and peeked his head into the corridor, only to see light shining from the half-closed bedroom and a soft, female voice singing a lullaby.

Nodding to himself, William took his little book and a coal pencil from the inside of his coat and jotted down a quick note.

Gone on business. Will be back when I can.

Then he tore the note out of his book and placed it carefully on the kitchen table, weighing it down with a candle holder.

He looked around the dimly lit kitchen, soaking up the cozy ambiance it always had, and took a deep breath filled with longing.

Victoria was waiting for him. What could she possibly want?

The last time they’d spoken, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted nothing to do with him. Ever.

He wasn’t the type to give up, especially when there was fire in her eyes belying her words. Her feelings for him had not gone away.

Neither could he ignore the joy in her eyes when she’d seen him in Roth’s garden during her charity ball.

Whatever she wanted now, he was ready to give. His heart jolted in anticipation and… could it be hope? A part of him, the cautious, hyper-vigilant part of him, was on alert, warning him that this might be a trap.

But that wasn’t new. Every time he stepped out of the house, he knew quite well he might meet a bad end.

He stomped toward his horse, saddled it, and raced away.

William stared for a moment at the red handkerchief flowing in the wind as it hung from the second-story window. A candle glowed behind the glass, illuminating the crimson fabric.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever see that signal again. But there it was.

He circled the building, peeked into the windows, and took all other precautions, but he couldn’t find any signs of a trap. And even if it was, did it matter?

Life without Victoria was a glum existence.

Her window was cracked open, he realized as he climbed up the trellis. He glanced inside at an achingly beautiful view. Victoria sat in a wingback chair by the hearth, reading a book, her long, pitch-black curls tumbled down her shoulders and back like a waterfall. Her brows were furrowed, and every so often, she raised her head to glance at the clock on the mantelpiece.

William couldn’t see the clock hand from here. But he knew it was almost three o’clock in the morning.

He gently untied the handkerchief from the window, pushed it open all the way, and rolled onto the floor in one swift motion.

Startled by the sound of William’s grand entrance, Victoria jumped to her feet, grabbed a poker from the hearth, and directed it at him. When she saw him, her eyes glinted with emotion before her face went blank.

William straightened and waved the red handkerchief. “You can’t shoo me away. You’re the one who invited me here.”

“I didn’t expect you so soon…” She glanced at the clock again, betraying the truth. She’d been eagerly waiting for him. Warmth traveled throughout his body at that realization.

“So… to what do I owe the pleasure?”