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well with him. Stepping forward, he brought himself into full view. She jumped to her feet when she saw him, wiping away tears with the palm of her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen, and it killed him to know that he was the cause. “What more could you possibly want?”
    “I…” He was always so sure of his own course, but for once in his life, he was uncertain how to proceed. He swallowed. “I came to apologize for my remark.”
    She narrowed her eyes, fists clenched into tight balls at her sides. “You’re an insensitive worm, Adam Rycroft. How could you humiliate me like that, in front of everyone?”
    His mind reached for an excuse, a reason why he’d been so cutting. In the end, he settled on the truth. “I wanted to hurt you.”
    She lunged at him then, a feral growl escaping from her otherwise ladylike lips. Self-preservation forced him to step back, but it wasn’t enough. Her dainty fist connected with his jaw—hard—causing his head to snap back. Pain bloomed where she’d struck him.
    Perhaps honesty hadn’t been the best strategy, after all.
    Before he could comment on her unnatural strength, or ask where she’d learned such a violent maneuver, she asked, “What have I done— recently —to deserve such contempt from you?”
    His rubbed his jaw, frowning. “Two years ago, you chose Whitmore over me. Now, I fear you will choose Wood.”
    The words were heartfelt and genuine, but he wondered at the wisdom of sharing them. Like no other woman, she had the power to destroy him. With one look, one word, she could shatter him all over again. He waited, breath held, for her to reply.
    She let out a breath and glanced down at her slippered feet. Silence stretched between them. Finally, she looked up and pointed to the discarded note. “There. Pick that up and read it, then you will know the truth of it.”
    He bent and retrieved the wrinkled parchment. He smoothed it out and instantly recognized the handwriting as his own, uneven scrawl.
    “It is your last note to me, before I had to…” She paused, drew in a sharp breath. “Before things ended between us.”
    He glanced down at the note, the creases well worn from being folded and unfolded, read over and over again. The edges had long since torn and frayed. Hope squeezed his chest. “You kept it.”
    She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “I’ve clung to the foolish hope that things could be mended between us.”
    He stepped forward and touched his lips to hers—soft, feather-light, a question. Then voices drifted toward them on the breeze, the unmistakable sound of two women speaking earnestly.
    Quickly, he pulled back. “Meet me in the library at midnight.”
    *  *  *
    Olivia sat at the card table, not watching the timepiece on the mantel. Indeed, she was happily engrossed in her game when a maid approached, bobbed a curtsey and handed her a folded note. Olivia thanked her and opened the parchment.
    The library.
    No name, no explanation, but then, she didn’t need one. She knew perfectly well whom the note was from.
    She glanced at the gilded timepiece. Quarter past eleven. She wasn’t due to secret off to the library for another forty-five minutes yet. Folding the note, she set it aside. When she glanced up, the other four guests at the table were staring at her. Her cheeks flushed. “Just a small mishap with my wardrobe. Nothing to fret about.”
    With a tight smile, she turned her focus back to the game. A few minutes later, another note arrived.
    Now.
    The man was nothing if not persistent. Folding the note, she made her excuses and slipped out of the parlor, toward the library.
    She was a fool to run when he called, but there was no hope for it. On a deep, elemental level, she would always follow where he led.
    The library door was open just a crack, and she slipped inside. The room was pitch black, save the sliver of pale moonlight that seeped in through the crack in the curtains. Her gaze swept the room and caught on a