Brazen in Blue. Rachael Miles

wind and forged forward. He’d started off so well, holding himself together with anger and drink. But with each step, the drink faded, and his anger turned to something like sorrow. He hoped that with Em firmly married, he could convince his heart to let her go.

      From the rise of the hill, he could see Hartshorne Hall’s stables and the dozens of carriages that lined the avenue to the house.

      Adam wanted none of the hubbub. He’d wanted to arrive at the precise moment when all the other guests were seated, but the service had not yet begun. Though he was also friends with Lord Colin’s brother Lord Edmund Somerville, and more distantly with the duke, he had no wish to be part of the festivities. He hoped that seeing Em marry would make living without her easier. If it didn’t, he would take another assignment and another, until he didn’t have to worry about living at all.

      He had only one regret: he had never told her the truth. One more conversation would not have mattered; a civil servant and a lady had no future together. But he had hoped for her understanding, even forgiveness. But he’d waited too long after she’d sent him away that night, pistol in hand. Unable to imagine a conversation that didn’t begin—or end—with gunfire, he’d delayed the visit to her estate over and again.

      Then, when having overcome his objections, and he had finally stood outside her ballroom, he’d arrived in time to see her accept another man’s hand.

      Adam had always known Em would marry, but he hadn’t expected it to happen so soon or to his best friend. Even if she could never have been his, that part was too much to bear. If he opened his shirt, would he find only a gaping hole where his heart once had been?

      Yes, he needed the brisk walk on a cold day to see her wed. And he would likely need a bottle of whiskey afterward to live with her loss.

      Chapter Four

      Only two seats at the back of the chapel remained, both behind a large column. But Adam didn’t mind. He didn’t need to see Emmeline marry. He only needed to hear her speak her vows. Surely that would convince his heart what his head had known from the first: she could never be his.

      Before he slipped into the pew, Adam looked to the altar at the front of the chapel. There his best dreams would soon be sacrificed. It was a morbid thought, but, as a dead man, he allowed it.

      “Is this seat taken?” A woman in a violet-blue dress stood beside his pew.

      He rose, allowing her the inside seat with the slightly better view.

      He’d met her before. But her face, thin and wan, looked much different now. Knowing who she was explained why she’d come to the wedding.

      She folded her hands demurely in her lap, but her knuckles clenched white. He understood the feeling, and he wished to offer her (and himself) a little distraction before the service began.

      “Lady Fairbourne? Lucia?” he whispered. “Am I correct?”

      She looked startled, almost even afraid. “Do I know you, sir?”

      “We met at a lawn party when your great-aunt was still alive.” He hurried to explain. “She invited the whole countryside to celebrate your return from the Continent.”

      Her hands loosened slightly, but everything else—her posture, the angle of her head, her manner—suggested she might bolt at any minute. “I regret that I don’t recall your name. I met so many people that day.” She had a right to be wary. Lord Colin, against all odds, had rescued her from a living hell, and after Lord Colin married, the duke would make sure that she remained safe.

      Knowing her story, Adam wanted to set her at ease.

      “My friends—the Somervilles—call me Adam.” He watched as the name loosened her shoulders.

      “And are we to be friends . . . Adam?” Her voice was quiet, but no longer as wary.

      “We have much in common, Lady Fairbourne, much more than you imagine.” Without touching her shoulder, he leaned in close and whispered to her ear, “Both of us are here to end an affair: you with the groom, and I with the bride. We must see them marry—must we not?—to know that our time is over?”

      Her eyes widened, but she didn’t object to his forwardness. She opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind, allowing her silence to confirm his words.

      “But we should talk of something else.” He sat back against the pew.

      She nodded, her black curls framing her face. In another time, he would have found her attractive. In another time, she wouldn’t have reminded him of Emmeline.

      “I was one of your great-aunt’s protégés. My father held a living on one of her Irish properties, and she sponsored my education,” Adam explained, allowing old memories to distract him.

      “I would never have known from your accent.” She leaned toward him, returning their conversation to a whisper.

      “My parents were English, but even so, any hint of my Irish childhood was a necessary loss. Ultimately, your aunt grew disappointed in me.” He kept his voice light, even teasing.

      “Why, sir?” She sounded surprised and, once more, suspicious. “My great-aunt was rarely disappointed in anyone, other than my cousin, that is.”

      “Ah, yes, the grasping Lord Marner. I was pleased to hear from Lord Colin that you escaped his plans.”

      Her face relaxed. “Few people know that.”

      “And I have told no one.”

      “Why was my aunt disappointed in you? You don’t seem like a bad sort.”

      “She had hoped I would visit the estate and fall in love with you. But by then I’d already fallen.” He looked to the front of the church, and she followed his gaze. They grew silent together. Somehow he couldn’t start another conversation, and she seemed equally at a loss.

      “Sir?” A small boy tapped Adam on the shoulder and held out an envelope, the address facing down. The last time Adam had seen the boy he’d been covered head to toe with flour, his father being the village baker.

      Adam took it. No one who wanted him dead would have such easy access to pen and paper. More likely, one of the Somervilles needed this or that favor. He would have to refuse; he couldn’t afford to see Emmeline again. He turned the note over to see the address and felt the blood drain from his face.

      “Montclair? Adam?” Lady Fairbourne put her hand on his. “Are you quite all right? You’ve gone pale.”

      “Ah, yes.” He caught his breath. “Of course.”

      The address was in Em’s hand. Not the careful, even script she used for business or social engagements, or the ornate curving swirls she used for the wedding invitations, but the easy, open hand she’d used for private correspondence. That choice alone made the note an intimate act.

      But how? He’d only taken a few moments to cross the yard. And why? She had to know he was dead. And yet?

      A tiny spark of hope warmed his chest and belly like a shot of fine whiskey. He let his finger trace the shape of the letters.

      And yet.

      When he turned the envelope to loosen the seal, something inside shifted. Through the paper, he felt a hard oval lump. A medallion of some sort, and when he shook the envelope, he could feel a chain attached to it. Stunned, he placed his hands in his lap, still holding the envelope. It couldn’t be . . . She hadn’t . . . A dozen fragmentary sentences rushed through his mind, none connecting to the others.

      Adam broke the seal and let the envelope’s contents fall into his palm. A necklace with a delicate unicorn wrought in silver. He could hear her voice again, reading to him the fight of Guyon against Pyrochles from Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene. He’d teased her that she was becoming the rebellious unicorn, fearless against the imperial lion, and she’d smiled. Em, his leveler.

      It