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Gavin would never forget his first glimpse of her in her studio. She stood over a twenty-inch-tall block of marble, dust clinging to every inch of her. A broad linen apron covered a set of plain old clothes, and her bright red hair was slipping out of the pins on top of her head. She was wild, unconfined, and utterly fascinating—a total departure from the put-together and polished ladies he’d known his whole life.

“Can I help you?” she’d asked, trying to push a lock of hair out of her face. All she succeeded in doing was smearing dust on her forehead.

“You’ve got a little . . .” He gestured to her forehead.

One tool in each hand, she glared at him. “Mr. Barrett, if I’m not covered in the stuff by the end of the day, my work has been a failure.”

He looked her over from head to toe and then nodded. “Then I’d say you’re succeeding spectacularly.”

There’d been a pause, and then Ina had burst into laughter. She was fresh air sweeping through a house that was somber with scholarly seriousness. With a grin, he’d dropped onto a little stool in the corner, and, although she’d complained she couldn’t work with him there, she was soon carving again.

Over the years, they’d fallen into a comfortable rhythm of friendship as he’d set about building himself a life in Edinburgh. She continued to cobble together classes from whichever artist was traveling through the city and willing to give an ambitious young woman his time. He wrote a novel. She carved her first truly accomplished piece—a small Venus that stood sixteen inches high and seemed to glow with vitality. Then, sometime after Ina’s eighteenth birthday, Gavin strode into her studio as on any other day and was struck by a horrible realization: his friend, mischief-making enabler, and confidante was quite beautiful. Arrestingly, heart-stoppingly, life-ruiningly so.

That day had been the first step in a long descent into hell.

Knowing that he had little to recommend him as a suitor and wary of risking their friendship by declaring his attraction, he’d set about building an impenetrable tower around her, walling her off so that he could never get to her no matter how tempted he was. It helped that she was the princess locked away who refused to let down her hair. She didn’t want to marry. That much had been clear from the moment her aunt began parading her by eligible men. None of them would do. None were as important as her work.

It was Gavin who stood by her side through it all, the guard who kept her safe. Defending her from those who thought sculpture was an inappropriate pursuit for a woman. Understanding that this wasn’t an idle hobby but her work. Laughing with her when she needed a companion in her merrymaking. Trying his best to fall out of love with her.

He could feel Eva’s coal-black eyes watching him, and he knew the answer she wanted to hear. Still, he couldn’t give it to her, because saying the truth out loud would open up old wounds that were still raw.

“Friendship. That’s all,” he said.

Eva sighed. “It’s a shame, really. I like the lady more than I can say.”

“She likes you as well,” he said, smiling as he thought back on the few times the pair had met at the theater.

“She’ll make you a good wife, Gavin.”

He could hear the “but” in his friend’s voice, and he hardened his heart against it. “You and Catriona will come to the wedding?”

The wedding. There was going to be a wedding.

But not a wedding night.

He’d been out of his mind to agree to that condition, but surely it would be better to live in a state of denial than to torment himself by tasting the very thing he’d wanted for years. He’d be her husband in name only but her loyal friend in every way possible. It had to be enough.

A clattering at the door made them both turn. Moray was rapping on the glass, brandishing a clutch of broadsheets in his hands.

“Are you finished?” he shouted.

“Lord, give me the strength to endure the company of men,” Eva muttered.

Gavin cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his composure.

She gave Moray an exaggerated wave. “You can come back in, you pigheaded lout.”

The publisher burst into the room. “Tell me everything.”

“No,” said Eva stubbornly. “It’s none of your business.”

Moray cast an eye over the two of them and shrugged. “I’ll have the full story out of him sooner or later.”

“What can I expect to read in the Lothian tomorrow?” asked Gavin with a nod to the papers so fresh and hot he could smell them across the room.

“There’s rumblings that Tsar Alexander II will make a state visit this year,” said Moray. “And there’s a breach-of-promise case that everyone is talking about. A woman named Caroline Burkett is suing her fiancé after he jilted her for an American heiress.”

“She must be desperate,” said Eva. “No woman ever comes out of a case like that unscathed.”