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But what if it wasn’t? What if he had regrets of all he’d given up to save her? If there was another woman he loved, it would be cruel to ask him to stay away from her.

Oh Lord, what if he was with her? The woman from the letters. The woman he’d begged to come back to him.

No. That wasn’t Gavin. He’d made her a promise of fidelity. He was steadfast in his vows. He was her husband now.

“Gavin is a good man. I may be angry at him for leaving so abruptly, but I don’t doubt his motives,” Ina said.

“Ask him,” said Christine. “Put your mind at ease.”

She nodded slowly. “Perhaps I will.”

Whenever he decides to come home.

Chapter Nine

IT HAD BEEN three days, ten hours, and twenty-two minutes since Gavin had become a married man, yet rather than enjoying wedded bliss, he was sitting in the poky spare office Moray had given him on the second floor of the Lothian’s building. His eyes were tired from staring too long at the stack of page proofs before him, and his back ached from sitting in the same wooden chair all day. Still, it felt good to finally produce work someone would actually read. Even better that the articles he was penning would distract him from the fact that he was avoiding going home.

Things were simpler here in the newspaper’s offices. Here he was just Mr. Barrett to the staff, or Gavin to Moray and Eva. Here the temptation of his wife was an uncomfortable memory rather than a very real presence.

His shame over walking out that first night had only grown in the subsequent days, but if he hadn’t, he might never have been able to let her go. He’d made her a promise that put their friendship above all else, but in truth it was himself he’d wanted to save. He knew how powerful heartbreak could be. He’d healed once before, but that situation had been different. Then, he’d lost only his lover. With Ina he stood to lose his wife and his best friend too.

So for the last three days he’d snuck in and out of the house on Rothesay Place to sleep, eat a little something, and change clothes before escaping back to the newspaper.

His first article had gone over well enough that Moray had assigned him another for the following day. Then another. They hadn’t all run yet, but he was writing again and his work was being read. After the rejection of his second novel, he’d fallen into a slump that had been difficult to pull himself out of. Producing work brought him an optimism he hadn’t felt in years—not to mention a new source of income.

“You’re still here.” Gavin looked up to find Moray watching him, his shoulder resting against the doorjamb.

“I was just reading over some corrections I made,” he said. “My editor is a bastard with markups.”

Moray smirked. “You’re getting better. It usually takes me months to whip reporters into shape, and even then some never learn.”

“I’m sure my tutor at Cambridge would be happy to hear you say that. How is finding Cardwell’s replacement going?”

“I have an idea of who might be a good fit.”

Gavin rubbed a hand over his face, trying to combat a yawn. “Do I know the man?”

Eva strode into the office, her dark green skirts swinging out from her legs. “Have you asked him yet?”

“I was just about to,” said Moray.

He looked from friend to friend. “Asked me what?”

“We want you to join the staff,” said Moray. “You’d be doing some writing, but we also want you to edit.” Eva nudged Moray with her elbow. “Ah yes, and we’ll pay you a yearly salary of four hundred pounds, plus expenses.”

Gavin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Nine hundred pounds, you scoundrel.”

Moray snorted a laugh. “I’m a newspaperman, not a genie granting wishes. Five hundred.”

“Eight hundred,” Gavin countered.

“We’ll pay you seven hundred pounds a year, and that’s our final offer,” said Eva, rolling her eyes at their negotiations.

A grin spread across Gavin’s face. Being married to Ina meant he never had to worry about stretching his monthly coal allowance again, but her money was paying for the house, the carriage, the servants, everything. When she’d asked him if he wanted a valet, he’d clammed up with embarrassment because he hadn’t even thought about hiring a manservant. That was the sort of extravagance he hadn’t been able to afford in years.

Now at least he’d have an income to contribute to the household expenses. He’d be living off of his writing once again—the one thing he’d wanted to do since he’d traveled to Edinburgh all those years ago.

“I accept,” he said.