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It’s better this way. Yet no matter how often he told himself that, it didn’t help close the yawning hole that had formed in his heart.

“Are you ready?” Gillie asked from the doorway where she stood, turning over an envelope in her hands.

He turned and spread his hands.

His liaison cocked her head to the side, giving him an assessing look. “You look tired,” she announced.

He shot her a glare. “I am tired. The last few days have been bloody awful.”

Gillie stepped into the room, and he could see that she was still wearing the vibrant lime-green-and-mustard windowpane check dress she’d had on earlier.

“You aren’t going to change?” he asked.

“I will. There’s just one last thing I need to do,” she said.

“What’s that?”

Gillie held the envelope up. Its flap was open, and he could see that it was stuffed full of banknotes. “I was able to secure the money you asked for.”

Something twisted in him, and he turned back to the mirror and fussed with his necktie. Anything not to have to meet Gillie’s eyes.

“It’s for Mrs. Parkem.” It was not a question, nor did he miss that Gillie had gone back to calling Lavinia by her married name. It was, he supposed, a sign of loyalty to him. Not that he deserved it.

“It is.”

“Would you like me to deliver it?” Gillie asked.

He frowned. “Tonight? Before the ball?”

“I thought it would be best to have the matter settled.”

Just in case. She didn’t need to say the words, but he could hear the implication of them in her tone. Tonight he and Gillie would do everything they could to stop Wark, and that meant the danger was higher than ever before.

“Go then,” he said. “I’m going to make a stop before heading to the ball anyway.”

“Where are you going?” Gillie asked.

“To the Duke of Livingston’s home. You’ll remember our friend Palmer-Smythe said the prince would be dining there before the ball.”

“You want to try to gain an audience with him and persuade him that his life is in danger.”

“It’s the one time Palmer-Smythe isn’t going to be glued to his side.” He sighed. “I’m not expecting a warm reception—or any reception at all—but if I don’t try and something happens . . .”

All of this would be for naught. He would’ve let Lavinia walk away for nothing. He didn’t think he could survive knowing that.

In the glass, he could see Gillie hesitate on the threshold. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Gillie said.

He knew without having to ask what she was apologizing for. “You were right.”

“That doesn’t make me any less sorry. I know you love her and—”

“Stop.” He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside. It would get easier with time. He had to remember that. There would once again be days where he didn’t think of Lavinia every moment, wondering what might’ve been if life hadn’t twisted and turned the way it had.

But then again, he couldn’t remember a time where he’d been entirely free of her. Even through his anger, a weak part of him still wanted her. He’d dreamed of her, and when he caught a whiff of gardenia, memory had flooded back to him. But it was all the more painful because she’d been right. He’d built his entire life without once taking into account what she truly wanted. She’d told him that it was him—that he was enough—and he’d thrown that all away.

“I only thought that if something happens tonight and you never see her again—”