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Neither made an ounce of sense, but her reason seemed to have deserted her—flown away on the evening breeze to join the stars overhead. Her blasted knees refused to stop shaking, and her heart beat frantically, like a caged bird trying to escape its gilded prison.

“Hello,” she echoed stupidly, for her tongue had not caught up to her racing mind.

He touched her cheek with his forefinger, and even through the cold leather of his black glove, the spot burned hot. “I missed you.”

She had missed him too.

So very much.

“Mr. Brook! Mr. Brook!”

“He came. Mr. Brook is here.”

The children had spotted Layton and raced toward him.

Lilly must tell them Layton’s real name and that they should address him as Captain Westbrook. But that could wait.

Miss Wobblecroft raised her voice. “Be careful, children.”

“Slow down,” called Miss McKenzie from Charles’s side.

Her cheeks appeared rather more flushed than could be attributed to the roaring bonfire.

“Don’t trip and fall into the fire,” warned Mrs. Jones as she hurried forward, still clutching her spiced cider.

Layton gave Lilly a sideways grin and winked. “I suppose privacy is too much to ask for.”

Privacy?

Was he serious?

With this many children?

“No, privacy is a rare commodity around here.” She shook her head.

“There are worse things. I shall figure out a way to have you to myself,” he said.

Did that mean he intended to stay?

Was it truly possible?

For how long?

Caught up in the moment, Lilly laughed. “Not likely unless we lock ourselves away somewhere.”

“That could be arranged.” The glint in his gray eye held a sensual promise.

Yes, she was definitely going to go up in flames.

Before she could respond, the children were upon them.

He looked over their heads and, grinning, mouthed, “Later.”

Be careful.

Do not read something into this that is not there.

Lilly pressed her lips together against her reflexive smile.