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She gave him a sharp nod. “I tried reasoning with Douglas, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” She pressed her lips together and looked away for a moment. “When I thought about what that marriage would mean, what it would entail⁠—”

“You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

She looked back at him and blinked, and his gut twisted. A tear clung to the bottom edge of her thick, dark lashes.

“He’s told Kelmscott the arrangement is off?” she asked with a clear note of hopefulness in her tone.

“He will. I’ll ensure it.”

Her shoulders slumped a bit at that, and she shot him a look that reeked of uncertainty.

“You won’t be able to convince him, Atlas.” Leaning forward, she whispered, “He’s already taken money from him.” The family’s financial ruin after their father’s death was a matter of shame to all of them, and society hadn’t treated any of them kindly until Douglas began restoring their coffers and reputation.

“That will not be an impediment.” He watched a dozen emotions flit over her face, but doubt remained above all else. “I’ve seen to that,” he assured her.

She didn’t need to know the details. Yet his reassurance still didn’t seem to convince her.

“I won’t marry him,” she said. “I’ll go wherever I need to. To France. To Germany. I’ll cross the ocean to America if I need to. I’m not marrying that⁠—”

“You won’t have to go so far away.” Atlas reached for her, resting his fingers gently on her hand where it lay tensed in a fist on the tabletop. The very thought of her going as far as America sparked a panicked flutter in the center of his chest.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I secured a promise from Douglas before I left London.”

Philippa let out a little sigh. The sound pulled him back to that night in the garden. She’d sighed when he’d wrapped her in his arms, as if she’d been waiting for him to. Sighed when their lips met for the first time, as if it was all she’d ever wanted.

“So you do understand what’s at stake?” she asked. “My life. My freedom.”

“I understand, but I’m vowing to you now that I would never allow you to be forced into marriage.” He spoke the words softly, meaning them with his whole heart.

Of course, he understood why she couldn’t give herself to a man like Kelmscott. Good God, Philippa deserved the world. She deserved happiness and love. She deserved to be adored. She deserved her wishes to be respected.

For some reason, his words brought an icy smile to her lips.

“You understand, do you?” she said bitterly. “I don’t think you understand me at all.”

He deserved it. Whatever she might say to him. All the hateful looks. Every icy turn of phrase. He deserved it all.

“What were the terms of you coming after me? What did Douglas ask you to do? Deliver me back to London so that he could have me carted off to Kelmscott?”

“Do you not know me at all? Do you believe I would do that to you?” he asked, his voice rough.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and then her lips fell open as she took a deep breath.

Atlas had the nearly irrepressible urge to touch her face. To skim the backs of his fingers across her cheek. He knew it would feel like warm silk against his skin.

“All I know,” she finally said when she opened her eyes again, “is that Douglas will not bend so easily.”

“He’ll bend. I’m make sure of it.” The words rushed out of him before he tamped down his feelings. “You should never be forced—” The words stopped short on his tongue. He was going to say that she should not be forced into a loveless marriage, but then the irony hit him that he was pursuing that very thing himself. Of course, he did not love Jane Caulfield. He didn’t even particularly like her more than any of the other ladies he’d met during the previous Season.

Only one woman had captured his attention last Season. Only one lady had ever managed to burrow beneath his skin, as deep as his heart. And now she sat across from him, trying to decide whether he was an ally or a traitor.

It seemed distasteful to him suddenly that he’d been negotiating a loveless marriage when Douglas stormed into his study to tell him Philippa was gone. He’d been planning to join his life, his name, to a young lady he hardly knew and did not truly care for in exchange for lucre. Just as Douglas was attempting to do with Philippa.

Atlas sat up a bit straighter. “I’ve come with your best interests in mind,” he told her with utter conviction.

Philippa crossed her arms and looked at him, studying him while nibbling at her lower lip.