"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And that was it. The finality of breaking a woman's heart echoed across the night air, and there was nothing else that needed a voice.

Sarah nodded, her breath leaving her body, bowing her posture down with acceptance. Seconds ticked between them before Sarah had enough composure to smile at Jason with forgiveness.

"What time is it?" Jason asked, coming out of his breath-held reverie.

"About midnight," Sarah answered matter-of-factly. "Any minute now, my father is going to make his toast."

"I should go speak with him, then," Jason said, setting his jaw.

"No." Sarah put her small hand on his arm, stilling him before he could move. "Let me do it. I'll stop the formal toasting and the like. But let them have their party. For now."

"What will you tell them?" he asked.

"That you went home with a headache," she replied. "I'll tell them the truth tomorrow."

He reached down, took her hand, kissed it. Reverently, and for the last time.

"You should go," she whispered, her face painted by a sad smile.

Jason turned to leave, to make his exit discreetly through the garden, but he stopped himself. "Sarah," he said, his heart in his voice, "please believe, I know I would have been terribly happy with you. If only . . ."

"If only," she agreed.

If only.

The words echoed through his brain as he stalked through Grosvenor, across Berkeley Square, the snow coming down faster now, harder. But he didn't see it. Couldn't see beyond his own thoughts.

If only.

How was it that with something so simple as a minute's worth of conversation, Winn Crane managed to wreak havoc on his life?

If only she hadn't shown up tonight.

If only he hadn't followed her onto that ship in Dover.

If only he hadn't run into her in the courtyard of Somerset House. A mere second earlier or later and his life would be different, he would be contented with Sarah Forrester as his bride, he would have gone through the motions of this summer without any insane schemes to foster their way across the greater part of Germany, he would have never had his heart full to bursting and then laid low by a woman of ambition.

Yes, his life would have been different. But would it have been better?

That thought made him stop in his tracks, the darkened night enveloping him in its cold embrace. He looked up to the heavens, let the white flakes fall down around him, turning to nothing as they hit his fevered cheeks.

No, his life would not have been better. It would have been easier, true . . . but then again, Jason suspected he'd always had it rather too easy.

Because if he had never met Winn Crane . . . he would not have known what it was to truly love someone. That three-parts love: the caretaking of parental love combined with the respect of friendship combined with the passion of lust, mixing together to make something . . . more. It was there for him. And he knew, in his gut, that it was there for Winn, too.

So the idea that she could deny not only what she felt but also that they had even spent those weeks together-the most arduous, terrible, adventurous, very best weeks of his life-that spurred his blood more than anything, and had him kicking the cobblestones in anger as he stalked down the street.

What had she said? That she would not include him in the pages of her story, if he didn't want to be. Why on earth would she think he didn't want to be? Just because he hadn't wished to go on the voyage in the first place? He'd continued it, hadn't he? Because perhaps he'd simply tagged along, never saying that he wanted to be included on her adventure?

Jason stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Just stood under the snow and stars, his entire body held with one single thought.

Oh holy shit.

He'd never said he wanted to be in her life. She put him off so deftly, on the road after their night in Wurtzer's loft, telling him that she didn't wish to trap him or be trapped herself, that it was simply an experience. And so he let her go, let her find her path. But he'd never told her he wished for that entrapment.

They both simply assumed that their paths would veer. That the life of a Duke in England would never cross with the life of someone who wished to see the world. But sometimes, paths have to be forced together. He didn't know how, but he knew it would be done. However, it would not be easy. The proverbs were wrong: Love would not be patient. Nor kind.

It was going to be hard work.

But for once in his life, Jason was eager to tackle it.

Where was he, he thought blindly, looking around. He had managed, in his haze of fury and quiet thought, to walk east across the shops of Oxford and Bond Street, ending up near Russell Square. He was only a few blocks from Mrs. Tottendale's residence in Bloomsbury Street. He knew this because he had, when he first came back to London, found Totty's direction, and had his driver rumble past once or twice, in the masochistic hope that the little house would be open.

On his last pass, some months ago, he had left the little wooden doll on the doorstep.

His feet must have followed the object of his thoughts, his feet carrying him to where he knew she would be.

Now he moved those feet with purpose, his direction known, his objective clear.

Jason had no idea what he would say, or what he would do.

He knew only that he had to see her.

Winn arrived at Totty's house nearly an hour after she left the celebration of Sarah Forrester's engagement to the Duke of Rayne. Oh, she had made it out the door of Lord Forrester's house quick enough, that was true. But Totty's carriage driver, usually adequately nimble, was stalled in his progress by the madness of St. James's traffic, combined with the new falling snow, making everyone on the road more cautious. Winn couldn't blame them-she could only wish she herself had shown more such caution.

The carriage ride home itself was a torture chamber-she had no company, as Totty had stayed home, and therefore had only herself and her thoughts. By the time she walked through Totty's door, she was emotionally, physically, completely exhausted. She barely acknowledged Leighton as he took her cloak, barely registered more than the single, all-consuming thought that had quieted to a low hum in her mind.

Jason was getting married. Jason belonged to someone else.

As Leighton moved away, Winn leaned her back against the front door, breathing deeply. What a silly way to feel about the situation. It was not as if Jason had ever belonged to her in the first place-therefore, it was only natural to assume that someday, he would belong to someone else.

But never in her heart's mind did she imagine that she would be a witness to it!

She put her hands over her tired eyes, rubbed deep. She'd always thought the news would come to her after the fact-months, perhaps even years. Someone would visit her in the little space she had rented in Paris, or they would write a letter with all the London gossip and mention that the Duke of Rayne had just had another baby with his wife. And she would take the news with a little sadness, but ultimately, her grieving at the fait accompli would be brief, and in private.

"There you go again!" she whispered to herself. "You cannot grieve what you have no claim to."

"What's that, dear?" Totty called out as she came down the steps, glass of sherry in hand.

"Nothing, Totty," Winn said, taking her hands off her eyes and looking up with what she hoped was an expressionless face.

"How was the party?" Totty asked.

"Fine," Winn replied as nonchalantly as she could manage.

"Did you see Phillippa Worth? I hope you mentioned to her how sorry I was to not attend, but these headaches-they are becoming less frequent but still overly annoying." Totty took an easy sip of her self-medication. "Sherry is really the only thing that helps."

"No, I'm sorry," Winn murmured. "I hadn't the opportunity." She'd arrived late. And when she had discovered who the groom was, she found herself requiring air and stepped out onto the terrace, and . . .

"Ah well." Totty shrugged. "When Phillippa wrote me about the party, I had the impression she would be the one to throw it, so at least I didn't miss one of her events."

Winn, who had been fixing her eyes at an innocuous point on the stairs, suddenly shifted her stare to Totty.

"When Phillippa wrote you about the party?" she asked.

Totty, for all her blithe abilities at social manipulation, looked like a child caught at mischief, turning red and averting her gaze.

"You knew!" Winn accused, coming off the door, taking the few steps to the base of the stairs.

"Knew what, dear?" Totty tried, but failed, to sound innocent.

"I hadn't wanted to leave France-who would want to leave France for England in the winter?" Winn exclaimed. "But then Lord Forrester's letter came, inviting me to his daughter's engagement ball, and since you said you wanted to go to London for a few days after the New Year, take care of some business, you claimed-"

"And we have taken care of some business," Totty replied defensively. "We had to meet with your publisher, show him your first two chapters, I had to instruct Leighton on the proper way to pack up things I would like to have, because if he did it himself-"

"Totty." Winn sighed. "You knew about Jason."

"Well, of course I did," she admitted guilelessly.

"You did. And you told me I should attend the party anyway. That I should 'renew my personal contact' with the Historical Society."

"Well, you did disprove that one of their most valuable paintings was created by whom they thought, they had every right to be mad with you, and yet they accept you as a candidate. That kind of goodwill has to be acknowledged. Besides"-Totty advanced down the steps slowly, purposefully-"what does it matter that the Duke of Rayne happened to be Miss Forrester's fiancee?"

What does it matter, indeed. She had never told Totty the full extent of her involvement with Jason. She had said only that Jason had, through chance and circumstance, become her traveling companion. Nothing more. She assumed the older, wiser woman assumed certain things, but she knew better than to try and talk about it with Winn.

And Jason had never told anyone of it, either.

Winn had the life she had chosen, that she had fought for. She should be happy. Was happy.

Besides, that involvement was six months ago. It hadn't been mentioned since. How did Totty know . . . ?

"Did you see him?" Totty asked as Winn had lapsed into silence.

Winn nodded mutely.

"Well?" Totty prompted.

Winn looked up at her friend then, her face resolute, strong. Betraying nothing.

"He's going to be very happy. Miss Forrester is all things lovely. There was no need to trick me into going."

Sadness crept into Totty expression even as she nodded resolutely. "It's better this way, don't you think? Now . . . now you'll never have to wonder."

"Wonder about what?" Winn replied, shaking her head. "Jason and I . . . we would have made each other miserable. I have the life I want, and it doesn't include another person. I have work to occupy my thoughts and the entire world to keep me company. I'm going to have another adventure. And then another one, and another. So don't you dare feel sorry for me."

Winn was not entirely certain Totty believed her bravado- Winn knew she did not believe it herself. But whatever Totty's reaction would have been-be it to embrace her young friend or tweak her nose or pour her some sherry-it was not to be revealed. Because at that moment, all conversation was cut short by a loud rapping from outside. And a voice.

"Winn! Winnifred Crane, you come out here right now!" Jason's commanding voice resonated through the hard oak of Totty's front door.

Winn's head whipped to the door, but every other part of her froze, a bird caught in the moment before flight.

"He should know better than to call you that," Totty said sardonically-but her attention, too, was breathlessly caught by what lay beyond the door.

"He does," Winn murmured.

"I know you're home," Jason called out. "Totty's carriage driver told me he just dropped you off. Winn, open the door, please."

Another long pause, as Winn was unable to move, unable to give any answer.

"If you are not going to see me . . . then . . . then listen to me," Jason's voice commanded.

"What do I do?" she breathed, only to receive a wide-eyed blinking from Totty.

"Listen to him," Totty replied.

"You are an absolute idiot," Jason said to the door, his breath coming in great gulps from walking briskly through the streets, even at times breaking into a run-and from the unexpected task of yelling through a door. But it was glorious. His blood running through his body, certain for the first time in six months of his actions.

Except . . . he still was entirely uncertain of what he was to say.

And so . . . he decided, right before his fist hit the door, to simply say everything.

"That's right, I called you an idiot. For all your ability to analyze paintings, and write treatises about your thoughts, and convince innkeepers to let us have a cut of the profits to put on a show, you are an absolute idiot." Jason paced, swiveling back and forth on Totty's small stoop. "You're an idiot for thinking you could write someone out of your story. That you could write me out of your memory. I'm always going to be there, whether you admit it or not. And you are always going to think of your time in Nuremberg and Vienna, and it is entangled with mine. Those are my cities, their memory belongs to me.

"But the brilliant thing is, I'm an absolute idiot, too-in thinking I could come back to England and forget you. You and I made the same mistake, thinking we could put each other in the past. I thought time would put you there, but then I saw you tonight . . . and you are not in my past. And I know I am not in yours. Do you want to know how I know?" Jason smirked. "Because you made one mistake. You slipped up, Winn. You said you would not include me in your book, if I didn't want to be. Now, you said it was because it would wreak havoc on my life if you did, but you never mentioned your life. It would cause absolute madness in your life, destroy your reputation. But if I had said I wanted to be included, you would do it. You would have let the madness come. Because you want me there.

"Yes, you do want me in your life. All your protestations of an independent nature are for naught. But what's more, you need me in your life. You need someone who knows just how seriously you take your work. You need someone who will remind you to come to bed, and carry you there when you fall asleep over your papers. You need someone to think you're beautiful when you have pencils sticking out of your hair. You need someone who will travel with you to the ends of the earth, but also give you a place to call home. You need someone to tease you and show you how to give it back, because you have about thirty years of catching up to do in that department."

In the periphery of his vision, Jason could see lights being lit in all the little houses along Bloomsbury Street, the curiosity of the neighbors winning over their desire to sleep. Everyone watching the Duke of Rayne declare his heart to the door of Mrs. Tottendale's house. The snow fell harder now, Jason's breath coming out white, a slight shiver threatening to overcome him. But his body was too full of everything-of hope, fear, wine, dread, exhilaration-to pay it much mind.

"And . . . and I need you. I need you to make my life . . . unpredictable. It's remarkably predictable being a Duke. I need you to remind me of my responsibilities, but once that's done, be willing to follow my lead into mischief. Or I'll follow yours. I need your passion. I needed to see the look on your face when you saw the Mediterranean, and I missed it. I wanted it so badly. And I need you to smile at me at least once a day. When you smile you look like you know everything in the world, do you realize that?"

Jason came to a standstill, facing the door head on. He opened his arms wide, everything inside of him wholly exposed and vulnerable.

"So, I'm calling your bluff, Winn. I want to be included in your story. I want to be in your life. And the madness that will come with it," Jason said. "I am here, and if you couldn't tell, I love you. All three parts of it. I know you're afraid. But if you feel the same . . . hell, if you feel a fraction of what I do, then . . . then all you have to do is open the door and let me in. Please, Winn. Just . . . just open the door."

Jason grew silent, his speech made, and now . . . now, all he had to do was wait for the answer.

On the other side of the door, Winn had not moved. Had not even dared to draw breath. Every word, every syllable Jason uttered had pierced her skin like an arrow. And now she stood there, bleeding, somehow lost in Totty's small foyer, her hand gripping the pedestal of the staircase to keep her from falling.

The voice from the outside had stopped, but she could tell he hadn't moved from his position. He was waiting for an answer.

"I don't know what do," she breathed. Finally moving some small part of her body, she reached her hand out and grabbed on to Totty's, holding on with all of her might. Totty squeezed back.

"What do you wish to do?" she asked gently.

"I . . . I worked so hard. To gain my independence. And I just received it. It is all I ever wanted."