“I give you plenty of credit. I’ve already thanked Cate profusely for saving my sister,” Merriweather argues. “Don’t you think Belastra deserves accolades, too, for risking his neck?”

Finn’s brow is furrowed as he stands. “Cate, may I speak to you for a moment? In private?”

Moore chuckles behind his whiskers. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

I can feel the prickly heat spreading up my throat and across my cheeks. I must look like a strawberry. Finn doesn’t say anything and he’s flushing, too, and the silence is horrible. I stand as he strides for the stairs. Leaving the meeting to chase after him will only make me look more foolish in Merriweather’s eyes but—

“Go ahead. Prue and I can handle this,” Rilla promises, waving a hand to encapsulate Merriweather and the rest of the men gathered around the table.

I go.

Finn is standing in the storeroom next to a lantern that throws a dim circle of light. The room smells of paper and ink and dust and now it feels right because Finn is here too, smelling of bergamot from his tea. He leans against a cabinet full of accounting ledgers, and I stand next to him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “This is a damned awkward thing to have to ask, but I don’t see any way around it. What are we, Cate?”

“I— Pardon?” I ask stupidly.

“What are we to each other?” Even in the dim light, I see his ears go red. “Was that man right? Are—are we lovers?”

“We were in love. Engaged, briefly, before I joined the Sisterhood.” I cast about. How can I explain what was between us in just a few sentences? It was trust and respect built on dozens of tiny moments—moments that he no longer has any memory of. “After that, it had to stay a secret.”

Finn is so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him in the cold room, but I cannot read his expression. What must he be thinking? “Why?” he asks.

“They threatened you and my sisters if I didn’t come willingly to New London. Because of the prophecy.” I feel so bumbling. I bite my lip, terribly aware that Finn’s eyes travel to my mouth. The air between us feels electric again, like the moments before a lightning storm.

“The prophecy?” he mutters. “Good Lord. Are you the oracle?”

“No. It’s Tess.” I say it without thinking.

His eyes are warm on my face. “You must trust me a great deal to tell me that.”

“I do.” More than anyone else in the world.

He nods, almost as if he hears the words I don’t say. “Why didn’t you come to me and tell me everything right away? The second you realized I wasn’t myself?”

“I should have. I just—I couldn’t bear it.” My gaze falls to the wooden floor, and he reaches out and tilts up my chin so I have no choice but to look at him. “You don’t remember being in love with me, Finn. How could I come to you and tell you that?”

A tear trickles down my cheek. Finn brushes it away with the pad of his thumb. “This must be very difficult for you.”

“Not as difficult as it’s been for you.” I struggle against it, but another tear escapes. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Shhh.” Finn draws me into his arms. I bury my face against the soft cotton of his shoulder. Perhaps he’s only doing this because he feels obliged, because he feels guilty for not remembering me, but for a moment, I let myself pretend otherwise. I am pressed against him, our bodies touching from knees to shoulders, and there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be. He tucks a strand of blond hair behind my ear. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out together,” he whispers, and his breath on my neck sends a not-unpleasant shiver through me.

I turn my head. “I’ve missed you.” My lips almost touch his throat.

He lets out a little hum of pleasure, his hands moving on my back, burning warm through the gray silk. And I cannot help it. I press a kiss to the warm, smooth skin just above his collar. He tastes of salt and soap and Finn. His hands clutch at the fabric of my dress and I tilt my head and I’m not sure who moves first, but then we are kissing, we are kissing, and—

I am lost. I forget to go slow, forget this is—to him—our first kiss, forget about caution or reputation. My hand fumbles beneath his vest and I press a palm against the small of his back to anchor him against me. His lips move soft and hot and slow against mine. When I arch my neck, his mouth moves to my throat, making love to me until I curl my fingers though the crisp hair at his nape and pull his face back to mine. I nip at his bottom lip with my teeth and his tongue slips into my mouth and his hands are soft on my waist and—

It feels like it did before. It feels like the secret room, the gazebo, the conservatory. I can close my eyes and pretend that we are back in Chatham in the autumn rose garden, surrounded by hedges and the sweet scent of my mother’s roses.

I can pretend that he still loves me.

Finn stills. He rests his forehead against mine, his breath coming fast. “Cate, we should talk about—” he begins, and then his eyes settle on something behind me.

“What is it?” I ask. His hands relax on my waist, but he doesn’t entirely let me go.

The wooden floor is carpeted in rose petals. They’re everywhere: drifting onto the shelves, blanketing the boxes of pens and the accounting ledgers. I run a hand through my hair, find one caught in my braid, and hold it in my palm. It’s a deep scarlet, just like the ones in Mother’s rose garden, and velvety soft. The scent is intoxicating.

I did this. Just like with the feathers.

But this time, Finn knows what I am.

“I lose my head around you. Always have,” I confess.

“I suspect the feeling is mutual.” Finn traces the line of my neck, and I shiver again. He winds his fingers through my blue sash and pulls me back against him. His mouth lowers to mine.

We are thoroughly lost in each other when the back door swings open and a man clad in Brotherly black bursts into the room. We spring apart, but the man’s cold-marble eyes slide over us. Over my wrinkled dress and swollen lips. Over Finn’s untucked vest and messy hair.

“So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to, Belastra?” Brother Ishida’s lips twist into a sneer. “And you, Miss Cahill. What of your vow to the Sisterhood? Are you not meant to spend your life in chaste service to the Lord?”

Finn’s jaw works. “Did you follow me?”

“I did, and what of it? You’ve been acting downright odd. I thought you were in league with those who’ve been working to bring Sean Brennan back into the fold.” Ishida eyes me, stepping closer, and I press back against the cabinet. “I’ve been waiting out there in the carriage for an hour and I’m half frozen. And here you’ve just been dallying with this strumpet!”

“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” Finn growls.

“It’s plain as the nose on my face what you two have been up to. I was young once myself, you know.” Ishida gives a lecherous smile. “But a member of the Sisterhood—this can’t be shoved under the rug, Belastra. She’s got to be made an example of.”

“The hell she has.” Finn steps in front of me.