Later that night, once alone in his room, Sam finally exhaled. It felt as if he hadn't breathed properly for hours, as though an iron band constricted his chest. His body ached from having stood too long while chatting with Ravenscroft and some of his friends who hadn't yet returned to London. Somehow, standing always made his pain worse than walking. The prolonged time spent in one position, putting constant weight on his prosthesis, always left him in more pain than almost any movement.

He unbuttoned his trousers and sank into a comfortable upholstered chair. With quick, trained motions, he undid the leather harness on his thigh before kicking off the prosthetic leg and shoving it to the side. Once his trousers were back on, and his lone foot in nothing but a stocking, he wriggled his toes as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

He wondered how the dinner had gone between the Edwards and the Wycliffes. How had Ivy handled it? Maybe he shouldn't have told the Wycliffes the truth and saved her from the pain of knowing she wasn't the Edwards' biological child. But in the end, it was not his decision to make, and how could he deny a mother the knowledge of her lost child being alive? Everyone deserved to know the truth, even if it hurt.

As much as it had been painful that everyone knew about his parentage, Sam still preferred knowing to having it be a secret. At least he knew his father was an arse, instead of spending his life wondering who he was. His mother had fallen head over heels for the young Viscount Bodine, and at one point, they had even eloped to Gretna Green, most likely because his mother had been heavily pregnant.

For a brief period, his father had intended to do the right thing. But he had returned from the trip to Gretna Green two months later with a baby and no wife. Sam had been left with his maternal grandfather with only a terse explanation that his mother had passed away, and that Bodine had no interest in raising the bastard son.

Sam's grandfather had taken him in and raised him. Bodine had ensured that Sam received a gentleman's education and bought him his army commission, but other than that, they had little to no contact. On days when Sam felt particularly petty, he was glad his father had sired no other male heirs once he married. There were two half-sisters; Merrill and Edwina, but no more boys. While Sam could never inherit as a bastard, he found some satisfaction in knowing his father never got his precious male heir.

A soft knock on the door roused him. He didn't know how long he'd dozed off, but it couldn't be too long, as all the candles in his room were still burning.

"Enter," he called, wondering who would come to his room this late. Was it a servant coming to bring him news, or had Dash decided he wanted a chat?

His heart squeezed when the door opened, and Ivy stepped inside. He swallowed back the instant urge to tell her to leave before his resolve broke. She looked like a vision from one of his dreams, dressed in a beautiful white dress with a blue sash tied below her bosom, and her blonde hair pulled back into a bun at the back of her head. As usual, a few tendrils had escaped, falling down to frame her face. Ivy was never still enough for a hairdo to remain intact.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned her back against it as she took him in. He probably looked a fright, with his hair standing on end from running his hands through it too many times. Her gaze lingered on the empty part of his trouser leg for a moment, but it didn't seem to bother her. Why was she there?

When she said nothing, he tried to break the silence with a jest. "You will have to excuse me for not standing to greet you..." He nodded towards his missing lower limb with a wry smile.

"You didn't come to the dinner."

The words hung between them, and her eyes met his. His hands on the armrests clenched for a moment. Before he could say anything, she took a step into the room.

"Why?" she asked. "Why didn't you come?"

"I..." His words failed him. What could he say?

'It would have been too hard.'

'If I saw you again, I don't know that I could have left.'

'I wasn't welcome.'

That last one reminded him why he had to do this. Ivy was about to embark on a life that was far beyond anything he could ever offer her. And yet, his mouth refused to speak.

"The Wycliffes have offered to take me to London," Ivy continued as she walked across the room to stand in front of him, with her arms now crossed over her chest. "They want to launch me into society. Did you know that?"

He nodded slowly. The tantalising scent of lily of the valley filled his nostrils, and he had to restrain himself from reaching for her. She was so close he could feel her body heat. Damn, but he wanted to pull her close. To never let go.

"Sam?"

He looked up. He'd been too focused on not touching her and had forgotten to answer. "They mentioned." The knuckles on his hands were white from holding on to the chair's armrests, so he forced himself to relax. "How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know." Ivy balanced on the balls of her feet as she considered the question, slowly bouncing up and down. "I've always dreamed of leaving Tilbury and seeing what else is out there, and the idea of experiencing a London season is definitely tempting..."

"Understandable."

She made a face. "But also rather terrifying. What if I don't fit in? In Tilbury, people are used to me. They excuse my behaviour when I run through the streets with Darcy or forget what my mother sent me to the shops to fetch. I doubt the people of London will be quite so forgiving."

Sam smiled. "You will delight them all," he promised. "Anyone who can't see your charm is not worth your time."

A blush crept up Ivy's cheeks as she tried to hide her smile. Then her eyes fell on the packed valise at the bottom of the bed, and her eyes widened. Sam's stomach dropped.

"You're returning to London?"

There was no point denying it. "Yes. Tomorrow."

"Oh." The confused look on her face made him feel like the worst lout. "Were you not planning to say goodbye?"

"I... I thought it might be easier for both of us if I didn't."

She took a step away from him, a frown creasing her brow. "I... I don't understand. I thought...?"

"Your life is changing," Sam said quickly, hoping to make her understand. Hoping to take the hurt he could see in her eyes away. "You are no longer the daughter of a former solicitor. A country gentleman. You are about to have a season in London, and your prospects have wildly improved. There will be possible suitors in London far above my station. Men who can offer you more than I ever could."

Her frown deepened. "Should that not be my decision?"

"Of course, but..." He sighed and dragged his hand through his already mussed-up hair. "I simply cannot offer you the life you deserve. I'm a working man."

"A private investigator," she mumbled. "Were you ever a butler like you claimed?"

"Yes. I was both. Being a butler allowed me to gain information from other servants that would otherwise be hard to come by." He made a wry face. "No one knows the London gossip better than the servants. They probably know more than even the nosiest busybody of the ton."

A faint smile played across her lips. "I can believe that." She looked down at her hands playing with the end of the sash tied below her bosom as her teeth worried her bottom lip. "I suppose I will leave then."

Her gaze lifted, and their eyes met. "Goodbye, Sam."

A sudden panic at the thought of never seeing her again spurred him into action. He reached out to grab her arm, pulling her back towards him. She couldn't leave yet. He wasn't ready to give her up. Not yet. He just needed a few more minutes.

Her hand was warm in his with no gloves separating them. She stared at him with wide eyes and lips parted. He should let her go. It would be the wise thing to do. He'd always done the wise thing. He'd kept his head down when the other children in the village shouted slurs at him. He'd never confronted his father about the treatment of his mother. He'd followed orders in the army and climbed the ranks. He'd done the wise thing.

But he didn't want to be wise now.

He wanted Ivy.

"S... Sam?" she whispered.

If he could have, he would have stood up and pulled her into his arms. He desperately wanted to feel her against him, but with his prosthetic off, he didn't trust his balance at this moment. So instead, he turned her hand over in his and placed a gentle kiss inside her wrist. A quiet breath escaped her, but she made no attempt to pull away.

He would go to hell for this.

"Straddle me," he ordered softly.

~~~~~~