Effie’s eyes fell closed and her mouth softened under his. A part of her had feared that his feelings toward her would change. That after learning the truth about her origins, he would respect her less. But it appeared the opposite was true. He was gentler, sweeter. As though it was the first time their lips had touched.

And perhaps it was.

On every other occasion there had been something between them. Panic, tears, lies, and artifice. But not now. Now, they were both fully vulnerable. Fully themselves.

She curved a hand around his neck, bringing him closer.

He obliged her, deepening their kiss. He was less cautious now, his desire for her evident in the way he cradled her cheek and the strength with which his arm came about her waist. He held her fast against his chest, so close she could feel the heavy beat of his heart.

Effie’s own heart thumped hard in answer as she sank into the fierceness of his embrace. She kissed him back with warm, half-parted lips, sighing, yielding, her fingers twining in his hair. Her blood sang out—yes, yes, yes. This was exactly where she belonged. Where she’d always belonged.

It would have been so easy to succumb to the sensation.

Goodness, he’d all but said that he loved her! He’d offered her a house, fine dresses, a coach-and-four. More than that, he’d proposed something like a partnership. A mutual endeavor to reform the Rookery. The place both of them had, at one time, called home.

But Effie had another home. One she hadn’t recognized for what it was until today. The remote, iron-gated stone house where she’d learned, grown, transformed into a woman to be reckoned with.

The train rattled down the track. London was still a distance away. There were other stops in between. The next was one with which she was intimately familiar.

“I can’t,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Can’t what?”

“Be with you,” she said. “Not on those terms.”

Gabriel’s hand froze on the curve of her waist. A moment passed in absolute stillness, his unsteady breath mingling with hers, before he drew back to look at her. He stared into her eyes. “On any terms?”

“I still have a job to do.”

He released her from his arms, leaving her cold. “A job,” he repeated. The sardonic edge in his voice left no doubt as to what he thought of it.

She mustered an air of offended dignity—not an easy feat when her face was flushed and her lips still swollen from his kisses. “I see how it is. The only way we can be together is if I sacrifice what’s important to me. The notion of you sacrificing anything is ludicrous, I suppose.”