Although after tomorrow, she doubted she would see much of him. She would be betrothed and while it had not come about as she’d hoped—with a proper courtship and love—she certainly wasn’t going to be disrespectful of Beresford. Just as she understood her responsibilities to her family, she recognized her duties to her future husband. She would do nothing to cause him or Society to question her devotion to him.

Shoving herself away from the door, feeling as though no strength remained to her, she climbed the stairs to her rooms, carried through to her bedchamber, and gazed out the window. Her chest tightened to such a degree that she feared it might crush her heart. He was there. Standing so still, his arms raised, spread wide as he pressed his hands against either side of the glass.

How many nights had she sat here reading and looked across to see him doing the same? How often had she peered through parted draperies and watched him gazing out? After tonight, she would have to keep the draperies closed in order to avoid the torment of viewing what she couldn’t possess. After tomorrow, he could never kiss or touch her again. Could never hold her, stroke her, whisper in her ear.

She could never welcome him into her bed.

He would become little more than a customer who occasionally came to her shop for a purchase. How long before he read every penny dreadful and had no reason to wander through the aisles of shelves? How long before she was married and was no longer sharing her knowledge of books with her patrons, with him?

Because it didn’t matter that nothing had happened between her and Beresford. In the aristocratic world, it mattered only what people thought. Perception was everything.

Matthew could never be her future, but he was deserving of a proper goodbye. One more night of memories that would see her through into her dotage, that he would hopefully look back on with fond remembrance.

Where was the harm in indulging in her yearnings, her wants for just a few hours? For a short time, she could pretend that the horror in the library hadn’t happened, that her reputation wasn’t ruined, that come morning her life wouldn’t be dictated by Society’s rules rather than her own heart.

To avoid bringing her family total humiliation and shame, she would have to give up what she desired. But not for a few hours yet, not until the lark heralded the start of a new day. Not as long as the nightingale sang.