Fleur looked away.

“I’m the one,” he said in a softer voice, “who will have to worry about you, wondering what I will do if you fall ill, or are taken advantage of, and I can’t even help you because you’re half a country away.”

Fleur did not speak for some time. “I cannot marry the baby’s father,” she finally said. “And I will not give up my child.”

“It will be with me,” he reminded her.

“But it won’t be mine,” she cried. “I don’t want to be its aunt.”

“You say that now, but what happens in ten years when you realize that no one will marry you?”

“I realize that now,” she said sharply.

“If you have this child and raise it yourself, you will be lost to respectable society. You won’t be able to stay here.”

She went still. “You would cut me off, then.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Never. But I cannot keep you in the house. Not while Marie-Claire is yet unmarried.”

Fleur looked away.

“Your ruin is her ruin. Surely you know that.”

“Of course I know that,” she said hotly. “Why do you think I—”

But she stopped, clamping her mouth shut.

“What?” he demanded. Why did he think she what?

She shook her head. And in a voice low and sad, she said, “We will never agree on this.”

He sighed. “I am only trying to help you, Fleur.”

“I know.” She looked up at him, her eyes tired and sad and maybe even a little wise.

“I love you,” he said, choking on the words. “You are my sister. I vowed to protect you. And I failed. I failed.”

“You did not fail.”

He threw out an arm, motioning to her still-flat belly. “You mean to tell me you gave yourself to Parnell willingly?”

“I told you, that’s not what—”

“I should have been here,” he said. “I should have been here to protect you, and I wasn’t. So for the love of God, Fleur, give me the opportunity to protect you now.”

“I cannot be my child’s aunt,” she said with quiet determination. “I cannot.”

Richard rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. He was so tired. He didn’t think he’d ever been so tired in his life. He would talk to her tomorrow. He would make her see.

He walked to the door. “Do not do something rash,” he said quietly. And then he added, “Please.”

She gave a single nod. It was enough. He trusted her. It was the damnedest thing, but he trusted her.

He let himself out of the room, pausing only briefly to acknowledge Marie-Claire’s presence in the hall. She was still standing near the door, her fingers nervously clasped together. He could not imagine she’d needed to eavesdrop; most of the conversation had been amply loud.

“Should I go in?” she asked.