Sophie swallowed and looked at her earnestly. “I need to ask you something. Would you mind if I told someone else—someone I trust—about the babe?”

“Why?” Violet said, frowning.

“It’s rather complicated,” Sophie said. “But I’m hoping that the truth will help all of us heal … at least a little.”

“I trust you.” Violet shrugged and smiled weakly as she patted her protruding stomach again. “And, in any event, the truth is becoming more and more difficult to deny.”

“Thank you,” Sophie said. She wasn’t entirely sure how Reese would react to learning about his brother’s baby, but she knew the man he was, deep inside. He’d do the right thing in the end.

Already, her traitorous heart bounced at the thought of seeing him again. It had only been two weeks since they’d said goodbye, but it felt like two months.

And although it would be torturous to see him and not be able to touch or kiss him, she needed to tell him about his brother in person. Reese deserved to hear the news from someone who cared about him. From someone who loved him.

Visiting him at Warshire Manor was risky—especially since his staff were likely to be there. But an idea was already taking shape in Sophie’s mind.

And, if all went as planned, she’d meet with Reese tonight.

Chapter 27

The rushing waterfall behind Reese spilled into a shallow pool surrounded by colorful flowers that bowed over their rippled reflections. Usually, the splashing soothed him, but tonight his emotions churned like the water beneath the seven-foot drop.

Sophie’s note, delivered by his footman, had simply said, “Meet me at midnight by the waterfall.”

She referred to the most remote section of the garden, tucked away behind the field of grey asphodels and the grove of black poplars like a hidden treasure. He’d left the house half an hour before midnight, placing a few lanterns along the path to light the way for Sophie. He brought a few more lamps to the patch of grass near the waterfall, and they illuminated the whole area with a soft, hazy glow.

Nearby, a large swing hung from the branch of an ancient bur oak—the kind that could have been home to fairies and pixies. Reese threw a quilt onto the wooden swing seat and paced in front of it, scrubbing the back of his neck as he contemplated what might have prompted her to write the note.