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The drive outside Midton House was crowded with waiting carriages, their lanterns glowing against the darkness while footmen hurried back and forth, calling names and opening doors.

Olivia walked several paces ahead of him, her shoulders rigid, her chin lifted in that particular manner she adopted when she was furious and determined not to show it. James lengthened his stride until he caught up with her.

"Your aunt was being disrespectful," he said quietly, keeping his voice low as other guests passed nearby. "You needed me to intervene."

Olivia stopped beside the gravel drive and turned toward him, her grey-blue eyes flashing.

"I did not need you," she replied, folding her arms across her chest. "What I need is for you to be honest with me."

James stared at her, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice.

She continued before he could respond, the words coming faster now. "I need you to be consistent, James. I cannot keep experiencing this emotional whiplash of you coming near me, then pulling away, then returning again, sharing a few things before shutting yourself off once more. I cannot stand it anymore." She looked away for a moment, her voice softening painfully. "Perhaps it was better when we were not even friends."

James felt the words strike somewhere far deeper than he expected. He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, he noticed several people glancing in their direction.

"Keep your voice down," he warned, stepping slightly closer. "People are looking."

Olivia gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Let them look."

James frowned. "Olivia." His tone was firm, but she shook her head.

"No. I am tired of pretending everything is perfectly fine simply because we are in public."

He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that everything was not fine, that he had spent the entire evening thinking about her, watching the men watching her, and wondering why the thought of another man having her attention had made him so angry. Instead, he heard his approaching carriage and allowed the moment to retreat.

Their carriage drew to a stop, and James immediately stepped forward to open the door. He held out his hand, and after the briefest hesitation Olivia placed hers in it. He helped her inside, then climbed in after her and settled beside her.

The door closed, shutting them into the dimly lit interior as the carriage began to roll away from Midton House. For several moments neither spoke. James watched Olivia through the faint glow of the carriage lantern, seeing the hurt beneath her anger and feeling an unfamiliar sense of guilt settle heavily in his chest. He had thought keeping his secrets from her was an act of protection. Now he was beginning to understand that silence could wound just as deeply as truth.

"Why are you so upset?" he finally asked, his voice quieter than before.

Olivia looked toward the window, watching the dark countryside pass beyond the glass. "Because marrying you might have been the better option than Lord Boulton," she said, twisting her fingers together in her lap, "but choosing you has also taken many things away from me."

James frowned, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?" He had expected anger over his secrecy or perhaps frustration with his refusal to discuss his brother. He had not expected this. Olivia turned toward him, and the sadness in her expression made his chest ache.

"You took away my chance to carry my own baby," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to control it. James went still. "You took away my chance to be a real wife to a real husband." She swallowed, looking down at her hands. "You have doomed me to a life where I will never even have my first kiss."

James could only stare at her.

My God. What have I done?

The carriage continued through the darkness, wheels striking the road in a steady rhythm, while the words settled into his mind one by one. He had never considered the arrangement from that perspective. To him, marriage had been a solution, a legal necessity, a means of securing Felix's future while avoiding the continuation of his bloodline. He had thought he was giving Olivia safety. He had never stopped to ask what she wanted from her own life.

His anger disappeared, replaced by something much softer and far more painful. He looked at her properly then, noticing the sadness in her eyes, the tension in her mouth, the way she was trying not to cry. He had known she wanted children. She had told him that she valued family, that she wanted to be a mother, that Louiza was important to her. But he had somehow separated those facts from the woman sitting before him. He had treated her hopes as obstacles to his plan rather than as pieces of the life she had dreamed of.

"I had no idea you felt that way," he admitted, his voice low.

Olivia gave a small, wounded laugh and turned away. "Because you never cared to ask."

The accusation cut him more deeply than shouting could have done. James lowered his gaze.

She is right. I had spent so much time deciding what she needed without ever asking her.

He had assumed that because she had escaped Boulton and gained a title, she would be satisfied. He had never considered that she might mourn the things she had surrendered to become his wife. For the first time, James understood that his carefully constructed arrangement had not merely protected Olivia from one unwanted marriage.

I had asked her to sacrifice an entire future.

"I cannot give you everything you want," James said slowly, lifting his eyes to hers. "I cannot promise you the life you imagined." His heart tightened as he said it, because he knew exactly what he was refusing. Yet there was one thing he could change, one thing he could give her without making promises he could not keep. "But I can try to make up for at least one thing."