Without Jack the Ripper.

“Over here.”

At the sound of the male voice, she looked to the right.

Samuel T. was sitting on one of the stone benches, and he was staring off at the lawn, his elbows on his knees, his face as serious as she had ever seen it.

In her stilettos, she had to be careful over the brick walkway or risk shucking the silk covering of her heels—or, worse, tripping, falling, and making an ass of herself.

As she approached him, he got to his feet because he was first and foremost a gentleman, and it would be unthinkable for a man not to greet a lady properly.

After a quick, stiff embrace, he indicated the vacant space beside where he had been. “Please.”

“So formal.”

But her voice lacked the normal venom. And as she lowered herself onto the cool stone, she felt compelled to pull her skirt down to her knees and sit properly with her legs tucked under and her ankles crossed.

He was quiet for a while. So was she.

Together, they stared off at the ghostly shadows thrown by the flowers. The breeze was as soft as a caress and fragrant as bathwater.

“Did you do it?” he asked without looking at her. “Did you marry him?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations.”

In any other circumstance, she would have offered a snappy comeback, but his tone was so grave, it provided no target to trigger any aggression on her part.

In the silence that followed, Gin fingered both her engagement ring and the thin band of platinum that had been added beneath it.

“God, why did you do it, Gin?” Samuel T. rubbed his face. “You don’t love him.”

Even though she had the sense he was speaking to himself, she whispered, “If love were a requirement for marriage, the human race would have no need for the institution.”

After another long period of quiet, he muttered, “Well, I have something to say to you.”

“Yes, I gather,” she intoned.

“And I don’t anticipate this going over well.”

“So why bother.”

“Because you, my darling, are like poison ivy to me. Even though I know that it will only make things worse, I can’t help but scratch.”

“Oh, the compliments.” She smiled sadly. “You are as debonair as always.”

When he fell silent once again, she swung her eyes around to him and studied his profile. He really was a beautiful man, all the angles of his face straight and even, his lips full, his jaw prominent without being heavy. His hair was thick and parted on the side. With his aviators hooked on the V made by his fine, handmade and initialed button-down shirt, he looked like a polo player, a yachtsman, an old soul in a young body.

“You’re never this quiet,” she promoted, even as she began to worry about what he was going to say. “Not for this long.”

“That’s because … shit, I don’t know, Gin. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

She wasn’t sure what made her do it—no, that was a lie: When she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, it was because she recognized that they were both suffering. And she was tired of being so proud. Tired of fighting a battle where neither of them won. Tired … of everything.

And instead of pushing her away, either literally or figuratively, Samuel T. turned to her … and then she was holding him as he curled in close, all but laying out in her lap.

It felt so good to rub his back in slow circles, comforting herself as she comforted him. And oh, his body. She had been with him many times, in many places, and in many ways, and she knew every square inch of his muscular form.

Yet it felt like forever since they had been together.

“What has gotten you so upset?” she murmured. “Tell me.”

Eventually, he straightened, and as he ran his palms over his eyes, she became alarmed. “Samuel T.—what is going on?”

His chest expanded, and as he exhaled, he said, “I need you to just let me get this out, okay? For once in your life—and I’m not fixing to argue here—for once in your life, please just listen. Don’t respond off the cuff. In fact, if you don’t respond at all, it’s probably better. I just … I need you to hear what I’m saying, all right?”

He glanced over at her. “Gin, okay?”

Abruptly, she became aware that her heart was beating in a crazy way and her body had broken out in a sweat.

“Gin?”

“Fine.” She put her arms around her stomach. “Okay.”

He nodded and splayed out his hands. “I think Richard hits you.” He put a palm up. “Don’t respond, remember. I’ve already decided he does, and you know me better than anyone. As you’ve so often told me, once I make up my mind, it takes an act of Congress to get me to change it—so there is nothing you can do to alter this conclusion.”

Gin refocused on the beautiful flowers … as she tried to ignore the fact that she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“I think those bruises came from him, and that you’re wearing scarves to cover them up.” His chest rose and fell. “And although I can quite confidently say that you have driven me to the brink of madness many, many times, it never once occurred to me to lay a hand on you. Or any other woman.”

She closed her eyes briefly. And then heard herself say bleakly, “You’re more of a man than that.”

“The thing is, I just … I need to tell you that the idea of anyone, and I don’t care who the fuck it is, striking you or yanking you or … oh, God, I can’t bear to think of what else …”

She had never heard him trail off before. Never heard this cocksure, maddening, contrary man seem so completely defeated.

Samuel T. cleared his throat. “I know you married him because you think your family’s out of money and that scares you. At the end of the day, you don’t know how to be anything other than rich. You’re not trained to do anything. You almost dropped out of school because of that child you had. You’ve flitted around creating drama for a living. So yes, the idea of having to rely on yourself, without a safety net of incredible wealth, is going to be really terrifying, to the point where you can’t even comprehend it.”

She opened her mouth.

And then closed it.

“What I really want to say is two things,” he continued. “First, I want you to know you’re better than that, and not because you’re a Bradford. The truth is, no matter what happens to the money, you’re a strong, smart, capable woman, Gin—and up until now you’ve used those virtues in bad ways, dumb-ass ways, because quite frankly, you haven’t had any real challenges put in front of you. You’ve been a warrior without a field of battle, Gin. A fighter without a foe, and you’ve been lashing out at everything and everyone around you for years now, trying to burn off the energy.” His voice grew unbearably hoarse. “Well, I want you to channel all that in a different way now. I want you to be strong for the right reasons. I want you to take care of yourself now. Protect yourself now. You have people who … you have people who love you. Who want to help you. But you’re going to need to take the first step.”