Aliya was walking with her arm looped around Fatima's, both of them enjoying the heat of the afternoon sun that melted the snow from last night's blizzard.

"Carrie also shared that he smells, my lady," Fatima was saying. "And that he is a notorious drunkard."

"There is no reason to fret for now, Fatima, as I have not yet made my decision," she said with a laugh. "Do not look so disgruntled!"

"I can only imagine what he looks like. Long, greasy hair; bushy beard that covered his face—"

"Half his face, Fatima. Carrie must have been overly annoyed to have covered his face in her mind."

"She also shared that he is quite loud."

"Well, he can be—"

"Ali!"

Aliya froze in her spot while Fatima jumped, startled by the booming call.

"Is that him?" Fatima asked, eyes narrowed and head moving forward as she peered at the approaching giant. "His hair is not long, then it must be someone else. But he is a giant, so it must be—"

"It is him, Fatima," Aliya dryly said as she withdrew her arm and walked to meet St. Vincent. "I thought we have already agreed that you no longer follow me around, St. Vincent," she hissed.

He smiled down at her. "No, we made no such agreement. And no, I was not following you. I saw you from across the park."

Aliya sighed. Fatima reached them; her eyes wide as she looked up at St. Vincent. "Oliver, this is Fatima. Fatima, Dr. Oliver St. Vincent."

"G-good afternoon, Doctor!" her maid greeted with a quick curtsy, shamelessly staring at his face.

"Fatima, do I have something on my face?" St. Vincent asked with a frown, consciously rubbing his shaved chin. And then he slowly grinned as Fatima's face flushed. "Ah, I believe you have heard about me. Did they say I look like a madman?"

Fatima's eyes wandered down to his torso. "I was also told you are quite overweight. And yes, I was told you are a madman. And you are evidently not!" Aliya frowned at her maid, thoroughly confused.

"Where are you going today, my lady?" Oliver asked her.

"Fatima is joining me for a walk to the café. I am meeting a friend."

"Ah," he said, squeezing between her and Fatima. "I will do the honor of walking you to the location. Is that fine with you, Fatima?"

Fatima, still gaping at St. Vincent, slowly nodded.

Aliya scoffed in disbelief.

Taking her elbow, St. Vincent guided her away from her maid to continue down the cobbled footpath. Aliya looked over her shoulder. Fatima remained where she was, seemingly enchanted.

St. Vincent bent his head near her ear and furtively whispered, "I have a very good feeling that your maid is enamored by me."

Aliya leaned away from him so he had a good picture of her scowling face. "You cut your hair. Why? And—" she said, raising her finger to stop him from answering, "—do not tell me that your mother found the scissors."

He blinked at her with mock innocence. "My mother has returned to Herst."

"Then I should be relieved, yes?"

"No, I am afraid not."

"Why?"

He brushed aside a gentleman blocking their path as he talked. "She came to Herst to fetch my father and my sister."

"And why would she fetch your father and your sister?"

He did not answer immediately for he scowled at the flock of women chatting in the middle of their path, saying, "This is not a bloody ballroom, ladies!"

The ladies threw him a scornful look as they took a step back.

"Oliver," she prodded, voice filled with warning. "Why is she fetching your father and your sister?"

He guiltily grimaced. "I may have told her I asked for your hand—"

"You did not!"

"Well, I did and—"

She slapped his arm. "Why would you do that!"

Ignoring her question, he said, "I need an answer soon, Ali. I am afraid my mother is starting to plan for a wedding. We badly need a bride."

Aliya's eyes rounded. "Ollie, that is preposterous!"

"I told her the same. But I warn you, Ali, she is one persistent woman."

"But I have not yet made my decision!" she hissed at him.

"Fret not, they can always pack and go home," he said with a brush of his hand.

They walked through the shoppers that crowded outside a new bakery. A man recognized him and tried to catch his attention, but St. Vincent lifted his hand to stop him, as he said to her, "But you will have to tell me that it is indeed possible to get out of Belcourt."

"Of course, it is," she retorted. Up ahead, she could already see the café where she was supposed to meet Sasha. "But it comes with a price."

"What kind?"

"I need to pay for my dowry. And I have to sign a Vow."

"The dowry is understandable, but tell me more about this Vow."

Aliya sighed. "Every lady who can pay her dowry out of Belcourt will have to sign a Vow. It signifies a favor you either have to give or do for Belcourt even after you leave."

"This Vow can be anything?"

"Yes."

"And if they say your Vow is to return to Belcourt?"

"No, that is not possible. Belcourt respects a lady's choice to leave if she can. It is in their law."

"And they can claim this Vow anytime and anywhere they wish?"

Aliya nodded.

"Then you are not entirely free of Belcourt."

"Unless they claimed a Vow, no, you are not, but you can enjoy everything that a normal Sutherland citizen can."

"So long as you give them what they want or do what they wish when they want to claim the Vow."

"Yes. Some former Belles are still waiting for Belcourt to claim their Vows. Some of them may have died and never had to grant a Vow."

"And if you do not like the Vow?"

"I will have no choice. I will be subjected to Belcourt law should I choose not to grant the Vow."

"Now, that is the preposterous one, Ali."

She shrugged. "Rearing a child and providing them everything they need to survive the world outside of Belcourt costs not only time and energy, St. Vincent. It costs money as well."

"But you are basically prisoners."

"No, not really," she said through her teeth. "You get used to it." While he scowled at her statement, she said, "You have not answered my question. Why did you cut your hair?"

Aliya did not particularly dislike the new look. His once shoulder-length hair was now reduced to a Brutus haircut, but still equally disheveled. She knew the rumpled look was in fashion, but having brushed her fingers through St. Vincent's tresses—clean and unclean—she was quite certain that the messy waves were natural. He looked handsome, he truly did. Blazes, he even looked ravishing. Fatima's expression earlier was enough testimony.

"Can I answer that I just woke up and realized that it grew short overnight?"

Aliya rolled her eyes. "I liked your long hair."

"I did tell my butler the same thing when he called for the barber. They did not believe me, although they assured me that the hair will grow back."

A chuckle escaped her lips and she fought hard to control it.

"The short hair saves me a great amount of time in washing it."

She stole him a look. "You look different."

"You are not pleased I am doing it for you?"

"No, because you ought to be doing it for yourself. I would be much impressed if you can control your drinking, Ollie."

"Ah," he said, dramatically clutching his chest. "My heart..."

Aliya frowned to cover her amusement. "Whatever is wrong with you?"

He sighed and laughed. "I like it when you call me Ollie."

Aliya shook her head and slowed her pace. They would reach the café soon.

"Have you thought of an answer?"

"I just told you that I have not yet made my decision."

He blocked her path with a wicked grin. Good lord, he looked marvelous. The short bristles on his chin accentuated his sharp jaw and his hazel eyes gave life to the rest of his face. But she missed the slightly longer beard. "At least tell me that you are considering my condition—or offer."

"No... yes..." she paused to reorganize her thoughts and looked at him straight in the eye. "I will come and see you when I have made a decision," she sternly said.

His eyed her thoughtfully. "Very well, fair enough."

She moistened her lips and circled him to continue her walk.

"You do not have to enter—" she began when they reached the café, but he already opened the door for her. With a sigh, she murmured, "If she asks, you are naught but a friend."

"Of course," he said.

Sasha stood to greet her when she approached the Belle's table with St. Vincent walking behind her. They greeted each other, but before Aliya could make introductions, St. Vincent bowed and said, "I am Oliver, my lady, a friend of Lady Aliya. I am assuming that you are Sasha."

Sasha slowly nodded, her bluish-grey eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Have we met before, Mr. Oliver?"

Aliya turned to St. Vincent to hear his answer. He shrugged. "I have met many beautiful ladies before. Perhaps our paths have crossed while I was foxed."

"Which is nearly always," Aliya grumbled under her breath before saying, "Thank you for the company, Ollie."

"My pleasure, Ali," he said, mocking another low bow. "Have a great day, ladies."

Aliya noticed Sasha's curiosity reign even after St. Vincent had taken his leave.

"You two seem quite chummy," said Sasha after a while, picking up a biscuit.

"We know each other, that is all. Friends," she said with a shrug. "Surely you have other gentlemen friends, Sasha?"

"But he is not a flower," Sasha pointed out.

"We were introduced long before," she dismissively replied.

The look on Sasha's face turned different as if she suddenly remembered something. "Oliver St. Vincent, the drunk doctor."

Aliya went cold. "You know him?"

"Yes, of course. He—he was the one who operated on me after Willoghby's attack." The Belle turned her head as if hoping to see St. Vincent still outside. "He acted as though he did not recognize me."

"He often does not recognize people he met while he was foxed, Sasha," Aliya said in jest, adding a chuckle. She reached for her tea and tried her best to calm down.

"You have to be careful around him, Aliya."

Aliya felt her jaw going tight and she fought against it because Sasha was intently looking at her. "Why?"

"He is the owner of Sinclair. Surely you must know that."

"Of course. And he happens to be the best doctor in Sutherland."

"He is friends with We—Blackwood," Sasha said in a nonchalant, detached tone as though she did not deliberately correct herself from saying her first flower's first name.

"Sasha, West Blackwood is a duke. He knows many people and not all of them are from the Circus."

"He was the person Blackwood trusted enough to save me and that meant something."

"Are you suggesting he is part of the Circus?" she asked in a low voice.

"He may be one of the Royal Circus's doctors, Aliya. And if he is, then he can be a key to our success. I am certain he has a list of all his patients." The hairs at the back of Aliya's neck stood as she watched Sasha pick up her cup with complete calmness and control. "And since you claim to be friends with St. Vincent, you can investigate."

"My friendship with him is not—"

"West Blackwood was a lesson we all learned from, Aliya. These men can make us feel differently. They will confuse us and play with our vulnerabilities. We cannot let that happen. You always tell the other Belles the same thing, yes? Friendship or not, Oliver St. Vincent may be a potential threat."

Aliya's hand balled into a fist under the table as Sasha easily diverted the topic about her new flower and the balls they were planning to attend in Coulway.

*****

Aliya was not even surprised when St. Vincent caught up with her as she passed by the bakery an hour or two later.

He walked beside her without a word.

She should find this gesture of him odd and disturbing, but she did not. She was comfortably walking with the man in silence.

"St. Vincent! I almost did not recognize you!" one gentleman in a passing carriage shouted.

Aliya watched as he scowled at the man, shouting, "And I do not bloody know you, but I remember the look of your innards!"

"That was rude!" she said with a laugh.

"I did not have the chance to know his name as he was dying from a bullet wound. Found the bullet lodged in one of his intestines. Lucky bastard, really," he dismissively said. "How was your time with Sasha?"

"Interesting," she admitted. "She remembers you to be the man who saved her when she was attacked."

"Ah, yes. I had to open her up and burn a severed artery with a hot iron rod."

She blinked in horror. "I did not ask for the details of the procedures you did for both that man in the carriage and Sasha."

"Apologies. But if you ask me, I did not save her life. Blackwood did. He ordered one of his friends to drag me to his villa."

"Still, you were the one who did the operation."

"Because it was my job."

"As a doctor?"

He looked at her, his hazel eyes filled with laughter as always. "Yes, of course."

They crossed the street and entered the park. They could have just kept walking straight to Penrose Lane, but they seemed to both know the route was too short.

"If you marry me, I will be a good husband," he said.

A very simple statement that would have surely been spoken by thousands of other men, but Aliya still felt a tingling sensation rush down to her fingertips. Her heart began to thump hard and fast, her mind giving her images of St. Vincent--the different stages of his hair and beard; his laughter; his ridiculous way with words; and good God, even his mother!

"If we marry, we will have to deal with each other's secrets," she bluntly said. "I know you have some and you very well know I have my own. Will you be able to deal with the fact that I may not readily share them?"

He took his time and she waited.

"I can wait for another fourteen years for you to reveal your secrets," he said, breaking the silence. "But I am confident you will share them with me in less than a year."

Aliya scoffed. "You are too confident, St. Vincent."

"I am. And have I also said that I am rarely wrong?"

"You do not have to."

He grinned at her.

She looked ahead. They reached the end of the park.

"You should grow your hair back," she told him.

"It shall start to grow the very day of our marriage."

Aliya let out a helpless chuckle. "Good night, St. Vincent," she said. "I shall give you an answer soon."

"How soon?"

"I do not have much time, so it shall certainly be soon."

"Why not now?"

Aliya smiled. "I need to ask for votes."

"Votes?" he frowned.

Leaving him with a mysterious smile, Aliya crossed the street and walked down Penrose Lane.

*****

Aliya only had to ask Carrie and Fatima and both ladies voted differently.

She asked Carrie by pulling the woman to the side while Fatima helped Maya in the kitchen. "What say you to me marrying Oliver St. Vincent?"

"Will you be using your money to pay for your dowry?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you will use his money for Mason and Delaney?"

"Yes."

Carrie towered over her and she looked up as the woman thoughtfully rolled her eyes to the side. "No. Do not marry him," Carrie hissed. "He is an obnoxious human being. He will make your life hell."

"You truly think that?"

"Yes."

Moments later, she cornered Fatima in the corridor. "What say you to me marrying Oliver St. Vincent?"

Fatima's face softened. "Yes."

She blinked in surprise. "Yes?"

Fatima eagerly nodded. "Yes."

Aliya frowned. "That makes the votes even."

"Then the decision rests upon you as it should, my lady," Fatima said with a smile.

Much later, Aliya paced around her bedchamber after her meal, biting her lower lips with a frown.

She paused in front of the window and looked up at the starless sky.

Sasha's words came back to her.

He may be one of the Royal Circus's doctors, Aliya...

Aliya never truly considered him as part of the Royal Circus. Of course, she suspected him, as she suspected almost every other man she met since Sasha uncovered the secret club.

But Oliver St. Vincent as a member of the Circus?

If Sasha's allegations were false, Aliya would gladly accept it. Oliver St. Vincent would not be important to Belcourt and he would be spared.

But what if it was true? What if she married a member of the Royal Circus?

The realization clicked in without warning and when it did, Aliya whirled around and grabbed her cloak.

"Carrie! The stagecoach! Now!" she cried out as she ran down the stairs.

Nearly half an hour later, Aliya was welcomed into St. Vincent's large villa.

Jason, his butler, took her to his study.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, hastily covering the animal on the table. "It was delivered to me dead. I did not kill it," he added, noticing the look on her face. His gaze turned serious and he approached her.

She sniffed. He did not smell like brandy, but he smelled like burnt flesh.

She searched his face.

"Ali?" he asked, brows raised. "Has something happened? Has someone passed away again?"

Aliya took a long breath and stepped closer. She reached up and cupped his face, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She could not name the emotions swirling inside her, or the flurry of thoughts running in her mind. But she knew one thing.

She raised to her toes and planted her lips against his, surprising him.

Stepping away before the kiss deepened, she squared her shoulders.

She did not know what she felt for this man for it was an endless mess of bad and good and funny. She did not know if she was making the right decision, but her mind was screaming this was the best option.

"Why are you here, Ali?" he asked, voice filled with knowing. She knew he could not help the smile. Looking into his hazel eyes, she knew that he knew why she came here.

"If you are a member of the Royal Circus, Ollie, then yes, I will marry you."