Aliya stalked down the corridors of Sinclair far ahead of Ellise and Simon, her eyes frantically searching each room even though a woman was rushing ahead of her to show the way.

She was led unto the third landing and into a large room with a bed in the middle where Oliver was sitting, arguing with a doctor, saying he was fine and he did not need to lie down.

He stopped when he saw Aliya burst inside.

"Ali," he said, looking bewildered at the sight of her. She could not blame him. Her auburn hair was down and in disarray. And she was not even dressed properly. She had thrown her coat over her nightdress and rushed out of the villa earlier in naught but her indoor lace slippers.

As Ellise and Simon burst into the room behind Aliya, she had already reached Oliver, her hands cupping his face to search for injuries before proceeding to assess his entire form, her shaking hands restlessly patting his arms, his legs, while her tears uncontrollably streamed down her face.

The relief that he was alive and unharmed save for a few bruises on his arms merely fueled her sobs. Her head still bent, Aliya whimpered.

"Ali," he softly said, reaching out to hold her arm, but she brushed it away.

She suddenly turned cold, her mind overtaking her emotions. It could have been worse. They said he fell from a carriage. That was all Jason could tell her. In the carriage ride to Sinclair, she asked Simon what happened, her tone nearly hysterical. Her father-in-law could not provide more than what Jason was told. Not knowing the exact state of her husband while sitting restlessly inside the carriage, Aliya's imagination led her to the worst scenario.

But after seeing him nearly uninjured, the fear quickly disappeared, replaced by the unreasonable feeling of shame. And perhaps anger because now she knew that Oliver could do this to her.

Squaring her shoulders, she briskly wiped her face with the back of her hand and sniffled. Blinking, she haughtily lifted her chin and met his gaze, her jaw tight.

"I am no doctor, but I believe you will not die tonight. I find no need to be here," she coldly said, her tone the same as when she walked out on him earlier at Stark's.

Without giving him a chance to say a word, she turned and quickly walked away. Her knees felt weak with relief. Aliya did not know how to deal with the emotions that swirled inside her.

Ellise followed her out of the room, quietly offering her comfort.

Only when they reached the carriage that Aliya allowed her tears to come out again.

Her sister-in-law reluctantly reached for her hand and quietly squeezed it.

It was enough for Aliya.

*****

His father's friend, Dr. Pemberton, broke the silence, saying, "You are lucky you did not sustain any serious injury, Oliver."

Oliver did not reply, Aliya's distraught and cold face still very fresh in his mind.

His father approached them. "How many men attacked you?"

"Three women," he bitterly said through his teeth. "I was in Keene's carriage."

Simon nodded. "We should have suspected they would find out about Keene's activities."

Oliver did not reply. He did not care what the bloody earl was doing or what his mission was.

Simon turned to Pemberton who nodded and left the room.

His father did not say a word for quite some time, letting the silence reign between them, but when the man finally opened his mouth, Oliver was suddenly filled with rage. "Aliya is distraught, Oliver. And she is quite angry as well. You should have seen her fly down the stairs to get to the carriage to get to you."

"I would not be here if she did not throw all the liquors from the house! My house!"

His father looked at him somberly. "You do not blame anyone else when your anger is directed toward yourself, Oliver."

He turned away from his father to glare at the door.

"It could have been her, you know," his father said, the words eerily floating to his ears and he stiffened. "She would have been the one who got attacked. Your attackers meant to target Keene and if they learned that he was with Aliya..." Simon trailed, unable to finish his sentence.

Oliver went cold. Blood drained from his face.

"And you would have been too drunk to even save her, son," were his father's final words before leaving Oliver alone in the room.

*****

When Oliver entered the dark bedchamber, Aliya was in bed, facing away from him.

He slowly sank into the bed, sitting with his back turned at her, resting his elbows on his thighs, burying his face into his hands.

He was too large and too quick for the three women earlier. And he was not their intended target. After a short bout inside the carriage, the three women managed to throw him out of the carriage and disappeared as fast as they came. By now, Belcourt may now believe he was part of the Circus.

The carriage driver claimed he fell unconscious immediately after falling unto the cobbled ground and Oliver knew it was not because of the impact. He was too intoxicated.

He let out a shaky breath, his father's words ringing in his ears.

He had been careless, too foxed to think earlier. He should not have taken Keene's carriage.

He may not have sustained any injuries, but he was harming his relationship with his wife.

The urge to grab drink came to him, tempting him once more. But he refused this time, sleeping in his side of the bed to try to summon sleep when he knew it would not come easily.

When he woke the next morning, Aliya was no longer in their bedchamber. Oliver washed his face and dressed to look for her.

He poked his head in the parlor and found Ellise quietly sitting inside with a copy of The Sutherland Post in her hand. His sister just looked at him, her eyes telling him he was not welcome inside. Scanning the room and not finding his wife, he closed the door. His father was in the library, reading a book. His wife was not there.

Refusing to ask anyone where his wife was, Oliver ventured into the garden where he found her sitting in a stone bench, bending to her knees as she frowned down at a flower.

He saw her stiffen as he approached, but he was relieved that she did not move away when he at the space beside her. She instinctively wrapped her Kashmir shawl around her, a soldier lifting her shield. Oliver hated that she would feel like she was going to battle in his presence.

"Ali, I am deeply sorry," he started, for it was all he could think of.

Her jaw twitched. "You are very lucky to be amongst the few who could easily apologize," she said, voice hollow, as barren as the expression on her expression. Her eyes remained on the yellow flower.

In a grave tone, he asked, "What do you want me to do? Just tell me and I will do it. I will stop drinking—"

Her head snapped so she could look at him. The empty look in her eyes clenched at the pit of his stomach. "I do not know, Oliver, perhaps I want you to stop blaming yourself for what happened."

He frowned in confusion, at first thinking about the carriage incident, but then he saw the look of pity in her eyes and he blinked. His jaw tightened. "Mother told you."

She looked away. "You never planned on telling me of your history with my father, did you?"

He did not answer right away. "Yes." He was angry. Not at her, but his mother. She should not have told Aliya. She had no right. But knowing Natalia St. Vincent and her penchant for truths and fewer lies, he was not surprised. It must be that day she joined his mother in the greenhouse in Winfield. She had been crying and he should have known when she refused to tell him.

And then the realization that Aliya was aware for quite some time caused him to frown. She never confronted him and she had been nothing but patient with him until they reached Coulway and his drinking became uncontrollable.

She had been waiting for this moment, he realized.

He searched her face. What was she thinking now?

"I feel bad for what my father did to many people, and what it caused you, but I do not care about him. I hate him more than anyone alive can hate a man," she said, her gaze not on him but at the shrubberies before them. "He was the reason I had to flee to Belcourt with Delaney. It was not you who drove us there."

"But it was I who made it possible," he gritted out. "I looked at Uncle Carl and I knew he would have let your father die. But I also recognized Newton Guideville. I knew he was your father from the cruise. I asked Uncle Carl why he would not save your father when I knew he could. All he said was your father was a man who had done many bad things. He talked to me as though I was a child and it infuriated me. I wanted to be the better man." He found it hard to speak because he never spoke of that night. No one knew how he begged his uncle. "I had to remind my uncle of his task." He paused, drew in a long breath, and forcefully let it out. "I let a man survive only for him to kill more men, including my uncle." He bitterly scoffed. "You would not have gone to Belcourt if I did not save your father. The family of the people he killed would not have attacked your home and killed your mother."

Instead of arguing, she turned to him and asked, "Are you amongst the men who are hoping to find him? To get their revenge?"

Oliver shook his head, his tears stinging the back of his eyes as he saw her hastily wipe away a tear. "The one I want from your father is something he can never give back, Ali. I want the five lives he killed after I saved him. I want him to give you back your mother. I want the life he deprived you and Delaney." He paused to swallow the lump in his throat, but that did not stop his voice from cracking as he said, "I want the life I once had, the one that was free of remorse. I want to be free of the reluctance to save a life in fear that it would lead to more deaths."

His hands balled into fists seeing the tears run down her face, dropping right on the back of her hand, near her wedding ring.

Her gaze was soft and tender as she said, "Ollie, we can never get back what has happened."

"I know," he strongly said. "Good Lord, Ali, I know. And that is what is killing me—the inability to undo what happened."

More tears streamed down Aliya's cheeks. "Then perhaps I should start mourning you now, Ollie," she brokenly said, "because, by the rate you are punishing yourself, you will soon be dead. And I do not think I have enough strength to survive if I lose you, too."

Her words rendered him immobile.

She stood before he could say anything. "I have been invited to a play in the Royal Theater. I will be home quite late. Do not fear that I will come back to Stark's. You are free to do whatever you wish from now on."

Oliver rubbed his hands on his face in frustration.

He frowned at the yellow flower and cursed himself.

*****

Despite the recent heaviness she had been feeling, Aliya tried her best to enjoy the play she attended with Ruby who had invited her after learning that she was still in Coulway.

"I was hoping you would be with your husband, Aliya," Ruby innocently whispered.

"My husband can be quite busy," she replied, her eyes on the stage. Ruby managed to reserve a box for them and her flower, Aaron Stanway. Aliya was quite familiar with the man and he had always been an easy companion.

The blond man turned to Aliya with a charming smile. "I hope to meet him soon, Aliya. I have heard many great stories about St. Vincent. Is it true that he once brought a man back to life?"

Aliya scoffed. "Yes," she replied, looking away. Tears threatened to come out and after a long struggle to keep it in, she hastily excused herself from the pair and exited the box.

Only to find Oliver leaning against the wall across the door.

The tears retreated at the sight of him. His hair was tied, his beard trimmed and he was dressed for the night. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "You must have lost your way. This is not Stark's."

"I have been waiting for you," he replied, pushing away from the door.

Aliya turned to walk away. He followed her into the drawing room. "You could have waited at home," she said, turning to face him. "But since you are here, and obviously not to watch the play, tell me what you have to say."

His hazel eyes pleaded with hers as he asked, "Can I hold your hands?"

The tears came back and she blinked them away. "Why?"

He walked closer and reached for her hands. She allowed it, swallowing the lump in her throat as he tightened his grip.

"I know that you are tired of me always trying to apologize," he started, his head bent, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands. "But I will continue to do so because I owe you so much, Ali. And because I do not want to lose you, too."

"You do not owe me anything, Oliver," she choked. "If anything, it is I who owe you the rest of my life and I intend to pay back with as much as I can offer because you deserve it. If only you can also believe you are worth it." She started to pull her hand away from his, but he would not let go.

"Ali, please, don't leave. I have much to say but I do not know how to say them."

Aliya closed her eyes and sighed. "Ollie, please let go."

He shook his head the way Mason would whenever he was desperate to not return to his lessons. "I can only handle so much of watching you turn your back on me, darling."

"Let go of me, Ollie, so I can wrap my arms around you—"

The rest of her words were left unspoken as her husband suddenly pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips unto hers. And only moments later did Aliya realize that the salty tears were not hers, but his.

She pulled away just enough to wipe his face. "Hush, darling, we do not want people to stop fearing you."

He whimpered and choked against her hands.

"I know you know, Ollie, that you are not to blame for anything that happened that night. But I cannot blame you for the guilt. I cannot tell you that you have to deal with it for it is all in your mind and we both know how powerful our mind can be. I know how the past can haunt us because I have been haunted for years as well. I would often dream of my mother just before she left us in my aunt's bedchamber and I would always wonder if she suffered before she died. She was alone when they killed her and I never saw her. That thought, among others, haunt me as well." She kissed his mouth fully before adding, "But what haunts me the most is the thought of the future. I do not want to witness you losing to yourself because I am selfish and I want you to stay with me for as long as you and I can help it."

With a pained groan, her giant, crying husband, buried his face in her neck. "I know," he choked against her skin, "I know I need help."

"Of course, you need help. You only need to ask."

"Will you?" he asked brokenly, and Aliya's heart clenched to have this man beg. "Help me?"

She grinned. "You did not have to ask," she replied, grabbing his face so she could wipe his face dry with her hands. "And I will not simply be helping you, Ollie. I will be there with you."

He dipped his head and found her lips, kissing her until her tears subsided and desire took over.

Their lips tore from each other but their arms did not when the door to the drawing-room opened and a familiar man stood frozen in the doorway, seeing Aliya.

The man's face blanched and he quickly closed the door.

"Who was that?" her husband asked.

"Owen Compton," she replied, playing with the stray hair at the back of his neck. "I once unhorsed his stagecoach outside Wheeler's."

Oliver blinked in disbelief. "You did what?"

"He made untoward advances on Sasha who was then his mother's neighbor. We thought he needed a lesson."

"And he fears you just because you unhorsed his stagecoach?"

She grinned up at him. "I might have also whispered to him that I am the daughter of the Gambler."

His eyes narrowed at her playfully. "Now, that is very mean of you." He laughed as he kissed her, his tongue delving into her mouth as a groan rolled out his throat. "You are now my new favorite brandy," he said, pulling her closer to him.

"I know I am intoxicating, Ollie, but I am serious..." she said, leaning back to look into his eyes, "brandies are only for very special occasions."

"And what about you?" he asked, kissing her mouth.

"You can have a dose of me anytime," she grinned into his mouth.

He moaned, deepening the kiss. "Come home with me."

Aliya pulled away with a soft groan. "I am afraid I cannot. Ruby paid for my ticket. I will have to see the play throughout."

He let out a long sigh. "I will wait for you here."

She stole a kiss and asked, "Will you also still be here during the interlude?"

His eyes darkened. "Darling, this drawing room was once the home of the Royal Circus," he said, motioning his head toward the tall mirror at the corner. "There is a hidden room behind that mirror."

Aliya moistened her lips and grinned. "Wicked."

Oliver's smile was tender. "Thank you," he said, kissing her one more time.

"I like the sound of that better than your apologies," she said, stepping away from his hands. "I would like to hear more of it later," she added with a wink.