Page 66 of No One's Bride
It summed up his present mood perfectly, but it wouldn’t do.
I want you to ride me so hard I forget my failings.
It sounded pitiful and self-absorbed.
She would want something personal. A meaningful message she would read endlessly even when the paper developed brown spots and tatty corners. An honest explanation of what this relationship meant to him.
The time spent with you has been the happiest of my life.
The truth of the statement resonated deep in his bones. He could not recall ever feeling so content. But many men had spouted the mawkish words, many times before.
Keen to do better, he searched his mind.
A broad smile formed with the sudden epiphany.
He dipped his pen into the ink pot.
I could scour the shores for a lifetime and never find a pebble perfect enough to honour you.
He blotted the ink and folded the note. Upon his return to the library, he discovered Ailsa had written her recantation and had taken to examining his books.
“Is this Michael’s grimoire?” She trailed her finger over the gold lettering on the red leather spine. Being smaller in size, it was at odds with the rest of his collection. “’Tis the only one I could see.”
Sebastian swallowed hard. Hidden within the pages had to be a clue to understanding Michael’s death. “Yes. We need to take it with us when we leave. Don’t let me forget.”
“I cannae promise. I doubt I’ll remember a thing once we’ve broken the spell.” She held out her hand. “Do ye have my love note?”
He prowled towards her. “Yes, and I mean to deliver it personally.” Coming to a halt mere inches away, he trailed his fingers along the delicate slope of her collarbone. “I don’t want you to lose it and miss reading my inspiring prose.”
Despite a visible shiver, the minx held his gaze. “Conveying any sentiment must have proved taxing.”
“On the contrary. It’s easy to relay the words constantly filling one’s head.” He slid his fingers into the low neckline of her gown, pushing the note between her warm breasts. “Allow me to paraphrase. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you. Now, you need never forget the power of magic.”
Her breath quickened.
The air crackled with suppressed need.
He stared at her parted lips. One kiss might ease the ache. But he pulled another note from his coat pocket. “I wrote my retraction while in the study. Shall we venture outside while the moon is still visible? Shall we put an end to this exquisite madness?”
Biting down on her lip, she looked at the words on the paper as if they were written in blood. “We need to do something to stop the influx of admirers. Breaking our bond will help us focus on the case.”
Disappointment sat like a heavy weight in his chest.
“You’re right.” It killed him to admit the truth. The quicker they got this matter over with, the sooner he could gather his wits. “Come. Let us take our notes and go out into the garden.”
No longer able to gaze into her eyes without experiencing a pang of regret, he snatched the candle lamp from the side table.
With slow, hesitant steps, Ailsa followed him out through the terrace doors and down the stone steps into the verdant shadows.
The waning crescent was like a golden smile lighting the night sky. It was said to represent a period of reflection and inner peace, yet Sebastian had every cause to be miserable and irate.
Ailsa remained silent as she followed him along the narrow path. Every breath sounded like a sigh. Every footstep seemed heavy with the weight of this burden.
He came to a halt outside the orangery at the end of the garden. Once his mother’s beloved space, he never had cause to enter the hothouse. Simms, the gardener, still grew an abundance of fruits and flowers there, his fondness for life never fading.
With a glance heavenward at the threatening clouds drifting closer, Sebastian bit back a curse. “We should begin before the storm breaks.” He held the candle lamp aloft and gripped the paper, ready to recite the magical words. “This spell no longer—”
“Wait!” Ailsa darted forward, pressing her cold fingers to his lips. “Dinnae say it yet.” Struggling to contain a restless energy, she tried to explain the reason for the interruption. “Ye still owe me a boon.”
