Page 55 of The Duke's All That
“The universe brought us together again for a reason,” he continued.
A sharp bark of laughter escaped her, colored with pain as she recognized that was one of the very things she had thought when she was convincing herself to give their marriage a try. “As the universe was the one that allowed us to be torn apart in the first place,” she replied, the words acid in her mouth, “you will forgive me for not giving any credence to that particular thought.”
“Damn it all to bloody hell, Seraphina.”
Which, of course, was when Phineas would decide to pipe up. “Damn it all to bloody hell,” he chirped with perfect pronunciation.
Seraphina glared at him before turning angry eyes on Iain. “Now look what you have done, you have added more improper speech to his repertoire.”
But Iain ignored her. Moving closer, he reached for her hand, taking hold of it before she could think to pull back.
“I love you, Seraphina,” he said, his voice thick.
Ah, God, how those words, words she would have given her soul to hear in the hours after her father had torn them apart, or in those first days in the asylum when hope had still simmered in her breast, were now like a finely whetted blade slashing her heart in two. “No, you don’t,” she managed, pulling her hand from his grip. “You are just emotional from reconciling with your family, and grateful to me for helping you in that reconciliation. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But I do,” he insisted, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “You think I dinnae ken my own mind, that I am fooling myself when I say I lo—”
“Don’t say it again, Iain,” she choked out.
He let out a hot rush of air, his frustration palpable. Then he spoke again, and the combination of his gentle voice—gentler than she could remember hearing from him—and his unexpected words stole the breath from her body.
“I dinnae pretend to ken what you have been through in the past thirteen years. But what I do ken is that, whatever it was, it pains you still. I began to realize something wasnae right when that nightmare took hold of you and wouldnae let go.” He paused, as if unsure he should continue. She stood watching him, hardly breathing, fearful of what else he might have to say for all she felt eviscerated in the face of his words and unexpected kindness.
Iain being Iain, however, he was not about to finish there. Reaching into the bag near his chair, he extracted a handfulof periodicals: copies of theGaia Review and Repository. She felt the blood leave her face as she spied her pen name on the top sheet.
Watching her closely, he laid them on the table between them. “But then I read through your writing, and realized that your stories, as fantastical as they are, reveal those secrets you would keep unsaid. Somehow, you are able to tell the truth as S. L. Keys as you never could as Lady Seraphina Trew, or Miss Seraphina Athwart, or Mrs. MacInnes”—here his lips twisted, the pain in his expression obvious—“or the Duchess of Balgair.”
Ah God, she had feared this would happen. That was why her pen name was such a closely guarded secret. “You read too much into things,” she said through numb lips. She dropped her gaze to Phineas, though she did not see him, for the sole purpose that she did not want Iain witnessing the truth in her eyes.
“I dinnae think I do, Seraphina,” he said quietly, sadly.
But anger was beginning to rear up like the tide in her chest, brought on by the unfairness of the years and all she could never share with another soul. How could she put this grief on another? How could she possibly share this pain? Her whole life had been focused on protecting others; if she revealed all she had lived through, not only would that have all been for naught, but she would shatter.
And every bit of that anger centered on the man in front of her, who was so willing to give her, someone who could never be worthy of him, his heart. “You have a vivid imagination, Iain,” she snapped as she turned on him, with such suddenness that he blinked and took a step back. “You think because I penned some stories with bits of real life in them that the rest is real life as well?”
But her desperate anger did not seem to faze him. “Nae all of it, of course,” he replied gently. “But I can see that there is much more of real life in those words than you wish to admit to. And I wish you would confide to me what has happened to you, Seraphina, and allow me to shoulder some of your burden.”
“I do not need anyone to shoulder my burdens.” Taking up the periodicals, she turned and, with one swift movement, tossed them into the fire. “And you would do well to remember that. All I want to do is to get this blasted divorce over with, return to my sisters and my life on Synne, and forget any of this ever happened.”
Iain watched the writhing papers in the hearth for a long, tense moment, the flare of the fire reflecting in his eyes, the muscles working in his jaw as the flames consumed her words. Letting loose a frustrated breath, he paced across the dining room before coming back to face her, his features twisted with turmoil. “So you are fine with me baring my soul to nae only you, but to my family as well. Yet you will nae give up even a bit of the burden of your own.”
She swallowed hard at his words, an echo of that day with her sisters, a lifetime ago yet only a week past, when she had told them of her trip to Scotland with Iain. She recalled with stunning clarity the fight they’d had, her sisters begging her to tell them the truth. Elspeth saying,“You needn’t protect us from the truth any longer. Surely you can let go of some of your burdens and confide in us.”And then Millicent’s pleading voice,“Please, let us in.”
Those voices, so very dear to her, clanged about in her head, mingling with the hurt in Iain’s voice until they were one and the same. Why could they not leave her alone? Why could they not let her live her life as she had been all this time?
And why couldn’t she remain content with keeping things as they had been?
It was that last realization, that not only had she very nearly shared her burden with Iain, but she still wished to, even after knowing how it would affect him negatively, that had panic rearing in her chest. It brought her anger back, that panic, and caused her to lash out, a frightened fox, foot caught in a trap, desperate to chew off its own limb to escape.
“The only thing I want,” she said, forcing a coldness into her voice she did not feel, “is to finish with this divorce and to return to my life and to never think of this past week again.”
The fire that had lit his eyes, a reflection of his soul, dimmed until, in a heartbreaking moment, it was snuffed out completely. He gazed at her with heavy acceptance, his strong, wide shoulders sagging in defeat. “Verra well, Seraphina,” he said. “Let us be off then.”
With that, he gathered his things and moved toward the door, holding it wide for her. Seraphina knew she should feel victorious and relieved that he was finally accepting her words as truth. But all she felt was a peculiar lethargy in her limbs and a strange prickling behind her eyes.
Nevertheless, she retrieved Phineas and, without a second look at Iain, walked from the room.
Chapter 25
