Page 31 of The Duke's All That
“It does not matter,” she said. “The fact is, I did not remove it.”
He wanted to hold on to the familiar heartbreak, to keep it between them like a shield. But despite himself, he believed her. And it frightened him silly. Who was he, if not the man he had become after she had torn out his heart and stomped on it? Or rather, he reflected wryly, after he’d been led to believe she had betrayed him. But the reality pointed to that being a malicious lie, used to separate two people who had loved one another.
Blessedly there was still one thing that stood between him losing himself and staying strong against the pull of her.
“But the housekeeper vowed she had seen you climb into a carriage with your sisters. She said you were wearing the same green dress with the violet flowers at the hem that you had worn to wed me.”
“A ruse,” she explained quietly, bitterly. “My sisters told me of that day, how my father gave our lady’s maid my gown to wear and sent them all away unexpectedly. I suppose it was his way to give credence to his lies, that anyonewatching from the house might have assumed it was me leaving with them.” She gave him a pained look. “Including Mrs. Campbell. Who then confirmed for you that she had indeed seen me leave.”
His breath left him, taking with it the remnants of his outrage. He ran a hand over his face, his head spinning. Ah, yes, Seraphina’s father was more than capable of creating such a deception. Sighing, he took hold of the bottle of whiskey and poured generous amounts of the amber liquor in their now empty cups. From the tightness about Seraphina’s mouth and her pallor and the way she watched her cup with almost desperation, she looked as if she needed it nearly as much as he did.
“And now it is your turn,” he said, raising his glass to her in a toast before taking a long draught. He let out a satisfied grunt and wiped the back of one hand across his mouth, bracing himself for what was to come. Blessedly, with his stomach empty from being unable to eat a bite of his dinner for the anxiety that plagued him, the whiskey was affecting him much quicker than he had anticipated. Already his head was feeling decidedly fuzzy.
“Your father told you that I accepted money to leave you, you said,” he prompted.
She took a long swallow of her own drink before, closing her eyes slowly and shivering as it worked its way into her stomach, she spoke. “Yes.”
“And you saw the proof of these transactions with your own eyes, heard the proof with your own ears.”
“Yes,” she answered again, this time quieter. “Or what I thought was proof.”
He leaned forward in his chair, ignoring the way his head swam. “I dinnae take money from your father, Seraphina,”he said, a repeat of the very same words he had said to her that afternoon.
Though now she actually seemed to hear him. Yet that did not mean she automatically took him at face value. His lips quirked. Not his Seraphina.
He froze.HisSeraphina? Where the hell had that come from?
“But you are wealthy,” she pointed out almost defiantly. Her arms swept out to encompass the room, the best the small Durham inn had to offer. “You have a carriage of your own, something only the wealthiest can afford. And I imagine it does not stop there.”
He shifted in his seat. “I’m comfortably set,” he hedged. Another lie. Or, if not a lie, then a wild underestimate. “It is the product of years of effort. I was nae idle these past thirteen years, you know.” His lips kicked up at one end, though not in humor, more an ironic tilt. “Mostly fueled by anger, I suppose.”
Her lips, glistening as she swiped a stray drop of whiskey with her tongue, slid upward as well. “That I can well believe.”
They sat there for a time, gazing at one another. As Seraphina’s lips slid down into a frown and her lovely blue eyes softened in a kind of sadness and acceptance, Iain felt a shift in him as well, a realization that, against his better judgment, there was not a bit of doubt that what Seraphina had told him was true and that everything he had believed had been a lie. And anger boiled up in his gut.
“If your father was here,” he growled, his fingers tightening on the glass in his hand, imagining it was Lord Farrow’s neck, “I would make him rue the day he set his plan into motion to separate us.”
But wasn’t the man close? He stilled, looking down into the shifting amber light of his drink as the fire fought through the dark liquid. Farrow Hall was but a short distance from them. He could be there in no time at all, and finally collect his pound of flesh from a man who had taken everything from him. Or, rather, he thought as he looked Seraphina’s way, everything that had mattered.
Before he knew what he was about, he’d downed the rest of his drink and was on his feet. Seraphina must have seen something alarming in his eyes, for she stood as well, swaying slightly before quickly catching herself.
“What are you about, Iain?” she demanded. Was it him, or was there a slur in her voice? Or mayhap it was his ears; everything sounded incredibly off just then.
Perhaps it was the drink going to his head, but he did not even consider lying to her about his plans. “I am going to visit your esteemed sire,” he said, striding for his coat, which he had left draped across the end of the bed, “and I am going to make him pay for what he did to us. And you are coming as well. You can do more damage than even I can. If it got out that you were alive, and he lied, he would be ruined.” He reached for the coat, missing it on the first try before, narrowing his eyes in concentration, he managed to get ahold of it.
Seraphina, however, was suddenly there before him, her hands on his outerwear as he tried to shrug into it. Why, he thought as she ripped the material from his grip, was she so blasted strong?
But then he didn’t care, because suddenly they were in each other’s arms.
God, there had never been anyone like Seraphina for him. It was like she had been made for him. So damn talland strong, yet her body a veritable map of curves that were even more pronounced now with her maturity, and all so soft he ached to sink into her. Her arms clung to his waist, even as he gripped her about the shoulders, and he had the vague impression that they were holding one another up. Silly, that, as he wasn’tthatdrunk. Certainly not enough to have lost his head and his balance at the same time.
“You cannot go to my father,” she said, the words muffled against his chest.
Her father? What the devil was she talking about? He didn’t want to see her father. He wanted to stay right here with her. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck, his heart stuttering as she seemed to sink into his embrace. She smelled so damn good. He wondered if she would taste good as well…
In the next instant she gasped and pulled out of his grasp. “But let’s not talk further about leaving tonight,” she said, the words high and breathless and tumbling from her lips like chimes in a breeze. “There is still a bit of whiskey left and I’ve a mind to finish it.”
So saying, she dragged him back to the chairs before the hearth, and poured them each another generous draught. And that was the last thing he remembered.
