Page 35 of The Duke's All That
She definitely knew that feeling.
“Do you think I want to share a room with you?” she demanded. “And more specifically, this room, where I shall be in danger of bumping into you every time I turn about? While I would love to believe the innkeeper was lying through her teeth, all signs point to her being truthful regarding accommodations in this blasted city. And with night fast on us, and more people arriving, I did not want to waste a chance on something uncertain when we had a certain outcome before us.”
He considered her closely. “Nae, you never were a gambler, were you?” Then, quieter, “All but for that one time, when you took a chance on me.”
And look what happened after.The sentence remained unsaid, yet loomed between them, a near physical manifestation.
Feeling decidedly bruised, and not just in body, Seraphina busied herself setting out a small feast for Phineas on the table. “And you always were, weren’t you?” she said. “A gambler, I mean.” At his grunt—which she took to be an answer in the affirmative, though they both knew her question had been merely rhetorical—she glanced sideways at him. He had sat on the bed and was shrugging out of his coat. A disturbingly intimate action that set her stomach to doing somersaults.
“Like I said,” he replied, “I’ve made a good living for myself because of it.”
Her lip quirked as Phineas took a nut from her fingers. “A good living that includes a private carriage and the best rooms as you travel.”
“Present room excluded,” he remarked with a rough chuckle.
To her surprise, an answering laugh spilled from her lips. “I would never disparage such spaciousness, and especially not with such a scenic view.”
He chuckled once more, and a lightness came over her body at the sound, shocking her, releasing some of the tension in her shoulders. Phineas looked up at her, tilting his head, his curiosity palpable. And no wonder. Seraphina had held herself rigid for so long he must think it had become part and parcel with her.
Iain rose and made his way to the table, sinking into thechair across from her. “I still cannae believe that bird of yours is so tame,” he said, eyeing Phineas carefully. It did not slip her notice that he kept his hands firmly in his lap.
Nor did it slip her notice that she did not feel an immediate agitation at his closeness. Rather, she was happy he had joined her. Why happy, she didn’t have a clue.
To cover her confusion, she shrugged. “Phineas was well trained before I took him in,” she replied.
“That’s right. He had a prior owner.”
For a moment she remembered Bridget, the one person who had been kind to her in that horrible place. The older woman had protected a frightened Seraphina as best she could, had given her comfort and hope where there had been none.
But then Bridget had gotten sick—as so many of the poor women there had—and she’d needed comfort herself when her end had drawn near. And the one thing she had fretted about when the fever had driven her out of her mind had been Phineas. How she had worried for him, locked up in that horrible house with her family. How she had cried out when her time was drawing near, begging for someone to save her beloved pet. And Seraphina had promised she would save the bird and care for it, giving her friend peace in her final moments. It was a vow she had made certain to keep, retrieving Phineas once she had been able to, caring for him with as much love as Bridget would have, healing his body and his heart as best she could.
Shaking her head to dispel memories that brought so much grief, she turned her attention back to her pet. “His previous owner was a wonderful woman,” she continued, “brave and strong. And she loved Phineas dearly, just as he loved her. They were all the other had in the world, and hemourned her dreadfully. It did not help that he had been treated abominably by her family. It took some time for him to trust me. But I think the effort was worth it. Now I cannot imagine my life without him.”
He was quiet for a moment, watching Phineas intently as he cracked into a nut with his sharp beak, using his talon to hold it steady. Was that a wince she saw? No doubt Iain was thinking of his own beleaguered ear. When his hand jerked up seemingly of its own accord toward his ear, she found herself grinning. To think that this massive, strong man was terrorized by a small bird.
He glanced at her and flushed, no doubt guessing why she was smiling. Clearing his throat and lowering his hand once more to his lap, he said, “Tell me more of this friend of yours. She must have been quite a woman to have tamed this pigeon from hell.”
Still smiling, she ran a finger over the top of Phineas’s smooth crown. He turned his head, nibbling affectionately at her finger before resuming his meal. “Her name was Miss Bridget Gunnach,” she replied softly. “She was an older woman, small but commanding, with the most beautiful long silver hair you’ve ever seen. And she was unfailingly kind and generous. She took me under her wing when I was feeling quite hopeless, and gave me strength, and kept me going when I believed I could not…”
Her voice trailed off as she realized she had said much more than she had intended to. It had been so long since she had talked of Bridget, the words bringing back too many emotions, the grief of her passing, of the loss of her, as deep and unforgiving as a bottomless chasm. And to her dismay, the talking of her dear friend dredged up disjointed images that she tried valiantly to keep buried: a small cell; theweight of iron about her wrists; low moans and incoherent babbling.
And pain. So much pain, both of body and mind, until she thought she truly was as mad as they all claimed.
But Iain was gazing at her with a troubled frown, more questions in his eyes than she could ever answer—and certainly ones she never wanted to hear. To keep him from giving voice to those questions, she held out a slice of apple to him. He started, looking at it in confusion.
“What, do you want me to share the pigeon’s dinner?” he asked gruffly. “I doubt there is enough for us both.”
“No, I want you to feed him.”
The confusion in his eyes was replaced with horror. “I have nearly lost an ear and a good quantity of hair to that creature,” he declared. “My fingers will nae be the next piece of me it attempts to remove from my person.”
Relieved that their conversation had turned to calmer waters, Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Phineas is not the evil demon you seem to think he is. He is quite sweet, actually.”
“Sweet!” His lip curled in disbelief as he considered her pet. “That is nae the flavor I would give to him. Nae, I’d more likely describe him as sour. Or spicy. Aye, he’s definitely spicy, with a bit of tartness thrown in for good measure.”
“Oh, don’t be such a child,” she said, grasping hold of his hand and drawing it to her.
Which may have been a mistake. The feel of his strong fingers in hers, the warmth of his skin and the calluses that roughened his palm, sent a shiver of something deep and primal through her. And he felt it, too, if his sharply indrawn breath was any indication. His fingers curled around her own, gentle for all their strength, and she could do naughtelse but stare down at their entwined hands. While hers was an almost translucent paleness, with light blue veins and faint white scars, his was large and rough and tanned, the dusting of hair on his knuckles and the crisscross of veins and tendons strangely thrilling. As she watched, his thumb dragged with gentleness over her knuckles.
