The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(107)

“Yes.” More than anything.

“Because doves mate for life, and I knew there would never be another for me.”

The words weakened him, sending him forward, toward her, desperate to be closer to her, and still, afraid to touch her. Afraid to rush her. His hands fisted—tight enough to strain the muscles in his fingers. He could wait. He would wait a lifetime if he had to.

She did not look away, seeming to draw strength from the truth. Freedom from it. “By the time we made the return trip, back to London, I was—happier. More confident. More powerful. And when I took to that deck—ignoring superstition once more—and sang, my songs were not quite so melancholy. Those sailors taught me their sea shanties, the saltier the better.”

“I should like to hear those.” Truth. He wanted to lie in the grass at Highley and let the summer breeze wash over them and carry her lewd songs to the corners of the earth.

“I know one about a lad from Glasgow that will make you blush.” She smiled wistfully and looked out the window. After a pause, she said, “They gave me a name on the return ship, as well.”

“The Sparrow.”

“They said I made them dream of the girls at home. But home isn’t all the sparrow represents.” She looked at him. “Young sailors often ink sparrows on their arms. For freedom.” His breath caught in his throat. “Freedom to go where you choose and be what you choose. Freedom to close one door and open a new one, and make your home where you land.” She paused. Then, softly, “Freedom to forget.”

He waited, biting his tongue, refusing to speak, desperate for her to continue.

Finally, she did. “Good Lord, Mal. Don’t you see? I didn’t choose the Sparrow over you. Or America, or Caleb, or anything else. I chose all of it because I didn’t have you. Because I didn’t think I would ever have you again.” He heard the tears in her voice when she added, “Because I didn’t think you would ever forgive me, so I tried to forget.” She sighed, long and trembling, as she battled the memory. “I tried so hard to forget all of it. And all I could remember was you. I told myself the Dove was the vestige of my past. And promised myself the Sparrow was the promise of my future.”

She looked at him, then, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When all the time, I was both.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He reached for her, hauling her into his lap, into his arms. And she came, without hesitation. “Mal,” she whispered to his chest as he pulled her close, pressing kisses to her hair. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “For so much.”

She was crying and he couldn’t bear it, tipping her face up to him, kissing over her cheeks, sipping at her tears as he whispered, “No, Angel. The sorrow is mine. The regret. I never told you how much I loved you. I never showed you how I ached to know you. I never even broke bread with your sisters—who I like more than I probably should, by the way.”

She laughed through the tears at that. “They grow on a person.”

He pulled back and met her gaze, serious. “There was so much I never said. So much I wish to say now. Forever.” He told her then, whispering all the things he wanted to tell her. How beautiful she was, how perfect, how he loved her. He kissed her in between the words, soft and sweet, brushing away her tears with lips and thumbs, covering her in kisses, until he found her lips again, soft and sweet and perfect.

He lingered there, pressing long, sweet kisses to her lips between the vows that flooded him. “I love you,” he whispered like a prayer. A kiss. “I need you.” Another. “Stay.” Another, and another, and another, until Sera’s tears were gone and she was clinging to him, forcing the kisses to press harder, last longer, burn hotter.

Before they could consume them, however, Sera stopped him, breathing heavily, pulling away—as far as he would let her go. “You divorced me.”

He nodded. “I wanted—”

She stopped his words with a kiss. “I know what you wanted. You wanted to give me my freedom. You wanted to give me my choice.”

“And now, I want to get down on my knees and beg you to choose me.”

She stared deep into his eyes and smiled, pure and honest, and sending joy and pleasure through him. “That is a beautiful, tempting offer. But I’m afraid I don’t wish to choose. I want it all.”

“You can have the Sparrow, Sera. It’s yours now. Calhoun has the papers. All you need do is sign them.”

She shook her head. “And what of you?”

“You don’t need papers to own me. I belong to you outright.” He kissed her again, long and lingering, until her lips were parted and clinging to his. “You have me. Here. Now. Forever. However you wish.”

“You make it very difficult for a girl to chase you.”

The words—their implication—thrummed through him. “You wish to chase me?”

“If you don’t mind very much, Duke.”

“Not at all, Duchess.”

She pulled back instantly, tutting false disapproval. “Former duchess. Now, a mere lady. And even that is a questionable moniker.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You see, I am a divorcee now. And I own a tavern.”

“Ah,” he said, going after her, nipping at her jaw as she wrapped her arms about his neck. “That does sound terribly scandalous.”