The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(65)

“See? You should not have been so quick to malign the foxes. They might have been your only saving grace.”

“So this is it, then?” she asked as they marched toward his destination. “It shall be you who does me in in the dead of night?”

He ignored the comment, slowing to allow her a chance to catch up to him. “We’re going to the lake.”

“In the dark?”

He extended a hand for the bottle she held. She relinquished it and he drank deep, wiping his hand across his mouth before saying, “I am seizing the bull by the horns.”

She took the bottle back. “Is one of us to be a bull in this scenario?”

“Did you know that Lady Emily does not eat soup?”

Sera shot him a look. “I’m sorry?”

He smirked. He had her now. Sera had never not been interested in another person. “You seated her next to me at dinner. There was a soup. It provided some interesting conversation.”

Sera blinked. “I cannot imagine how.”

“Believe me, I was surprised, as well. I thought I might perish from awkward avoidance of Miss Mayhew’s disappearance. In fact, the events of the afternoon did not come up. Thanks to the soup.”

“Malcolm, forgive me. But are you quite all right?”

“I am, as a matter of fact. It is the lady who seems a bit . . . odd.”

“Because she did not eat the soup?”

“Not the soup. Any soup.”

She stopped. He had her. “She does not eat soup?”

“This is what I have been trying to explain. The woman doesn’t eat soup.”

“Doesn’t eat it? Or doesn’t like it? Or both?”

“This is the bit I cannot understand. She does not know if she likes it, Seraphina. She’s never had it.”

She blinked. “Is this some kind of joke? You take my whiskey, drag me out into the dark, and tell me ridiculous stories of people who have never eaten soup?”

He raised a hand. “Upon my honor, Sera—what little you and your sisters think I have left—Lady Emily has never eaten soup.”

There was a pause, and Sera said, “How is that possible?”

“This is my exact point.”

A beat. And then, magnificently, she laughed. Like heaven come to earth, the sound curling between them before it spread out into the darkness, Malcolm half expecting it to summon the sun.

Because it felt like the sun.

And all he wanted was to bask in her, even as the laughter died away, fading into little breathy chuckles. She began to walk again, and he joined her, the two of them in companionable silence for the first time in—possibly forever. And it was glorious.

Perhaps there was hope, after all.

They climbed a small hill, Malcolm reaching back to help her navigate a rocky patch, Sera taking his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world, heat flooding him at the touch, along with desire. And hope, a dangerous promise.

She released him the moment they came to the crest, and the disappointment that came with the action was keen. After a long moment, she turned to him and he held his breath, wondering what she might say.

“Do you think it is liquid nourishment she fears?”

The return to Lady Emily’s strange trait summoned his own laugh, loud and unfamiliar. “I don’t know.”

“You did not ask?” She shook her head in mock disappointment.

“I did not.”

“I suppose you thought it would be rude to pry.”

“I know it would have been rude to pry.”

She nodded. “You’re right of course. But there really ought to be a special circumstance allowed for this.”

He hadn’t felt this free in years. Not since the last time they’d laughed together. Before they’d been betrothed. Guilt flared. He’d taken so much from her—so much life. No wonder she’d left him. No wonder she did not wish him back. He should let her go.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

Unaware of his thoughts, Sera added, “Between the soup and the lawn bowls, it’s been a bad day for your unmarrieds, Duke.”

“You’re right,” he said, unable to hide his frustration. “Let’s send them all home.”

“Why do you make it sound as though I am responsible for these girls? You are the one who planned a house party to find my replacement. You summoned them without me. You would have been here anyway, choosing your next wife. I’m merely trapped here alongside them.”

He couldn’t tell her that these girls had been summoned in a frenzied twenty-four-hour period immediately following his commitment to winning her back. She would not take well to the revelation—that much he knew. “I may have made an error in judgment.”

She chuckled. “They’re lovely women, Malcolm. Good matches.”

He looked to her. “One has never eaten soup.”

She smiled. “Think of how you might change her worldview! Did you not always wish me less worldly?”

Never. Not once.

“Ah yes,” he said, ignoring the thought. “What a lovely foundation for a marriage soup might be.”

She laughed at that, and then said, “She’s not your choice, anyway. She was never going to be.”

Of course she wasn’t. None of them would be. “I’m fairly certain Felicity Faircloth would rather have your American than me.”