The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(66)

Sera did not hesitate. “He’s not my American, and you know it.”

He did. Sera would never have allowed him to touch her if she were committed to Calhoun. But it did not mean that—

Before he could stop himself, Malcolm asked, “Has he ever been?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, watching their feet moving through the grass. “Does it matter if there were a dozen?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Of course it would. This is the world in which we live, where I am required to remain chaste as a nun, and you . . . you are welcome to the wide world.” She paused, regaining her reserve. Then, softly, “He was never mine. Even if I could have loved him, he deserves children.”

Mal didn’t hesitate. “Your love would be enough.”

She was silent for a long time, while he searched for the right words, to no avail. And then she lifted the bottle and drank. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did matter. It mattered more than anything, and somehow, like all things that matter a great deal, he could not find the words to say so.

“And you?” she asked. “How many Americans have you had?”

He told her the truth. “One. The one you witnessed.”

She laughed then, hollow and so different from her earlier happiness that he felt the sound like a blow. “I am to believe that?”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said. “But it is the truth.”

“That is the problem with truth; so often you must rely on faith to embrace it.”

“And you’ve no faith in me.” He regretted the words the moment they were out, wishing immediately that he could take them back. He did not want her to answer. The silence that stretched out between them in the wake of the words was clear enough without her answer. Not to mention unsurprising.

And then she said, so soft that it almost seemed she was speaking to someone else, “God knows I want to.”

“It was one time, Sera. Once.”

“It was meant to punish me,” she replied, the words simple and empty of emotion as she looked down to the lake, spread like black ink below.

Regret and shame flared. How many times had he felt them? How many times had they consumed him in the darkness as he searched for her? But they had never felt like this. Without her, they’d been a vague, rolling emotion, present, but never truly there. And now, faced with her, with her tacit acceptance of their past, of his actions, of his mistakes, they were a wicked, angry blow.

What a fucking ass he had been.

“I cannot take it back. If there were anything in the world I could take back . . .”

The breath left her in a stream of frustration then. “Tell me, is it the act for which you lack pride? Or the consequences of it?”

He turned to her then, unable to find the proper words to reply. “The consequences?”

“My sister landed you on your backside in front of all London, Malcolm. You did not care for it. You meted out punishment on the whole family after that.”

Shame again, hot and angry, along with a keen instinct to protect himself. To defend his actions. But there was no defense. None worthy of the blow he’d dealt. None that had ever dismissed his regret for it.

I’m sorry. The words were cheap escape. “I would take Sophie’s attack a hundredfold. A thousand. If I could erase the rest of that afternoon.”

Sera grew silent, and Mal would have given anything to know what was going through her head. And finally, she said, “As would I, ironically.”

He closed his eyes in the darkness. He’d hurt her abominably. They were silent for a long while as he considered his next words. But before he could find them, she said, “And what of all the years since?”

He looked to her, the darkness freeing him in some way. Making him honest. “I would erase them, too.”

She turned to face him, slow and simple, as though they discussed the weather. “I wouldn’t.” The ache that came with the confession was crushing, black as the water that spread out before them, stretched forever like the silence that accompanied it. Finally, Sera looked to the starlit sky and said, “So, was this your plan? To lead me into the darkness and revisit the decline of our marriage?”

He exhaled, looking to the water, black and sparkling in the moonlight. “It wasn’t, as a matter of fact.” He began to descend toward the lake, calling back, “I had planned to show you something.”

Curiosity got the better of her—as it always had. “What?”

Could he tempt her away from the past? Toward something more promising? It was worth the try. “Come and see.”

For long moments, he did not hear her, and he steeled himself for the worst. For the possibility that there was no hope for them.

And then her skirts rustled in the grass.





Chapter 18



Sunken Starchitecture: Highley’s Hidden Hideaway



“This is beautiful.”

Sera stood just inside a small, stunning stone structure, fixed with six stained glass windows depicting a series of women in various states of celebration, stars embedded in the glass around them, as though they danced in the night sky.

Malcolm stood to one side, lantern high in his hand, revealing the glorious stonework stars and sky that climbed the walls between the windows and spread across the domed ceiling of the space. Sera tipped her head back to take in the moon and sun in full relief above as he said, “The windows are more beautiful in the daylight, obviously,” he said.