The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(74)

And something about that, about the certainty in his words, as though he would wait for her forever, unsettled her more than anything else could. “That particular act has never served us well,” she said quietly. “Or do you not remember?” She hated the words, loathed that she gave voice—even in a vague, small way—to their past. To the child they had not planned. That he had not wanted. And to all the others they would never have.

She stood, too bare and revealed to remain still, and turned her back to him, pulling her dress over her head and wrenching the two halves of her bodice together in a fruitless attempt to erase the last hour of her life.

“Take this.”

She nearly jumped from her skin. He was behind her, close enough to touch, holding his coat for her, as though it were all perfectly normal.

She took the coat and willed herself calm as she pulled it on, the broad shoulders dwarfing hers. She crossed the fabric over her chest, and her arms over that, like armor. He stepped back, hands spread wide, as though to show her that he was unarmed. Of course, it was not true.

They had always been armed with each other.

“I remember, Sera,” he said, and the words seemed wrenched from him, as well, impossibly so. She could still hear his vow never to have a child. She could still feel the sting of it now, years later, and the ache of it after she discovered he would have one, nonetheless.

Just as she could still feel the quiet happiness that had consumed her when she’d known she would never be alone, even if she never had him.

And then, the devastation when she realized that alone was all she’d ever be.

“Let me go,” she whispered, the words ragged, shot through with fear that he might resist them. That he might try to keep her there.

That she might choose to stay.

He took another step back. And another, until the path to the exit was clear for her. “You are free,” he said.

“We’re neither of us free,” she said. “But we can be.”

Lie.

He watched her, unmoving, his beautiful broad chest gold in the firelight, his face all light and shadows. And then he threw his weapon. “I never asked to be.”

His aim was true, thankfully, pushing sadness from her and filling her with anger, reminding her of her plans. Of the Sparrow. Of her future. Without him. Without the past. Without the memories that she could not escape here.

“What a lie that is.” She narrowed her gaze on him, and let her anger fly. “It was you who ended us, Duke. Not I.”

Before he could reply, she escaped. free@symbianize





Chapter 20



Hoodwinked Haven’s Shocking Surprise




Three Years Earlier

London



He sensed her before he saw her.

He should have expected that the Countess of Liverpool would invite them both to her famed summer soiree. Should have assumed that the Soiled S’s would be welcomed at the woman’s mad garden party with its China-themed decor and the hostess herself dressed like one of the fish in her famed fishpond. Lady Liverpool had never once shied away from the dramatic, and the Talbot sisters were nothing if not dramatic.

Not Sera.

He did not turn to face her, knowing that all the world watched and whispered beneath stiff brims and behind fluttering fans. Instead, he resisted the urge to tug at his cravat, too tight around his neck in the hot, humid summer breeze, knowing that he was too much the focus of attention as it was.

Hoodwinked Haven caught by a Dangerous Daughter, the laughingstock of the gossip rags, made example for the rest of the eligible men of the ton. Never be blinded by beauty.

God knew he had been blinded. Like damn Orion.

Doomed.

It had been more than two months since he’d seen her—having left her, summarily, after their minutes-long, barely-there wedding and thrown himself into his work, doing all he could to forget the fact that he had a wife.

A wife whose nearness shattered his calm, and whom he knew he would find more beautiful than ever, if only he would turn to face her.

Coward.

The thought spurred him to action and, steeling his emotions, he turned, his gaze finding her, as ever, immediately. She was several yards away, in a cluster of jewel-toned gowns—her sisters gathered around her like a protective shield. And Sera in red shot through with gold thread. Of course she wore red. There was nothing in the world more desirable than Seraphina Talbot—no, Seraphina Bevingstoke, Duchess of Haven, his wife, his duchess—in red.

It did not matter that he would give anything to no longer desire her.

He would sell his damn soul to forget her.

And then the hens fluttering about her parted, and he saw the gown in full, chasing the lines of her breasts and hips, falling in lush waves to the green grass below. He raked his gaze over her, breathing her in, a cool breeze on the summer day. And that was when the blow came, wicked and unexpected.

She was with child.

She was with child, and she hadn’t told him.

The emotions that coursed through him were myriad. Disbelief. Pleasure. Hope. And fury. A keen, unyielding anger that she had once again hidden the truth from him.

He was to be a father. He was to have a child.

And she’d hidden it from him, like penalty for past sins.

He steeled his countenance, refusing to show her how the truth consumed him. How it struck like a blow. A devastating punishment. And then he turned on his heel and went to find a way to punish her, as well.