“Ye wee Eejit!”
Which effectively distracted Iain from whatever it was he’d wanted to say. Damn it.
He blinked before, giving Phineas a wry smile, he pulled back, letting the cool breeze blowing in off the ocean to chill the space between his body and Seraphina’s. Then, retrieving his coat from the ground, he held out his arm. Seraphina took it, and without a word, they began to make their way back up the pale beach.
Chapter 22
The sky had been clear and cloudless when they had retired to their room at the inn in Haddington—they had not even attempted to procure separate rooms this time, both eager for what was to come—the setting sun sending blooms of watercolor hues to splash across the heavens. It had been the perfect accompaniment to the passion that had exploded between them, heralding them into that long night, where they had expressed with touch and kiss what they could not say aloud.
When Iain opened his eyes the next morning, however, the sky outside the large window was heavy and gray, rain dotting the glass pane. As if it sensed what the day was to bring and wept for them.
Seraphina was still curled against his side, as she had been the last two mornings. And as she would never be again. Holding her a bit tighter, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, taking the time to memorize theachingly familiar lavender scent of her, the softness of her skin, the way she fit so perfectly against his side it was as if she had been made expressly for him.
He had begun to hope, despite her having insisted that what was between them was merely physical, that she was beginning to change her mind and she might wish to have a future with him at her side. There could be no denying that they had regained some of the closeness they’d had when young. No, he corrected himself, this was no mere echo of what had been. This was something new, with a maturity and understanding of grief that they’d not had before. This was a tempering through fire, coming out stronger on the other side for it. If given a chance, it could be enduring.
But after their conversation yesterday, he knew that any chance for them was so slim as to be nonexistent. She would never wish to rejoin the aristocracy. And his life was forevermore entwined with it, as much as he despised that fact.
But he was spiraling in self-pity, when he should only be focusing on the here and now. There was precious little time left as it was and no sense in worrying about the future. He would survive their separation, just as he had survived it before. At least this time he knew what was coming and could say his goodbyes. Determined to soak in every second he could, he opened his eyes—only to find her looking up at him.
They gazed at one another for a long moment, eyes roving over one another’s faces, as if to memorize them. Then, without a word, she slid her hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him to her.
Not a word was spoken, not a sound in that quiet room save for the twin rasp of their breathing and quiet gaspsand the faint patter of rain on the glass. He slid over her, between her legs, his hips fitting into the cradle between her thighs, as if he had always belonged there. And as if he always would. Her hands, with her clever, graceful fingers, clasped his head, even as she kissed him as if he were the very air she needed to breathe. When she wrapped her long legs about his hips and urged him within her, he wasted no time, sinking into her ready warmth. They moved together in an age-old dance, their bodies rocking in perfect rhythm, faster, faster, the pleasure building until she came around him. Before the echoes of her soft cries of completion had faded away, he pulled himself from her, spending in the sheets.
He pulled her back into his arms, their labored breathing mingling. Unlike the previous morning, however, when the whole day and next night spread ahead of them with promise, there was no such insulation for them today. He was all too aware of what was to come in mere hours, that separation he had wanted so desperately just days ago but now was the very thing he dreaded most in this world.
She must have sensed that end as well, for there was no languid relaxing against him as their bodies came down from the heavens. No, there was only a vague kind of tension, which grew in intensity with each passing second. He suddenly could not stand the thought of her pulling away from him, watching her go about the day as if they weren’t leaving something infinitely precious behind them in this bed. He knew he had a choice to make: to rip his pride to shreds and beg her to stay with him, or to begin the leaving himself.
But as he froze, stuck between the two decisions like a fox caught in a snare, Seraphina was busy making it for him.
“We’d best prepare for our departure,” she murmured, pulling away from him. “The sooner we reach Edinburgh the sooner the both of us can get on with our lives.”
As she left him alone in the bed, walking away from him without even a glance back, he felt quite literally as if she had taken his heart with her.
For how silent and tense the last leg to Edinburgh had been, it surprised Seraphina how quickly the time had flown.
Her lips twisted as she peered out the carriage window. Of course, when one dreaded what was to come, the time leading up to it was all the more precious. And all the shorter for it.
They came to a bright-green-fronted inn and turned slowly into the yard. Several people stood back to allow them to pass, including a dark-haired woman with her arm tucked through the arm of a frail, elderly woman. The younger one glanced briefly at the carriage and started violently, then returned her gaze to peer inside. Just as Seraphina caught her eye, Iain, seated across the carriage from her, shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.
“I’ll secure a pair of rooms and send a letter on to the Lord President at the Court of Sessions to establish a meeting with him at his earliest convenience,” he said, low and tense. “I dinnae see a problem with him being able to see us later this afternoon.”
The strange woman already forgotten, Seraphina began busily gathering up her things, the better to distract herself from the volatile emotions churning in her stomach. “I don’t require a room,” she replied in as even a voice as shewas able. “If you would be so kind as to secure a seat for me on the next mail coach, I’ll begin the return journey to Synne later today. If I leave in time, I can make it back to Haddington by nightfall. I’m eager to return to my sisters as quickly as possible.”
Even in her busyness she felt the weight of Iain’s eyes on her. “You would return this verra day?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. Like I’ve said before. I have a business to return to. The sooner I return the better.”
There was a heavy sigh across the carriage as she opened Phineas’s cage door. And then Iain spoke, his voice solemn. “Verra well. But I shall hire a private carriage for you.” In a tone that tried for lightness but failed miserably, he added, “I dinnae think your pigeon would care for company on your journey.”
Throat thick, she nodded. “You have our thanks.”
The door to the carriage swung open then, and a groom stood waiting to help her alight. Needing to get away from Iain before she threw herself in his arms and asked him to forget everything she had said and that she wanted to be with him, she hurried to the cobbled courtyard, Phineas perched on her shoulder.
“I’ll just take a short walk while you secure your room and write that letter,” she said once Iain had descended behind her. “I’ll meet you back here, shall I?” Without waiting for a reply, she tucked her reticule against her side and hurried through the busy yard to the bustling street beyond.
But there was no respite from the turmoil inside her. As she walked blindly down the street, a strange, horrible panic rose up in her, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. How could she go through with this? How could she stand before the judge and declare the one piece ofinformation, that she was alive and well, that would separate her from Iain for all eternity? And funny enough—not that there was anything remotely funny about any of this—her fear was no longer that her father might learn that she had resurfaced. No, her sole fear just then was losing Iain.
Though he was already lost, wasn’t he? Even if, by some chance, she listened to that voice from yesterday and refused the divorce and claimed a future with Iain, how could she ever be truly honest with him about her past? How could she possibly tell him about her time in the asylum, or what she had done to survive in the years after running off with her sisters? God, she could not handle him looking at her any different, at him pitying her or, worse, looking at her in disgust. No, better that she part from him on her own terms and remain unaltered in his mind.
