Page 67 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

Seraphina swallowed against the lump in her throat, taking a tentative step toward her wardrobe. “I see. Then I shall get ready to leave immediately.”

“I have already instructed that they prepare the closed carriage.” He paused, his gaze lingering on her face for a fraction of a second before dropping to the ground. “Are you sure you are ready for this, Seraphina? I can go, confront her myself, and have her arrested if that is what you wish.”

“No, I want to go. I want to find the culprit,” she said. “I have to be there when she explains why she did all of this. I want this finished.”

“As do I,” he said. He gave a single, stiff nod. “I will be waiting in the courtyard.”

He turned and strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing into the hall.

Seraphina stood frozen beside her bed, her hands clutching the edge of the post.

It was the first time they had spoken directly to one another in nearly a week. Seven agonizing days since that night in his study, since the heat of his body against hers, the feeling of his lips on her, and the humiliating, desperate babble of her own voice at the door. Seven days in which he had effectively vanished, retreating into the depths of the estate or riding out before dawn, leaving her alone with her books, her thoughts, and the realization that everything was hurtling toward an inevitable, crushing end.

She sank slowly back onto the bed. It did not, however, take her seven days to accept that she was wrong. That she did not recognize herself anymore. That she felt... different now.

Euphemia had been right. God help her, her sweet, sentimental sister had been entirely right.

All her life, Seraphina had treated human emotion as a flaw in the human apparatus, a flaw that could be studied, categorized, and ultimately dismissed by a mind disciplined enough to master it.

When Euphemia had warned her, weeks ago, that matters of the heart did not obey the laws of physics or logic, Seraphina had scoffed. She had believed herself superior to the foolish, swooning heroines of circulating-library novels. She had believed her intellect was an unassailable shield.

How spectacularly, pathetically stupid she had been.

Logic was failing her now. It was failing her woefully. Ever since that kiss... nothing made any sense. Logic did not account for the way her hands trembled when she tried to write her columns, her mind continuously wandering back to that night... that beautiful sensation of his mouth moving over hers.

The books had lied to her. The medical journals, the philosophical treatises, the scientific volumes... none of them had adequately described what it felt like to fall. They spoke of affection in vague, elevated terms of moral alignment and mutual respect. They said nothing of the helpless gravity that pulled a person toward another until standing apart felt like breathing poison.

Euphemia had warned her that love was not a problem to be solved. Leonora had warned her that an arrangement like theirs could never end cordially, that someone always bled in the end, and William...

William had known.

That was perhaps the most humiliating truth of all. William, with his calculating mind and his mastery of human nature, had seen straight through her defensive posturing weeks ago. He had read her like an open ledger before she had even dared to admit the truth to herself. He must have seen the way her eyes lingered on him, the way her composure fractured whenever he drew near, the way she tilted toward him like a flower desperately turning toward the sun.

He had known, and he had tried to draw the line to protect them both, while she had stood there like a fool, shouting about science and chemistry, arrogantly proclaiming her own absolute control.

Science had utterly failed her. Her intellect had abandoned her. She was not a master of logic; she was simply a hypocrite who had fallen in love with a man who had bargained for a business partner.

Concentrate, Seraphina. Now is not the time.

It took her maid nearly an hour to get Seraphina ready for the journey. The morning air was crisp as she descended the stone steps toward the courtyard.

William was standing beside the traveling carriage, speaking in low tones to the head groom. As Seraphina approached, he turned then to look at her before dismissing the groom.

“Seraphina,” he said, stepping toward her. He gestured toward another carriage parked near the stables. “If you would prefer... we can take separate conveyances. I know the ride will be long, and if you require space —”

“No,” she interrupted quickly. The thought of sitting alone in a carriage for hours, staring at the upholstery and drowning in her own self-pity, was unbearable. But more than that, she refused to let him think she was cowering. She refused to look like a frightened child avoiding her instructor. “No, that is entirely unnecessary. Taking a single carriage is far more practical. It reduces the strain on the horses and allows us to make better time.”

William searched her face for a second before bowing his head slightly. “As you wish.”

He offered her his hand. Seraphina hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her palm in his. Even through two layers of leather, his touch sent a tremor straight up her arm. She stepped into the carriage, her skirts rustling, and took her seat against the squabs. William climbed in after her, ducking his head beneath the low frame, and sat on the bench opposite her.

With a snap of the whip and the clatter of hooves on gravel, the carriage lurched forward, leaving Norwyn Manor behind.

For the first few hours, the silence between them was oppressive. William kept his face turned toward the window, watching the frosty fields of the countryside sweep past.

“It will be over soon,” he said quietly, breaking the silence without looking at her. “If this woman confirms she is the culprit, or yields who hired her, we can hand the matter over to the magistrates by the end of the week. The threat to your reputation will be entirely neutralized.”

“Yes,” Seraphina said, staring down at her tightly clasped hands in her lap. “I am eager to have it resolved. I want to return to my work without feeling as though an invisible hand is waiting to destroy everything I have built.”