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Will wanted to deny it, but his parents had interrogated world-renowned spies. They would find out the truth. “I don’t deny it. I just don’t know what to do about it. She’s gone to Lyme Regis. I thought I might call on her there and try to sort it out.
His father raised a brow, and his mother pressed her lips together.
“I know those looks.” Will pushed back from the table and stood. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“Do you really want to hear it?” his mother asked. “You know we don’t like to interfere.”
“I want to hear it.”
His mother looked at his father, and Lord Smythe sighed. “I have to do it?”
“You know Willoughby and I are too much alike. I’d go in without a plan as well.”
“That’s not exactly an accurate depiction,” Will said.
“Your plan, from what I heard,” his father said, “is to sort it out in Lyme Regis. That’s not a strategy.”
“I don’t need a strategy. She’s not my adversary.”
“Do you want to marry her?” his father asked. “Because given the way you’ve mucked things up so far, I wouldn’t be surprised if she laughed in your face.”
“That’s a bit harsh,” Will muttered. “And I don’t know if I want to marry her. I just started with the Royal Saboteurs. I’m not ready to give that up.”
“But you don’t want to give her up.” That was from his mother.
“I don’t.”
“You’d better be prepared to fight,” his father said. “If you love her, fight for her. It’s easy to walk away. Harder to stay and work things out.” He glanced at his wife, and Will saw her give him a tender smile.
“That’s good advice,” Will said.
“So what will you do?” his mother asked.
Will gave her a tight smile. “I suppose we’re more alike than I thought. I’ll know what to do when I see her.”
Chapter Seventeen
Emily turned her face toward the ocean and let the breeze whip her hair and her skirts back. The wind was particularly fierce today. White caps formed on the water and even the seagulls seemed to struggle to stay aloft. Emily liked the reminder of her small place in the world. Like the fossils Miss Anning collected, Emily could only hope to leave a faint impression on the limestone of history. The world would go on. It had when Jack died. It had when Will left. It would when she was gone.
The question was how to spend the time she had left. She knew how she would not spend it—crying into her pillow. She’d done quite enough of that the first few days in her leased seaside cottage. Now she was done with tears. Willoughby Galloway had never promised her anything. And for as much as their parting had hurt her, she didn’t regret any part of their time together. He’d shown her she could love again. He’d thrust open the drapes of her dark existence and shown her the sun was shining, if only she stepped out into it.
She didn’t want to go back into mourning.
The problem was, she didn’t know what she wanted instead. The queen wanted her back. Jack’s brother had also written and reminded her that she was always welcome at Averley Hall. She could be a doting aunt. She could marry a country squire. She could stand on this beach all day and allow her skin to turn as pink as a dandy’s coat.
She turned to go back to her cottage then stilled. A tall figure moved toward her, and she knew that stride. She knew the way Will moved even without being able to see his face. The wind threatened to steal her hat, and she pressed a hand to it, keeping it in place. She felt rooted in place as well. He looked even better than she remembered. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, and moving with confidence. As he neared her, she saw his brown hair looked sun-kissed in this light, and his eyes looked almost golden.
His mouth curved in a smile when she saw him, and though she had imagined a moment like this a thousand times, her reaction had never been to rush into his arms. She’d thought she’d scold or weep or demand answers. But she went to him without reservation, and he opened his arms and pulled her into his embrace.
She wrapped her arms about his neck, releasing her hat to the mercy of the wind. It flew away on the breeze, and Will cupped the back of her neck and kissed her. Her skirts whipped around them, and the breeze pulled at her, but Will was a solid anchor, holding her tight. When they parted, she looked up at him.
“You came to Lyme Regis.”
“I had to see you. Emily—”
She put a finger on his lips. “Come back to the cottage with me. If we stay out here, I’ll only kiss you again and we’ll be arrested for indecency.”
Will smiled at her. “Lead the way.” He took her arm and helped her up the stairs to the small blue cottage overlooking the ocean. Pratt took one look at Emily and Will when they came through the cottage door and made an excuse to go to the shops. Emily would have pulled Will to her small bed chamber in the back of the house, but he tugged her into his arms in front of the large windows. Outside, the trees shook in the wind and the sunglinted on the water. Inside, Will’s strong arms wrapped around her waist.
