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

by Sarah MacLean

“Haven, I must return to London.” “No.” She imagined neither man much liked agreeing with the other. She could not contain her groan of frustration. “Neither of you get a say in the decision.” “We have a deal, Sera,” Haven said. “And that deal does not include sallying off to London with some American.” “I’ll sally wherever and with whomever I like,” she retorted, suddenly incredibly irritated by everything. “You don’t own me.” “But he does,” Caleb said. She blinked. “I beg your pardon?” Haven was set back on his heels as well. “I beg your pardon?” Caleb’s gaze found hers, and she hated the meaning in it. “He does own you, Duchess. You’re his wife. He owns you, and all of your belongings. He owns your very future.” The message was clear. To keep the Sparrow safe and hers, she had to stay here. She had to secure her divorce to secure her future. She scowled at her friend. “You’re a damn traitor.” “We do what we have to. Don’t worry, Duke. She’s not going back to London.” Sera swallowed back her urge to do additional damage to Caleb’s face, and he added, “And I’ll be spending some more time here, it seems. We shall all become fast friends, I’m sure.”

“Well, this is already the best country house party I’ve ever attended,” Sesily said, large slab of beef in hand. After handing the meat to Caleb with a whispered “For your eye,” she turned to the rest of the women. “Don’t you agree?” “I most certainly do not,” said Mrs. Mayhew. It was always Mrs. Mayhew, it seemed. “This is utterly improper.” “Oh, please,” Sera said, exasperated by the misplaced pompousness. “Then you may go, Mrs. Mayhew. But you won’t, will you? Because you want a dukedom as much as any other mother in London. And this is the closest you’ll get to one.” Mrs. Mayhew shut her mouth.

As the assembly filed further into the manor house, Sera turned and stared down her husband. “He stays.” “He is not welcome.” “He is standing right here,” Caleb said. “Now do you prefer ‘the American’?” Sesily asked. Caleb grinned. “You know, I might. I’m happy to stay, Duchess. But who is going to deal with your man? Not that I couldn’t,” he rushed to add. “I’m in fine fettle.” Haven was not paying attention to anyone but Sera, though. He approached, coming close enough to unsettle her. But she did not feel unsettled. She felt something else, entirely. Her heart thrummed and she met his gaze with pride before answering her friend. “I am going to deal with him.” Haven watched her for a long moment, making her feel as though she were the only person on earth. Finally, he spoke. “It’s going to cost you dearly.” “Of course it will,” she said. “That is the game we play.”

“And now we are alone. Be careful, husband, or you shall set tongues to wagging. The mother of your future wife won’t care for the appearance that we remain . . . sympathetic.” “I don’t care what they think.” For a moment, she believed him. But she knew better. It was a pretty lie, but a lie just the same. She faced it with all the strength she could muster. “Nonsense. You’ve always cared what the world thinks.”

“I did care,” he said, and his voice was ragged, like wheels on gravel. “I once cared too much what they thought. And now, I seem to care too little. I seem to care only what you think.” She couldn’t resist looking at him and, as ever, she was instantly in his thrall. She shook her head, barely. Enough for him to see. “Mal,” she whispered. “What is it, Angel?” His whisper tempted her like nothing she’d ever experienced as he leaned closer. “I shall give you anything you ask. I have never been able to refuse you.”

“Your Grace? Do you require something?” Yes. You. “No,” he said. “Please. Go on.” There was a pause, and he could see she wanted to argue. He raised a brow in invitation. Let her argue. If that was what he could have of her, so be it. Her lips pressed together in annoyance, and he wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to kiss her always, honestly, but particularly when she was annoyed. She began anew. “The duke enjoys game, lamb, and duck.” He did laugh at that. What a ridiculous play in which they all performed. Sera’s annoyance became anger, and she turned on him again. He took it back. He wanted to kiss her particularly when she was angry. She was most beautiful then. “Your Grace,” she said, not hiding the disapproval in the words. “Again, may we assist you in some way?” “No,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb. “In fact, I’m finding this supremely edifying.” “You are surprised to find that you enjoy duck?” “I’m surprised to find that you are aware that I enjoy duck.” She raised her brows. “Am I incorrect?” “No,” he said. “But you’ve never planned a meal for me in your life.” He knew he goaded her. But if this was what he could have of her, he would take it. She smiled. “Considering we’re in the process of divorcing, I would think you’d be happy I haven’t attempted to poison you.” He blinked. The girls assembled tittered. Amusement? Surprise? Mal didn’t care. All he cared was that Sera was moved. Moved enough to challenge him. This was familiar. A...

“A letter from my husband.” She handed it to him. “For you.” “Why?” She feigned ignorance. “Who can say?” Haven sighed and accepted the missive, reaching for a letter opener and tearing it open to reveal the message: Haven— As it is, I’m less than thrilled that my wife has decided to spend the summer with you and her sisters instead of with me, but I am loath to argue with her when she is in her condition, and what she wishes, she gets. Haven looked up to find Sophie, hands over her expanding midsection, serene smile upon her face. He returned to the note. So, I shall settle for this, knowing that there is little love lost between you. Upset her, and you shall answer to me. I shall take pleasure in it. And then, below, parenthetically: (Upset your own wife and answer to her sisters, who are—en masse—as fearsome as I could ever be.) Eversley

“We’ve started a betting book.” Sesily announced as though she were discussing the weather. “Would you like to hear about it?” He leaned against the side of the desk, feigning disinterest. “By all means.” “Seline thinks you’re after Father’s money again.” “I wasn’t after it the first time.” “No,” Sophie said. “You were after his ruin.” He wasn’t proud of it. He’d been blind with anger and frustration and betrayal, thinking that she’d never cared for him. Desperate for her to care for him. And he’d gone after her father. Would have paupered him if not for Eversley, who stepped in and settled him down. “I’m not after either, this time.” Sophie looked unconvinced, but Sesily continued. “Seleste thinks you’re a spy.” That was unexpected. “To what end?” Sesily put down the paper and waved a hand in the air. “Something to do with Mr. Calhoun and their tavern. It doesn’t make any sense.” Later, he’d wonder about that reference to the tavern. He’d think on the their. But Sesily was still talking. “Now I . . .” She paused with unsettling gusto. “Call me a romantic, but I think you’re trying to woo her back.” His heart nearly stopped at that. He steeled his features as his sister-in-law soldiered on, thankfully unaware of the effect she’d had upon him. “Which is a terrible idea, I know. I mean, it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to see that she’ll never ever take you back.” The words were so matter-of-fact, he couldn’t help but feel their sting. And say, “Even if I’ve changed?” “You h...

“I see what you’re doing. It won’t work.” Maybe not. But it was worth a try. “And besides, it’s not me about whom you should worry. I don’t loathe you more than Sera does. So, if Sesily’s right, and you’re trying to woo her back, you’re going to need quite a bit of luck.”

“I don’t need your help.” “Of course you don’t,” he said. “You’ve never needed me.” It’s always been I who needed you.

“It’s time you participate in this process, Mal. You’ve a choice to make.” You, he thought. I choose you.

“I spent months learning what you liked. Before we were married and after, even when I was not welcome in your house.” He couldn’t look away from her, even as she stared ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. “I had every intention of planning your meals. Of keeping your house. Of being your . . .” She trailed off, but he heard the word. Wife. And he also heard the past tense. Why were they always in the past? “Also, I know you loathe asparagus,” she said, and the words were injected with something akin to smug triumph. “I do,” he said. “You just wanted to undermine me.” “You’ve been avoiding me.” Not that it was an excuse, but it was the truth. “You never said we had to interact.” He sighed, and she misunderstood it for irritation. “You know, you brought this upon yourself, Haven. You decided you wanted a new wife. You decided you wanted me to select her. This is the process. Imagine. You might even like one of them.” But he wouldn’t love one of them. “I don’t need to like them to marry them,” he said, knowing he sounded like a beast. “It helps, don’t you think?” “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “We never liked each other.” “Nonsense,” she said as they approached the dining room. “If we hadn’t liked each other so much, perhaps it all wouldn’t have gone so wrong.”

“Wait,” he said, and she had to turn back else risk censure for ignoring him. There were benefits to being a duke. He lowered his voice and said, “What do you think I brought you here for?” They’d discussed her sisters’ theories. But he cared only for hers. She watched him for a long moment before she said, low enough that only he could hear, “I think I am here to be your toy.” “What on earth does that mean?” “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You never have.” They were not true, but the words stung with brutal honesty, because she believed them. And then she added, “You don’t want any part of a life with me.” The words sent a chill through him, evoking a memory he’d forgotten. A memory he wanted to expel immediately. Hang dinner and everyone at it. “Sera—” She shook her head. “Your Grace. I have been in this particular position before.” She was already turning to the room, where a collection of fresh-faced women was waiting. At a table laden with asparagus. He looked to his wife, knowing smirk on her lips. She was wrong. He did want her. He wanted the life with her. And, this time, he would not stop until he had it.

“That is our tale, is it not? You, the tragically heroic Samson, and me, the temptress Delilah, thieving your power?” Malcolm’s gaze narrowed. “You tell me. Delilah took money and land.” “I took nothing from you.” “No,” he said. “You did worse. There was no honorable thievery in your actions. You made a trade for your spoils.” She gasped. “Are you calling me a whore?” “Your words, Sera. Not mine.”

“We do not have to marry.” She’d said it a dozen times in the hours following their discovery. Another dozen the day after. Of course they had to marry. “I made a mistake,” she added, softly. “I should never have agreed—” “Stop.” He didn’t wish to hear it, the confirmation that she’d trapped him. He did not wish to relive the moment of realization. She did not stop. “And if I told you it wasn’t a trap? Not at the start? Not in any of the days leading up to the end? Because it wasn’t a trap, Malcolm.” Christ, he wanted to believe her. “It was all real. I was me and you were you and everyone said it couldn’t be—” “Stop.” He could barely contain his rage. “Still, you weave your pretty tale. I don’t care.” He took a breath, forcing himself calm. “You landed your duke, as my mother landed my father before me. I thought you were in it for me, and you were in it for a title and I should have seen it coming and that is that.” Silence fell, thick and unpleasant as she considered her next words and he willed them to be anything but another lie. He did not think he could stomach another lie. Not from this woman who had seemed so much the truth for so long. Finally, she spoke, something like panic in her words. “I’ve thought about this; if I leave—if I disappear, I give my sisters a chance at futures unencumbered by my scandal.” “You can’t cleanse the scandal from them,” he said. “They own it as they own your name. They are—forever—Dangerous Daughters. Just as I am always Hoodwinked H...

“There shan’t be children.” She gasped. “What?” Children were no longer in the cards. They had not been since the afternoon at Highley, when she’d trapped him. He wasn’t interested in bringing another child into the life he had lived. “I’ve cousins. They may have the title.” “You do not wish for an heir?” He looked to her then, meeting her beautiful blue eyes, wide and honest. How many times had he been lost in those eyes in the last few weeks? How many times had he believed what he saw in them? “I do not. I’m not interested in a child who is nothing more than a pawn in his parents’ chess match.” She was silent for a long moment, her throat working as she searched for words. “Is this your way of punishing me?” He raised a brow. “You wish for children?” “Of course. They are part of life.” He imagined them, her children—a line of them with mahogany curls and bright, blue eyes, long frames and wide smiles. She would make beautiful children. They would. Except they wouldn’t. He turned away, toward the window that looked out on the rolling estate beyond. “I don’t want any part of that life.” Three months ago, it had been truth. Three days ago, it was a lie. He did not know what it was today. “With me,” she clarified. “You don’t want any part of a life with me.” “No.” It felt like a lie. He had wanted it. He’d intended to marry her—this vibrant, funny, beautiful woman who seemed to know more about joy and love and family than he ever had. And then he’d realized she wasn’t real, ...

“Do not ever imagine that I do not see what you do,” she said. “You play the dog in the manger. You don’t want me. But you don’t want anyone else to have me, either.” He faced her, hating the guilt that threaded through him at the words. “You are punishing me. And doing a superior job.”

“I do blame you,” he said, backing away from her. “Make no mistake.” She pursued him. In this, unwilling to let him hide. “Then blame me. They have nothing to do with it. And I expect you to fix this.” It was an impossible request. Once the gossip rags had their teeth in a tale, they held on until it was dead. She knew that. She and her sisters had been called the Soiled S’s since her coal-baron father had come down from Newcastle with five beauties in tow. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before, Sera.” The words were a mistake. She turned on him, and he saw the rage in her face. “Before? Before what? Before you stumbled onto the balcony that night? Before you urged me to dance? Before you kissed me? Before you sent a carriage to fetch me to your country house? Because, as I recall it, there were two of us on the floor of your study, Duke. Not just Delilah, with her wicked blade.” His anger rose, too, along with guilt and frustration and—goddammit—desire. And he approached her, pulling her close. “You were Delilah,” he growled. “Delilah and Salome and Diana . . . goddess of the damn hunt.” He paused. “And I the blind, fat bull.” “What nonsense,” she spat back, meeting him without fear. “You think I do not remember? How you opened my gown? How you lifted my skirts? Who begged then, Duke?” She laughed, the sound a wicked sting. “I wish I could take it all back. What a mistake I made.” He pulled her close, and she bent backward, over his arm, his lips lingering at he...

“Stop it,” Sera said, approaching her friend. “You’ll chase them all away.” Caleb’s masculine pride was palpable. “If you think that girl wants to run from me, you’re losing your understanding of young women in your old age.” “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I’m barely nine and twenty.” “Practically one foot in the grave,” he replied.

“How’s your divorce?” “If he’d spend time with the girls, it would help.” “Maybe he doesn’t want the girls.” “They’re his selections.” “Maybe he only selected them because he didn’t think you were an option.” She scowled. “I’ll be back as soon as he picks a wife.” Caleb grunted, and she did not like the meaning imbued in the sound. “What?” He rocked back on his heels, fingers in the waist of his trousers. “Nothing. Only that I’m not certain you’re coming back at all if you can’t stand up to your duke.” She narrowed her gaze with an angry whisper. “What does that mean?” “You think I don’t know what happens whenever you are alone?” her friend said, all quiet casualness, as though they discussed the weather. “I think you don’t know a thing about it, as a matter of fact.” “Sparrow, that duke has had you since the moment you met. And you’ve had him. And neither years apart nor a divorce will change the way he looks at you. Or the way you don’t look at him.” “You don’t know what you’re on about,” she said, turning away and clapping her hands, marching to the place where the small white ball lay happily in lush green grass.

“Now, now,” Sesily said, after the laughter died down. “Everyone knows Haven has an affinity for women who can command a bowl course.” “Is that true?” Miss Mary said, concern in the words. “Very,” Sesily said. “Ask Sera. She knows all about his interest in . . . orbs.” A septet of women laughed on a spectrum ranging from choke to guffaw. Caleb made it worse when he tipped his hat to Sesily and said, “I’m right. You are trouble.” Sesily winked. “Only the very best kind, American.” He laughed, full and welcome, and Sera couldn’t help but join him, forgetting, for a moment, the true reason for their assembly. Until Mrs. Mayhew reminded them all, slapping her fan shut and rapping it against her thigh. “Really! This is too unacceptable!” Sesily blinked wide-eyed innocence at the older woman. “I don’t know what you think I am referring to, Mrs. Mayhew. Haven likes bowls.” She looked to Sera. “Doesn’t he?” “Very much, as a matter of fact,” she said, rather proud of her ability to steel her expression. Sesily Talbot did not simply live up to the expectations for the Talbot sisters—she exceeded them. And Sera had always adored her for it. Perhaps they could grow old together, partners in ruinous sisterhood. “And what of the fact that she’s a wicked flirt?” Mrs. Mayhew prodded in ear-piercing outrage. “I see no reason why that should impede a game of lawn bowls,” Sera said with a shrug. “Excellent!” Sesily said. “It’s decided, then! If I win, I get the American.” “And if someone els...

“The unmarrieds versus the marrieds. And Sesily.” Sesily sighed dramatically. “Always a bridesmaid.” She looked to Caleb. “American bride?”

on purpose!” Seleste pointed out from her spot down the field. Haven raised a brow. “Now I’m not sure where to go.” Sesily answered without hesitation. “I could always attempt to hit you, Haven. If that would make you feel better.” Sera smirked and looked to him. “It is your decision, which team you’d like, of course, as master of the field.” She waved a hand over the collection of bowls. “Just throw the ball, Sesily,” he said.

“What does she win?” Sera lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “No,” he said, and suddenly it felt as though they were alone in the gardens. “No shrugging. What does she win?” “Well, if the sisters win, the one who gets closest to the kitty gets to return to London,” Sera said. “Won’t she be lonely? Best send the whole lot home with her.” She scowled, and he added, “And what of the suitesses winning?” “A private excursion.” “With whom?” “With you, of course.” “Oh.” Mrs. Mayhew spoke for all the mothers and, by the look on his face, for Haven as well. Sera thought she would get more pleasure from his shock. She lowered her voice. “You wish a wife, Your Grace. This is how you get one.”

“You’re wearing lavender.” The change of topic threw her. “I am.” The words came out more like a question, as though she did not have eyes in her head and a grasp of the color spectrum. “Yesterday was amethyst. The day before, a grey like heather in winter.” She went cold. “I like purple.” He shook his head, his eyes dark with secrets. She knew it, because hers held the same. “No, I don’t think so.” She didn’t want to discuss it. Not then. Not as they stood there with what seemed like half the women in London watching. She didn’t want to discuss it. Ever. And she hated him for pointing out her clothing. Purples and greys. The colors of mourning.

“Then I think I should stay at this end, and make sure you are impartial.” She forced a smile. “Afraid I’ll rig the contest to keep my sisters?” He lowered his voice. “Afraid you’ll rig the contest to get rid of me.” She stilled. That was the point, was it not?

“Mrs. Mayhew, are you quite—” The woman snapped to her feet. “Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You’re the scandal here. We should have known you’d bring it down upon all of us. You should have stayed in America and left your poor husband to his future. With a decent woman. One with grace and honor and fidelity.” Silence fell as the last word came, a sharp and angry attack, and Sera could not resist the impulse to look to Malcolm, wondering if he, too, felt the shame she did. Hating what she had brought down upon them all. Her sisters, the girls, and him—him most of all. Except it was not shame she saw in his eyes, nor even a hint of the laughter that had been there before. It was rage. It was protection. It was loyalty. For her.

“I am sorry. I should never have come here. I’ve a love at home. Gerald. He’s wonderful.” Sera could not contain her smile. This girl had such a voice. It was remarkable. “I imagine he is if he’s won you.” “He’s a solicitor!” Mrs. Mayhew cried. “So was Father before he was in Parliament!” Mary pointed out. Mrs. Mayhew began to mottle. “But now . . . you could have a duke!” “But I don’t want a duke.” She smiled at Malcolm then. “Apologies, Your Grace.” Mal shook his head. “No offense taken.” “I’m sure you won’t understand, but I don’t care that you are a duke. And I don’t care that he is a solicitor. I’d have him however he came.” Malcolm’s gaze flickered past Mary to Sera. “Rat catcher.” Sera stopped breathing. Mary smiled. “You understand.” “I do, rather,” he said, and still he watched Sera, seeming to understand how she struggled with the echo of their past. When he finally looked back to Mary, he said, “I am sorry we did not get more of a chance to talk.” The young woman smiled. “I think you would not have liked me, anyway.” “There, you are wrong, Miss Mayhew. I shall watch the papers for the announcement of your marriage. And in exchange for you removing your mother from my land, I shall send you and Gerald a very generous gift to celebrate your marriage.” Dipping her head to hide her smile, Mary dropped into a little curtsy. “That seems like an excellent arrangement. With apologies, Your Grace.” It did not escape Sera that that particular Your Grace was not directed a...

Lilith was a good match. She would be lucky to have Haven. That was, Haven would be lucky to have her. And still, the echo of his words consumed Sera. My duchess. Of course, he meant his wife in the vaguest, broadest terms. He did not mean Sera. How many times had he made it clear he didn’t want her? How many times had she said she did not want him? And she hadn’t. Not once she’d stopped wanting him. Not once she’d left. She’d spent nearly three years not wanting him. Proudly not wanting him. Proudly planning a future devoid of him. And now . . . with a handful of words—words like my duchess and rat catcher—he was reminding her of the dreams she’d once had. The expectations, unrealistic in the extreme. Women did not win love and happiness. At least, Sera did not. Those prizes were well out of her reach. Far enough away that she’d focused on other, more attainable goals. Like freedom. And funds. And future. Leave love to the others.

“You mistake flirting for desire, sir.” “I don’t mistake your bold flirt for anything but what it is, Sesily Talbot.” She lifted her chin, exposing a millimeter more skin. Tempting him with it. “And what is that? Diversion?” He let a beat go by as he watched this girl who had never in her life faced a proper man. “Disguise.” He’d shocked her. She uncrossed her arms and came off the coach, unsettled by him. By his ability to see the truth. “I don’t know what you mean.” “I mean you’re a flirt, Sesily, and a good one, too. Most people don’t see what you are when you’re not full of swagger.” “And you do?” “I do,” he said. “I recognize it.” She blinked. Laughed, bold enough for a lesser man not to hear the nervousness in it. “What do you recognize, Caleb Calhoun? An unwillingness to compromise?” “An unwillingness to risk.” She narrowed her gaze. “You don’t know much about me, if you think I do not risk. I’ve done nothing but risk since I had my first season. I’m a scandal for the ages.” “Nah, you’re only a scandal because they don’t see that you’re the least scandalous of the lot.” Her brows rose high. “Never tell a Talbot sister she’s not scandalous, sir. You risk us taking offense.” He smiled. “I’ve spent three years with Seraphina, love. I know the truth. You wear your pretty clothes and talk your clever talk, but when it comes down to it, you want one thing. And it’s not what you want me to think it is.” Her lips pressed into a straight line. “I do so like it when a man tel...

“What do you want, Your Grace?” He wanted so much, and so well that he shocked himself with his answer. “I want you not to call me Your Grace.” She turned at that, her blue eyes grey in the darkness. “You remain a duke, do you not?” “You never treated me as one.” One side of her mouth rose in a little smile. “Silly Haven. Didn’t you leave me because I knew your title too well?” He hated the words. Hated that even in this quiet, private darkness, they were cloaked in the past. But most of all, he hated the truth in them. He had left her because he’d thought she cared for his dukedom more than she cared for him. By the time he’d discovered that it mattered not a bit why she’d landed him—only that she’d landed him at all—she’d been gone. And with her, his future. She finally spoke, as though she’d heard his thoughts. “I didn’t intend to trap you, you know. Not at the start.” She took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. “That is the truth, if it matters.”

“Is there something you fear sneaking up on us in the dark?” “There could be anything.” “For example?” “Bears.” His brow furrowed. “You spent too much time in America if you think bears are coming for you.” “It could happen.” He sighed. “No. It really couldn’t. Not in Essex. Name one thing that might kill you in the dark in Essex.” “An angry fox.” The reply came so quick, he could not help his laugh. “I think you’re safe. We haven’t had a foxhunt in several years.” “That doesn’t mean the foxes aren’t seeking revenge for their ancestors.” “The foxes are too fat with grouse to muster much anger. And if they do come for you, Sera, I vow to protect you.” “Your vows have not held much promise in the past,” she said, and he heard the way she tried to avoid the end of the sentence, as though she hadn’t wanted to say it any more than he’d wanted to hear it. Of course, he deserved to hear it. He ignored the sting of the words and faced them head-on. “Tonight, I turn over a new leaf.”

“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.”

“Tell me, Seraphina. If there were no one—no sisters or god or goddess to protect you, no American, no aristocracy to watch and judge? What would you do if I pursued you?” His eyes darkened with his words and she could not look away. How many times had he spoken to her like this? In liquid, languid poetry? How many times had she dreamed it? He pressed on. “If I promised you sun, moon, stars? If I vowed to always hunt you, would you take flight? Or would you choose to be caught?” He was close enough that she could give in. That she could reach up and press her lips to his. That she could throw caution to the wind and take what he offered. That he could catch her. But he wouldn’t, not without her consent. “What if we could have it back, Sera?” The whisper destroyed her, the ache in the words matching the ache in her chest. “What if we could start anew?” She shook her head. “You should never have brought me here.” He took a step toward her. Ignoring the words. “Would you take it?” She swallowed, knowing she shouldn’t. He saw the hesitation. Leaned in, willpower alone keeping him from kissing her. How did he stop himself when all she wanted was to let herself go? He stopped for her. “Take it, Angel.” One time. This one time, and then she would end it. Pass him on. Let him find a new wife. Let herself pursue freedom. But this one, single time, she would take what he offered. What she desired. She would get him out of her mind forever. One time. She came up on her toes, closing ...

“I have ached for you for so long,” he confessed to her skin, his lips playing at the secret places to which only he had ever had access. “It has always been you, every night, Angel.” His tongue came out, swirling a little circle at the place where her neck met her shoulder, and when she gasped, he said, “I have lain awake every night, visions of you haunting me until I have no choice . . .” He trailed off, those lips sliding down the slope of her chest to the place where her breasts strained at the top of her corset. “Visions of your skin—miles of perfection—of your beautiful lips. Of your eyes, like sin. Of your breasts,” and then he was there, lifting them from her corset, sliding his lips over the delicate, desperate skin of them, drawing little, teasing circles around her nipples. “You used to love it when I suckled you here,” he whispered, the filthy words sending heat and heavy desire coursing through her. “Do it,” she whispered. “Anything you wish,” he whispered, his tongue finding the straining tip of one breast. “Everything you wish, love.” Love. The endearment thrummed through her, and she pushed it away, instead, setting her hands to his impossibly soft curls and showing him just where she wanted him.

“How often I have dreamed of this,” he whispered, pulling his shirt over his head and sending it to the floor where his coat already lay, before spreading her corset wide and placing kisses between her breasts, down the soft skin covering her ribs, speaking to her body in a way he might never have spoken to her face. “How many nights have I taken myself in hand, thinking of this,” he went on, the words echoing around them in the starlit dome, the shock of their truth setting her aflame. “How many have I spent alone, ashamed, desperate for you?” “Not more than I,” she whispered, immediately regretting the confession. His head shot up, his eyes finding hers in the darkness. Refusing to let her go. “You have dreamed of me?” It was one night. One night of truth. One night to exorcise the past and pave the way for a future free of their demons. Her hand slid to his face, to the shadow of his beard on his strong, firm jaw. “Every day.” His eyes closed at the confession, as though it had struck him like a blow. “Sera,” he whispered. “You haunt me,” she said, the words unlocked. “You have haunted me every day since I left.” “I wish I had,” he said. “I would gladly have been made spirit to watch over you. Christ, I ached for you. I ached for this.”

“You are perfect.” She closed her eyes at the sting of the words. “I am deeply flawed.” He stayed still and silent until she opened them again. “Your flaws are perfect. A map of where we have been.” She caught her breath at that we. At how much she wanted it to be true. He went on, “I have dreamed of you here. Look up. Look at us. Look at how beautiful you are. Watch how I worship you.”

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.

“We are headed to the eastern folly.” “Isn’t that what people call your marriage, Sera?” one of her sisters said dryly, snickers following the question. Sera replied dryly, “Not to worry, my ladies—Haven will almost certainly prefer a marriage to you than he did to me, and I imagine he shall be quite the husband.”

The Dukes of Haven did not marry for love. Not until him. And even then, he’d mucked it up.

“Shall I tell you what I like about your wife?” He did not need to hear a list of Sera’s qualities. He knew them well. He had listed them more than once. More than a thousand times. And still, he wanted to hear them. He wanted to speak of her with another, as though invoking her here could summon her close. “I do not imagine I could stop you, my lady.” She grinned. “That is likely true. I’m terrible at keeping quiet. It’s why my mother was so thrilled to receive your invitation. You are her last great hope.” “I’ve no interest in being coddled,” he said. “Dukes get too much of that as it is.” Felicity nodded. “Very well, I shall tell you. I like that Seraphina knows what she wants. And I like that she is not afraid to pursue it. Even when it is most definitely not done.” Divorce was that. He nodded. “She’s always been that way.” “Women are not always able to have what we want,” she said, and there was a wistful quality in her tone. “We are too often judged for pursuit.” The words sent a chill through him. He had done that. He had punished her for pursuit. And then, finally, he had punished her for refusing to pursue him. “Did she pursue you?” Lilith, this time. “She did,” he said, hating the fist that caught hold of him at the words. The way it twisted in his gut. “They say she caught you unawares. Hoodwinked Haven and all that.” These women lacked fear, and Haven could not help but admire that. “That is what they say.” “But it couldn’t have been for the title,” Felicity po...

“You did not tell me the other problem.” They turned back, curious twin smiles on their vastly different faces. He clarified. “The one that is clear as crystal.” “Ah,” Lilith said. “Hmm,” Felicity added. “Ladies.” The word came out more threatening than he intended. “I imagine it’s something like the fact that I’m a terrible husband?” “You know, I’m not sure you would be a terrible husband at all,” Lilith said thoughtfully. “Oh, no. He shan’t be,” Felicity rushed to reply. “I mean, not as soon as he discovers how much he loves her.” He could have been ashamed. He could have been defensive. But instead, Felicity’s words, filled with truth, made him relieved. Finally, he thought. Finally someone saw it. Someone who believed it. Two someones. Two someones, who listened when he said, “I know how much I love her. I’ve known it for years.” They looked at each other, then to him, their judgment plain. They thought him an imbecile. “You should tell her, then.”

A flash of color came behind them, a deep, rich aubergine. Sera. Dammit, he would do it right now if he thought it would change things. He stilled. Would it change things? His heart began to pound as she came through the doorway, interest in her eyes and curiosity on her face. “This is a lovely folly,” she said. He would do it now. Here, in this place that his ancestor had built for a woman loved beyond reason. He would do it in front of these women, and finish this idiot scheme. Had he not told himself this morning that he was through with schemes? Awareness and pleasure and excitement and desire pulled the words from him, as though he was a too-eager schoolboy. “I shall do it now.” He did not see the instant surprise and clear doubt in Lilith and Felicity’s eyes. He was too busy looking at his wife, who stepped through the doorway, into the conversation, a portrait of interest. He did not see Lilith shake her head. He did not see Felicity open her mouth to speak, or see the way her brow furrowed when Sera asked, “You shall do what?” If he had seen any of that, he might not have said what he said in front of what immediately seemed like all the world. He might not have looked her in the eyes and said, with no thought of what might come of it, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world, “Tell you that I love you.”

“You ruined everything years ago, when you refused to acknowledge she existed beyond you.” He stilled at that. “I never refused that.” “Oh?” called Sesily from far above. “We must have missed all the times you came to luncheon and tea.” “And the time you asked our father for her hand,” Seleste said. “And the times you made your courtship public,” Sesily added. “And here we were, thinking you were ashamed of your toy.” Blood roared in his ears. “She was never my toy.” But Sera’s words echoed through him. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You never have. Christ. What had he done? He looked to his wife’s sisters. “I only ever loved her.” “But not all of her,” Seleste said. “Not enough,” Seline added. In another lifetime, Malcolm would have argued the point. He would have let his anger and frustration get the better of him. Instead, in that moment, he looked from one of her sisters to the next, and the next, and then said, firmly, “I love her. All of her. Duchess or Dove. With or without you harridans.” Seline watched him for an uncomfortable length of time before tossing her stone to the ground. “By all means, then. Go convince her of it.”

“What then, I was to have dropped to my knees and thanked you for condescending to offer me your love?” He froze, his mouth open, words lost. He never seemed to have the right ones with her. Too often they were lies, and when they were truth—they were never enough. “Or, what?” she prodded. “To profess my own feelings?” “That would not have been unwelcome. And I might remind you that seconds ago, your kiss made a profession of its own.” “Kisses have never been our failing.” “What then?” he pushed her. Knowing he shouldn’t. Knowing he must. “What has been our failing?” “What hasn’t?” She spread her arms wide. “Honesty? Trust?” The words were a cold burn, landing with proper sting. And still she came at him. “When did you invite them here?” His hesitation was enough for her to know the truth, and still she pushed him. “When, Malcolm?” “The day you came to Parliament.” She looked away, toward the manor house, rising like a lie in the distance. “You never intended to give me my divorce, did you?” Of course he hadn’t. He’d chased her across the world. He’d never in his life been so thrilled as when she stormed into Parliament and fairly set the place aflame. She was his. “No.” “Why lie? To me? To these women? To their families?” Before he could reply, she continued. “Was it punishment?” “No.” “Of course it was,” she said. “You remain the cat and I the mouse. And all you can do is toy with me.” “No,” he said, coming toward her, one arm outstretched as though he could catch her.

“I suppose you loved me then, too.” “I did,” he confessed. “I’ve loved you from the start, and you never believed it.” “When is that? When you stole kisses and threatened my reputation feet from the rest of London?” A fist knotted in his gut. “Yes,” he said. “And when you made love to me here? At Highley?” “Yes—Sera—” “And when I forced your hand?” He’d been so furious then. But it hadn’t changed anything. Not really. “Yes.” “You didn’t believe me then. That I loved you. That I was afraid for my sisters and myself. Everything you and I had ever done had been so clandestine. And I’d loved it. But what would happen in the light?” She shook her head. “I regretted it all the moment I did it. I once told you that I would do it again if I had the chance. I wouldn’t. If I could take one day of my life back, it would be that day, here. At Highley.” She looked away, to the horses, the meadow, the estate in late-summer perfection. “I regret it.” He nodded. “I know.” She returned her gaze to his, clear and honest. “I told myself then that I did it for my sisters. That’s how I kept myself sane. But I did it for myself, as well. I did it for myself, full stop. Because I loved you and I was afraid I would never be enough for you.” “You were,” he said, reaching for her again, running his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his. “You were more than I could ever dream. I had spent so much of my life believing that love was impossible that when I had it in hand—I wanted every bit of it...

“I cannot take it back. I can only tell you that I—” “I know.” She cut him off. “You were angry.” “I was more than angry.” He reached for her, trying to explain himself. She stepped backward toward the trees, and he stilled. If she did not wish his touch, he would not give it. “I was destroyed. You didn’t tell me—Christ, Sera. I was to be a father.” She shook her head. “You didn’t want her.” The words stole his breath. “I never said that.” “You did!” The accusation came on a flood of anguish. “You said you didn’t want a life with me. You didn’t want a family. You didn’t want children.” “I was wrong. I was angry and I was wrong,” He rushed to right it. “I wanted that life. I wanted that child.” Christ, how they had ruined each other. He pressed on. “I wanted that child, and I wanted you. But I was too angry, too cowardly, too rash to see it. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as much as I did that day. I thought it was a lie—everything between us.” She nodded. “It wasn’t.” “No. It wasn’t.” “She wasn’t a lie, either.” “No. She wasn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, the only thing he could do to keep himself from touching her. “Sera, if I could take it all back . . .” She shook her head. “Don’t. You can’t take it back, and even if you could . . . If we’d stayed together, something else would have driven us apart. Don’t you see?” No. He didn’t see, dammit. “That’s the point,” she continued. “I’ve never not wanted to kiss you, Mal. I’ve never not been willing to beg for your t...

“If you knew—if you came to Boston—why did not you not find me?” “I did, dammit.” He looked away, his throat moving with frustration and anger and years of regret. “I found you. It took me a year to get there. I started in Europe. Spent months chasing mad suggestions—many of which came from your harridan sisters—that you were in half a dozen places. I went all the way to Constantinople before turning around and coming back. And when I landed in London, steeped in filth and exhaustion, I heard the story of a beautiful Englishwoman in Boston. A singer. The Dove.” Her lips opened and he saw her surprise—the final confirmation that the American had kept his arrival from her. “I knew before I booked passage on the damn ship that it was you. And I found you the moment I landed—went to Calhoun’s raucous tavern and made a fool of myself looking for you. I heard you, dammit. I heard you singing, and I knew it was you. And still, there was enough disappointment that you’d fled me and our life, that I believed them when they told me it wasn’t you, I believed them.” He looked away again. “It wasn’t disappointment. It was fear. Fear that you might not return. Fear that you might not want to. Fear of where we are, now.” Silence fell, and then, “Caleb knew who you were?” “He knew I was after you. He hid you from me. . . . Not before I broke his nose,” he added, evoking the one moment of light in the darkness. Her eyes went wide. “You were the toff.” “He never told you.” “No.” She shook h...

“For every moment I do not free you, Sera, there is an equal one in which you do not free yourself. You think I do not see you? I have always seen you. You have always been in vivid color for me. Glittering sapphire on the first night you found me. Emeralds and golds and silvers and red—Christ, that red. I am obsessed with that red. The red of the afternoon you came here. The red at Liverpool’s garden party, when you stood like a goddamn queen and watched me ruin us like a goddamn fool.” He stopped, cursing into the wind as he tilted his head back with the memory. “We weren’t ruined then,” she said. “No, we weren’t. We were ruined long before.” “Before we even met.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he watched her, as he considered what to say next. “Don’t think for a second that I haven’t seen you since you returned—that I haven’t seen you in equally vivid color. In slate and amethyst and lavender and today, in aubergine.” Her breath caught in her throat. “Don’t.”

“I am haunted by Januaries.” “I know,” he said. He was, as well. “I had to leave.” She ached, beautiful woman. And he wanted nothing more than to stop it. He pulled her close. “I know.” “I’ll never have her. And never another.” The words devastated him. “I know.”