“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 at Haven, but at her.
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Sera said, eager to forget the scrape of truth in Mrs. Mayhew’s words. To put the whole event behind them.
“There is everything to apologize for,” Haven said, cold fury deepening his voice to a tenor that Sera knew all too well. She saw the fear spread across Mrs. Mayhew’s face. “No one speaks to my wife the way you did, Mrs. Mayhew. You will leave this house, and you will never return. Make no mistake, you are never welcome under Haven roof again.” The woman went white as a sheet as he finished. “There was a time when I would have set out to ruin you. I would have fought for vengeance. You should get into your carriage and thank God that time is passed, and that I find I rather enjoy the company of your daughter.”
The older woman opened her mouth to speak—perhaps to defend herself, but Malcolm held up a hand and said, “No. You disrespected my duchess. Get out of my house.”
And then he was turning his back to the women, and they were dismissed, summarily. Having been on the receiving end of that cool dismissal, Sera knew its sting better than any.
Particularly when he turned to the group and said, “Lady Lilith, I must say the physics of your throw were quite remarkable.”
Lilith smiled and replied, “I wish I could take credit for them, Your Grace. It was very good luck.” It was a lie; everyone could see Lilith had fought for her friend.
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.
As though she’d spoken aloud, Malcolm acted upon the words. “Lady Lilith, one almost feels as though you should win the prize by virtue of succeeding in such a valuable mission. Not that I’m any kind of prize, as I’m sure Lady Eversley will attest.”
Sophie smirked. “With pleasure, Duke.”
Lilith dropped a curtsy. “I’m sure that’s not true, Your Grace.”
Sera hated the beautiful young woman then. Hated her for her confidence and her poise and her damn skill at lawn bowling. And she hated Haven for the way he took to her, the way he smiled down at her with aristocratic kindness, as though he had nothing in the world he’d like to do more than commend Lady Lilith Ballard on nearly breaking the ankle of a terrible old woman who deserved it. It was irrelevant that Sera herself had been willing to lift Lilith onto her shoulders in triumphant glory when it had happened.
But mostly, Sera hated herself, for caring whether Malcolm liked Lilith at all.
From the luncheon table, Caleb cleared his throat, drawing Sera’s attention. He looked at her for a long moment before tossing another piece of goose to the waiting dogs below and raising one supercilious eyebrow in masculine braggadocio, as if to say, I see what’s happening.
He was wrong, dammit. Nothing was happening. Sera had come for her divorce, and she was going to get it. She was coming to erase her past. And write her future.
A life Malcolm could not give her.
A life she had to take for herself.
Chapter 17
Women’s Wiles Await! Mind Yourselves, Men!
“Do you love my sister?”
Caleb Calhoun turned from where he checked the final winch connecting his carriage to the four horses that, in minutes, would ferry him to Covent Garden. Sesily Talbot leaned against the coach, arms crossed over her chest—a chest beautifully showcased by a stunning gold dress that gleamed like fire in the sunset.
The dress was likely thought too low and too tight, but Sesily Talbot did not seem the kind of woman who cared what was thought. And it didn’t matter, honestly, as it wasn’t the fire in the fabric of her dress that made the girl dangerous, so much as it was the fire in her eyes.
No, dangerous didn’t seem the appropriate word for Sesily. Dangerous seemed too gentle. She was positively ruinous. Which was a problem, because Caleb had always been partial to ruination. And being ruined by his dearest friend’s sister was not an option.
Ignoring the thread of pleasure that went through him at the sight of her, he returned his attention to the horse, making a fuss over a perfectly fastened harness. “Lady Sesily, may I help you?”
“Are you not answering me because you think I will judge you for it? I won’t. People have always loved Sera. She’s eminently lovable. The most beautiful of the Dangerous Daughters, to be sure.” Caleb wasn’t sure at all, as a matter of fact. “I only ask because if you do love her, you’ve a problem.”
She was right about that. Haven clearly desired Sera with an intensity Caleb had never seen. When they were near each other, the duke was unable to direct his attention to any but his wife. And Sera—well, she’d never stopped loving her duke, no matter how awful their past and how impossible their future.
And Caleb knew about awful pasts and impossible futures.
He owned one and was speaking to another.
“Of course I love her,” he said. “But not in the way you mean. I’ve no interest in seducing her.”
“Do you love another, then?”
No one had ever taught Sesily Talbot tact, apparently. “I don’t see how that is your business.”
“Ah, so that is a ‘yes.’”
“Love is a fool’s errand. One only need look at Sera and her duke to see it.”
She seemed not to hear him. “Is it unrequited?”
Irritation flared, and Caleb turned to meet her gaze, clear and direct and—Christ, she had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, blue with a magnificent ring of black around them. Beautiful enough to make it essential that he say the next out loud. To remind himself of where his loyalties lay. “Your sister is the best friend I’ve ever had.” He paused. “Which means I’ve no interest in seducing you, either.”