“I do indeed know Mr. MacInnes,” she said calmly. “Though it was long ago.”
“Verra long ago,” Iain murmured.
“Quite,” she replied, keeping her gaze on the too-curious woman beside them lest she give even more away by spitting fire from her eyes at Iain’s smug face. In the next instant, however, she realized something horrifying: Mrs. Juniper knew Iain’s name.
She swallowed hard. “But is Mr. MacInnes staying at the Master-at-Arms, then?”
“Indeed he is,” the woman said. “Arrived just a shorttime ago.” Suddenly her expression turned crafty. “But we know so little of your time before you moved to Synne. Meeting someone from your past is quite a treat. You must tell me how you know one another.”
“Perhaps another time,” Seraphina replied tightly. “I really must be getting back.”
“Allow me to accompany you,” Iain said. Without waiting for her to agree, he offered his arm to her.
He was a blackguard of the first order. From the smug look in his eyes he knew she would not be able to refuse without causing talk. Taking a fortifying breath, she placed her fingers on his sleeve.
Electricity shocked her senses, skittering along her skin, turning her mind to mush. Which only made her more furious, though at herself this time. So much so that, once they were safely out of the inn and turned onto Admiralty Row, she stopped in her tracks, yanking her hand away and turning to glare at him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Och, that’s an easy one, lass.” He took a step closer to her and lowered his mouth to her ear, his voice washing over her. “I want a divorce. And you shall give it to me.”
He perhaps should not have taunted her. He had come here for the express purpose of securing a divorce from Seraphina. Everything was focused on that outcome; it was why he had concealed his title upon setting out to find her, not wanting Seraphina to dig in her heels in an attempt to remain a duchess. Well, he admitted ruefully to himself, that and the overwhelming fact that he finally felt likehimself again, now that he had shed the title. Was it temporary? Yes. Would he have to don the yoke of the dukedom once more when this whole fiasco was through? Also yes. But for a short time he could forget that people refused to see the accomplishments he had worked so hard for and only saw his worth in a title he had no control over.
Regardless of his reasoning for keeping it hidden, however, it was of benefit to himself. And if it had the added bonus of punishing Seraphina when she found out the truth, all the better. He set his back teeth together, remembering his fears that he was not good enough for her because of his low status, her insistence that she didn’t care for titles or money—and then immediately proving that was a lie by taking her father’s offer of riches and the ability to follow her dreams in exchange for leaving him. Despite his anger toward her, however, he had been certain he could remain polite, indifferent, get what he came for, and finally remove her from his life for good.
But then he had seen her, and all the old hurt had come rearing up until it was all he had felt, all he had remembered. How was it that she could be even more beautiful? Oh, she had been beautiful before, of course. From her brilliant red hair that would have done any Scot proud, to her bright blue eyes that spoke of more than her fair share of intelligence, to her strong features that told of a spirit that had drawn him to her like a moth to a flame, he had always found her lovely.
Now, however, there was something more to her that was, quite honestly, stunning. And not just the delicate wire-rimmed spectacles that magnified her striking eyes to an incredible degree. No, there seemed to be a maturity and character that made him realize her hold on him was not yetdone. And that realization had enraged him. He should be finished with her. After the hell she had put him through, the heartbreak and grief, he should have written her off years ago.
Yet there she had been, hands on hips, looking as proud and defiant as any Scottish lass, and he had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and never let her go now that he had found her again. He had been furious at himself, at her, at the world. And so he had taunted her, and antagonized her. And then, once they were out of sight of that nosy Mrs. Juniper, he had leaned in close to her to finish the job—forgetting for one outraged moment the bright green-and-red bird that sat belligerently on her shoulder.
Seraphina’s scent enveloped him, the same lavender that used to make him weak in the knees, and he forgot to pull away. And that was when the bird went in for the kill.
A sharp pinch on his ear had him yelping and rearing back. “Damn and blast,” he cursed, cupping his abused ear as he glared at the creature.
It glared right back—if a parrot could glare—and squawked, “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”
His jaw dropped open, nearly to his chest. “What the devil?”
Seraphina, however, found much more humor in the situation than he ever would—no matter that the situation should be hilarious, seeing as the bird was speaking in a perfect Scottish brogue and threatening to box his ears. “Funny that,” she mused, eyes glittering with a cruel mirth, even as her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “I have never known Phineas to attack anyone like that. He must truly despise you.”
“Like parrot, like mistress, no doubt,” he countered,pulling his hand away, not a bit surprised to find a smear of blood on his palm. “Remind me to find you again should I ever wish to have my ears pierced.”
At once her mirth dissipated, replaced with cold anger. “We shall never see one another again after this. As a matter of fact, you shall forget you ever saw me. Is that clear?”
With that she spun about, no doubt intending to leave him right there on the pavement. Without thinking, he reached out and captured her arm in his hand. Her reaction was as swift as it was violent. A low, hissing noise escaping her lips, she yanked her arm out of his grip, holding it close to her body. But it was not the swiftness of her reaction or her defensive posture that had his blood turning to ice. No, it was her face. She looked, quite thoroughly, as if she were a cornered animal.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softly and slowly, bringing his hands up palms out so she might see he was not a threat. “I dinnae mean to startle you. It willnae happen again.”
Gradually her posture eased, her arm lowering, her expression clearing. Yet she did not take her cautious eyes from him, as if she feared he might spring forward and attack her.
“You are correct,” she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “It shall not happen again. I want you gone from Synne on the next ferry to the mainland.”
Instead of feeling annoyance, all he felt was relief. At least she had gotten her spirit back. Anything was better than the frightened, panicked look in her eyes.
Nevertheless, he could not allow her to run him off. “I cannae do that, lass,” he replied. “I’ve come here with a purpose, and I mean to see it through.”
A frustrated little divot deepening between her brows, she opened her mouth to speak. Just then, however, therewas a swift clatter of feet on the pavement. And then Seraphina was encircled by several women, who separated her from him by sheer will.
