“And then…” She turned to him, her cheeks wet. “I noticed a woman doing the same. She looked otherworldly. Beautiful and full of grace, with long and gleaming golden hair. She wore a shimmering green gown and a silvershawl.”
This time Greyson felt a chill. “Yourshawl?”
She nodded. “Yes, she gave it to me afterward. She told me we’d done all we could, rescued as many of the seahorses as were meant to besaved.
“Then” – she swiped at her eyes – “she said that they’d felt our love and that in gratitude, someday my shawl would return that love, letting me know when the man destined for me entered mylife.”
Greyson stared at her, feeling as if all the air had been sucked from hislungs.
His heart pounded and, gods help him, he felt a terrible stinging heat behind hiseyes.
“Did she tell you how you’d know this?” He didn’t know how he couldspeak.
“No. She just looked out to sea and smiled. I followed her gaze and when I turned back to her, she wasgone.”
“But the shawlremained?”
“Itdid.”
“Mother of all the gods.” Greyson pulled a hand down over his face. “She was of thefey.”
“So I believe,” his lady said, no longer bothering to stem her tears. “And you know what thismeans?”
Hedid.
Leastways, he hoped. “The circle is complete. The seahorses have repaid their debt toyou.”
She closed the short space between them, slid her arms around him. “It is surelyso.”
“I’ll no’ argue, sweet.” Hewouldn’t.
Instead, he dropped to one knee and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “My precious lass,” he said, looking up at her. “Can you forgive me for keeping my love fromyou?”
To his great joy, she beamed. “Can you accept my apologies for pushing you?” she asked, her tears spilling onto his hand. “Will you give me one moreindulgence?”
Greyson stood, biting back a chuckle. “Anything you wish, mylove.”
Her eyes lit, her high spirits returning. “Can we stay up here a whilelonger?”
“You are no’ too sore?” Greyson glanced at the mussed bed. “I’d no’ hurtyou.”
“I am too sore, yes,” she admitted, as always honest in her passion. “I would like to try one more time to see Arbuckle’sghost.”
Now Greyson did chuckle. “I am no’ sure he’ll oblige us. There hasn’t been a single howl from his dog, nor even a creaky floorboard anywhere in the house since yourarrival.”
“That’s just it.” She smiled. “I have a feeling this is thenight.”
“You had a feeling at St. Nicholas,too.”
“This isdifferent.”
“Howso?”
“Artists are sensitive,” she told him, serious now. “He will have wanted to leave us peaceto-”
“Make love in his garret everygloaming?”
“Perhaps.” She didn’t even blush. “I have heard he had a way with women in his younger years. He will not have forgottenlove.”
