She turned and fled.
For once, Rebecca had no compulsion or drive to help. She was too restless, too keyed up. The cut on her arm tingled. The walls were closing in. She flew out the parlor to the entryway, snatched her father's greatcoat she’d worn since her return home on her nightly sojourns off the hook and sweeping it about her shoulders. There was no one in the hall and she quietly let herself out.
While a long trip to Scotland by carriage was not appealing, being relegated to Exford for the rest of her natural life couldn’t be borne. She gasped for breath in the cool, damp night air. Perhaps she’d find some strapping Scot who could make her feel as she had the one night spent beneath Sebastian’s unholy ministrations.
A moan of pure agony came from deep, deep within. The thought of anyone doing what he’d accomplished with his mouth, tongue, fingers, and heat shook her to her core. Even now, thoughts of that night had dew pooling between her legs, leaving her with an urge to press her hand against herself to ease the ache. Maybe she should have run from him. Maybe living with a man you… you… a man who liked you wouldn’t be the torture she envisioned.
A burst of wind stirred the trees, causing her eyes to water. She dashed to a trail at the side of the house in the direction of the cliffs overlooking Bristol Channel. Just as she had every night since her return home, plagued by the same fretful edginess that pillaged her usually sound acumen.
She knew the staff worried over her. But what was she to do? She couldn’t walk the ruins of the Church of St. Mary Magdalene’s again. She felt their harsh judgment too keenly. Nor could she endure another night of wandering the heavily wooded forest. She’d familiarized herself with the many ponds that serviced the land so often of late, she was tempted to drown herself. She strode briskly through the heavy air. She hadn’t taken the time to bother with a torch. She glanced up. Fast-moving clouds moved across a silvery moon. It would be raining by morning, making a trip to Scotland even more unappealing. She kept up the steady pace, wending her way to the cliffs where the cold breeze would blast her full in the face. That was what she craved.
If—no, when—the rains came she’d be able to take cover in one of the shallow caves. Perhaps she would strip off her clothes and let the rain beat away this horrid turbulence roaring through her.
The greatcoat whipped against her in the heightened wind, uncaring of the dagger she kept stuffed in the pocket, banging periodically against her knee. She could defend herself if need be. She was in worse danger from her heart breaking than one of a physical nature.
But chastising herself for relinquishing Sebastian due to pride did her no good. What was done was done. He was probably basking in his narrowed escape. The mile long hike and brisk wind coming off the channel was bracing. Lifted her spirits if only for a moment. Love would never break her, she promised herself, swiping away sudden tears trekking down her face.
Rebecca was a survivor, and no one could ever steal that from her.
Thirty
Sebastian pushed his horse hard to beat the looming storm. He didn’t care if he woke the entire household in Exford. He would be seeing Rebecca that night. Unfortunately, his mount had lost a shoe and had had to be reshod which meant he wouldn’t reach the coast until well after dark. Serena would vouch for him. Barrett too.But what if he was too late. What if she had already departed?
Sebastian cantered up to the front of the Rivers’ house and jumped off his horse before coming to a full stop. Curiously, lights filled every window on the lower level, reassuring him. He dashed up to the door and pounded with both fists like an escapee from Bedlam.
An aging butler opened the door, his face impassive. “Might I be of some assistance?”
“I'm here to see Rebecca, er, Lady Rebecca.” His composure had apparently deserted him somewhere around his passing of The Hanging Moss Inn. He’d had the idiotic notion Rebecca may have stopped. But the innkeepers, though delighted to see him, had asked after his duchess, revealing Rebecca had not suffered his same sentimentality.
The butler raised one brow. “I beg your pardon?”
Sebastian garnered his ducal cloak. “I'm here to see lady Rebecca. Please inform her the Duke of Riley,her husbandawaits her.”
“Of course. Come in, Your Grace. You may wait for her in the parlour. I shall let her know once she returns.”
He was too late. “She's left? For Scotland?” His voice came out a painful rasp.
The butler smiled then. “No, Your Grace. She is out on one of her walks.”
His words had Sebastian slowly counting his breath as he inhaled. “Did you say one of her walks? But it's after midnight,” he sputtered after a full minute.
The man was unperturbable. “Such is the case, but I repeat, she is out. As I said, you may wait in the parlor or leave your card. I don't anticipate she will be longer than a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours!” He let out a stream of epitaphs. “I shall find her myself. Where did she go?”
The butler eyed him dubiously, then glanced out the door and eyed the moving clouds. “It looks as if it might rain. I suggest you check the caves. They are located near the channel.”
“The channel?” This just got better and better
“Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to send Barrett back when you locate her.”
Sebastian stormed out the door. The scent of sea water hit him, and he ran. Ten straight minutes is what it took before Barrett stopped him on a well-worn path. Sebastian bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavy. “Where is she?”
“Locating the perfect spot,” he whispered.
“You may return to the house. I’ll look after her from here.” Sebastian worked his way to the edge of the trees.
There she was, perched on a flat boulder with her face raised to the sharp wind coming off the water. A hint of lavender touched him. He glanced up at the clouds covering a moon outlined in silver, silhouetting the delicacy of her profile. His arms ached for her, his mouth yearned for her taste.
