Chapter Twenty Three
IT HAD BEEN A long day.
Rubbing the backof his neck, Stephen stared out the nursery window. Light from theballroom spilled faint illumination though night shrouded the rest,the moon casting a faint outline of trees before fading intonothingness. All was calm and silent outside, and he wished likehell he were the same.
His mindchurned, and he barely held the emotion roiling inside him incheck. It had become worse as the day progressed, and he couldn’trightly saywhyhe felt such.
The weddingceremony had been relatively short, Oliver and Lydia incandescentlyhappy to finally be wed, and Stephen had overheard more than oneguest comment in horrified delight at how indecently early thenewly-married couple had departed. Maxim and Alexandra hadn’t beenany more circumspect, their hands laced and their heads bent beforethey too departed well before the celebrations were winding to aclose.
Stephen hadstood by himself, barely holding himself in check.
It hadn’t helpedSera had pursued him with all the determination of which he knewher capable. He’d finally resorted to disappearing into the secretpassage to the nursery, hoping the room of his youth would offerhim again the comfort he’d always gleaned from it. Here, he andOliver had created the code they’d used to write each othermessages, recorded in a notebook they’d hidden amongst the books inthe bookcase, code he still faintly remembered. Here, Maxim and hehad thrown balls into a basket, keeping a score that had rolledover years. Here, he’d been with his brothers, and he’d beenhappy.
“Stephen.”
He tensed. Heshould have known. Exhaling, he turned. “Sera.”
She came forwardand moonlight lit her face. She looked beautiful, but then shealways looked beautiful to him. A gold band separated the skirt ofher deep blue gown from the bodice, and he tried really hard not tonotice the swell of her breasts above the low-cut neckline. Herdark hair was swept up in a complicated pile of curls, but her greycat’s eyes were solemn, her rose-pink lips unsmiling.
Christ, he’dmissed her.
Setting his jaw,he steeled himself. “What are you doing here?”
“Iam here for the earl and new countess’s wedding.”
He smiledwithout humour. Ah, pedantism. Lovely. “As are we all. Let merephrase. Why are you here, before me, in the nursery of WaitheHall that, as last I checked, was not visited by guests to the Earlof Roxwaithe’s ancestral home?’
She blinked.“Ah. Well. I followed you.”
“Thetruth of the matter. Delightful.”
Her brows drew.Did he detect a hint of annoyance? Good. Maybe she would leave himalone. “You wouldn’t talk to me. Every time I entered a room, youwould leave.”
In a move he’dseen Sutton perform a hundred times, and he knew to be particularlyirritating, he lifted his brow. “Did that not tell you that perhapsI didn’twantto talk with you?”
A full scowl.“Of course it told me that, but you are incorrect in that desire.We have to talk.”
He gave a shortlaugh. “And we will do as you decree, with no consideration for mywants at all.” His gaze slid past her. “You should not havefollowed me.”
“Because you do not wish to speak with me.”
“That is one reason,” he agreed. “Another is you could havebeen lost, or hurt, or trapped within the walls of Waithe Hall, andnone would have known.”
She blinked. “Ifollowed you.”
“Yes, but I know my way around the passages,” he said mildly.“I would not have stumbled over an unexpected staircase, or walkedstraight into an unknown break in the floor. I would not havejagged myself on any one of the broken beams and shafts, or turnedthe wrong way and found myself wandering for hours.”
“None of that happened to me.”
“Butit could have.”
She lifted herchin mulishly. “But it didn’t.”
Abruptly weary,he ran a hand over his face. “What are you doing here,Sera?”
“Itold you. We need to talk. I have tried, over and again, to do sosince my arrival. I need to...Stephen, I need toapologise.”
A burn startedin his chest. “There is no need,” he said dismissively.
