“Do tell,” he prompted.
She took a deep breath, knowing once the words were uttered, once they were out there, there would be nothing keeping him here. He would go. She would never see him again.
Lifting her chin, she commanded herself not to look as miserable as she felt. Because she ought not to feel this way. She had no right or claim on him . . . on this, whatever it was between them.
She had to let him go.
Silas ran the brush over his mount in steady strokes and tried to pretend he did not long to drop the brush and haul Mercy Kittinger into his arms. He wanted to back her against the stall wall and lift her skirts.
He wanted her. Last night only confirmed that. He wanted to keep her. He wanted her in his bed where he had miraculously slept . . . peacefully and soundly with her beside him.
For the first time in his life, he had slept long and deep and hard. He could only conclude Mercy was the reason for that.
Mercy brought him peace. At least ultimately. She fired his blood and thrilled him and made his heart race and thump so hard he was certain it would break loose from his chest, but then, ultimately, he felt only relaxed and at peace beside her.
They were alone in the stables right now. He could reach for her. And yet it felt unwise. Unsafe to touch her. If he touched her, he would not be able to stop. There would only be more. More touching. More of that and more other things.
And that could not happen until he decided what it was he wanted . . . until he knew what she wanted. Perhaps that was the most frightening thing of all. Discovering what it was she wanted. Because he already knew what he wanted.
He wanted her. What if she did not want him?
“What of your news?” he asked more brusquely than he intended.
She blinked, and rested her hand on the outside wall of the stall. “You can set your mind at ease, Mr. Masters.”
He paused amid brushing, wariness creeping over him. And why was she addressing him so formally again? Especially now. Were they not well past that?
“Mr. Masters,” he echoed, gazing at her and feeling anything but at ease.
“Yes. I had a bit of . . . news this morning.”
This morning? What could she be talking about? They had traveled together. He had not seen her speak to anyone since they left the inn. What news could she possibly have to share that he would not also be privy to?
“Indeed.” Her chest rose high on a breath. “I am not with child. You are no longer obligated to remain here for another moment. I am certain that is a great relief to you.”
He could not make sense of her words at first. They were the last thing he was expecting to hear, although they should not have been. It was what had brought him here, after all. It was the news he had been waiting for, and he had known it was coming.
A great relief . . .
Of course, he should have expected something in the vein of this. Of course—and yet he felt as though he had just received a blow to the face. There was no relief. Just jarring . . . disappointment.
“Oh.” He straightened. “Well. That is very good news.”
Good news. Yes. It should have felt that way.
“I thought you would appreciate it,” she said, looking as starchy as a schoolmistress—and he could admit that he did not like that. He did not like that at all. “You can leave in the morning. You no doubt have much to attend to back in Town. I know you have been neglecting your life.”
He did not like the solemn look of her. Or the news she was imparting. He wanted her to look as she had the night before. Not this creature so very eager to push him out the door and out of her life.
Of course, what he wanted did not signify. He supposed he had his answer. He supposed he knew what she wanted now and what she wanted was not him.
This was what she ought to be doing and saying. It was the agreement between them, after all. He had no reason to remain.
It dawned on him that he had been hoping, just perhaps, that she was in the family way. That she would present him with a reason, a sound excuse to stay in her life. The decision would have been made. They would have been stuck with each other.
But now there was no reason. No excuse to stay whatsoever.
“Thank you for telling me.” He nodded, his throat closing in, making the words difficult to get out. “It is . . . good news.”
He nodded in the direction of another stall, where her brother’s horse was lazily munching hay. “I’ll take a fresh mount into town and see to our remaining business with Blankenship.”
“That is very generous of you. You don’t have to do that.”
“I promised as much. To you and Grace.”
“Yes, you did. You are a man of your word, Mr. Masters.” She smiled tightly. “Commendable.”
Commendable? Rot it all. He did not want to be commendable in her eyes. He wanted to be a man she could not live without, but she clearly did not see him that way, and he felt like a fool.
He moved away, fetching a saddle and hefting it on the back of Kittinger’s horse. As soon as he completed this errand, he would be on his way.
“Good night, Mercy.”
He heard her behind him, the rustling of her dress, the scuff of her riding boots on the ground. “Good night.” She paused a beat. “Mr. Masters.”
They were back to being strangers.
He finished saddling his mount, tightening the cinch and not looking behind him as she departed the stables.
Mercy rushed from the stables in a blind run, eager to be away from this cold stranger that Silas had become. She held up her skirts from her shoes to avoid tripping, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears.
She should not feel like this.
She should not feel as though she were coming apart at the seams . . . as though when he left a part of her would go with him.
She did not know where this barrage of emotion was coming from. Things were resolving in the best outcome possible for the both of them.
She had not planned for any of this—she had not planned for him. It was all for the best. Certainly she did not long for scandal and ruin. She should not feel this crushed.
She stopped for a moment before the front door of her house, taking a few careful sips of air and regaining her composure. She moved her hands down the front of her riding habit, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles.
All would be well.
With a less than decisive nod, she turned the latch and entered her house. Instantly the sound of deep male voices carried from the parlor to her ears.
Ignoring her hungry stomach that prompted her to join her sister in the kitchen and the food doubtlessly awaiting her there, she turned toward the parlor.
The double doors were slightly ajar, and she pushed one of them fully open to find her brother ensconced in Papa’s comfortable old wingback chair, a glass of brandy loosely gripped in his hand.
He knew she and Silas had left in pursuit of Grace. She had apprised him before they departed—not that he had seemed to care one way or another. His reaction had been an eye roll.
Presently, he was the vision of a gentleman at leisure. Across from him in the parlor sat an older gentleman whom she had never met.
Her brother’s gaze landed on her. He gave his head a swift little shake, as though conveying to her that he wished for her to disappear from the room.
Frowning, she paused, uncertain what to do, but suspecting that doing anything her brother wanted was likely not the best course.