“Have you heard from Mrs. Cason?” he asked her.
“Heard what?” she asked dismissively.
He tsked lightly, for she could keep nothing from him either. They had not talked openly of the loss Marianne had suffered shortly before they’d left London, but he’d been aware of it. He’d felt her sadness.
“She wrote,” she said, keeping her voice light. “They’ll marry in Bath at the end of the month.”
He squeezed his sister’s hand. For the last two years she had enjoyed a friendship with a young widow who lived in their building in London. A friendship of the sort that Marianne’s evening visits to Harriet Cason’s rooms sometimes did not conclude until early in the morning, when she came home just as Adam was rising. She’d been serenely happy on those mornings—as content as he’d ever seen her. But in the last few months Mrs. Cason had begun accepting the overtures of a navy captain, and Marianne’s visits to the widow’s rooms had become more brief, and then ceased altogether.
“I’m sorry, Mari,” he said.
She shrugged. “’Twas only a matter of time, I suppose. She wants children.”
“And you?”
She smiled. “I have yours.”
They both stared at the fire, silent.
Adam sighed. “Aren’t we a joyful pair.”
“Adam, truly, don’t misunderstand me. There’s no harm in seeking company. You should seek company—between your work and Mayhew and the children, you’ll go mad if you continue as you have been. Just try not to disappear without warning, so they don’t fret after you.”
She was being kind, but he wondered if she was too charitable. Jasper had taken the loss of his mother so hard. He’d been a bubbly baby, but after her death he hadn’t spoken for nearly a year. Adam remembered well how large adult worries could loom in a boy’s small heart, and he did not want his son to feel as he had felt, like he must monitor every current in the air of his family home, lest the whole precarious balance crumble when he let down his watch.
He rose. “I’m going to go look in on them.”
Marianne nodded. “Aye. Good night.”
He quietly opened the door of the children’s room, stepping lightly in his stocking feet so as not to wake them. Jasper was sleeping as he always did, straight beneath his covers on his back. Adam kissed his son’s forehead.
Across the room, Addie stirred.
“Papa?” she whispered. She was her brother’s opposite, turning her sheets and pillows into a nest she burrowed into like a gopher.
“Aye, love,” he said, sitting down at the edge of her bed and straightening out the counterpane.
“I had a nightmare,” she said. “Will you hold me?”
He leaned back and put his arms around her. “You’re safe, my darlin’. Close your eyes.”
He stroked her hair as she snuggled against his shoulder. His chest felt tight at the thought of these two tiny people unable to sleep, worrying after him. It was his driving desire in life that they should not worry. That their comfort and their sweet little souls and their futures were well attended to.
That they did not need to be told that they were safe.
Protecting them was more important than his loneliness.
He would do well to remember it the next time a stirring woman told him she was not good for him.
He would do well not to repeat tonight’s mistake.
Seraphina awoke in a warm shaft of sunlight with the memory of Adam Anderson on her skin, and smiled.
She’d been hard on Kestrel Bay, allowing her unhappy memories to make her ill disposed toward the place where she’d grown up. But with the promise of a man like Adam to amuse her, and a gentle breeze blowing on her naked skin, she felt rather sentimental about the attractions of this place. The salt air was warm and sticky after the storm, redolent of sex. The driftwood that washed up on the bleached shores reminded her of bodies on a bed after a rousing toss within the sheets.
She had yet to have Adam in her sheets.
She was impatient to correct that.
She dressed quickly, scrawled a note for him, and set off toward his cottage to deliver it. It was early yet; perhaps he would still be there.
She did not make it fifty yards before she spotted him making his way up the path toward Tregereth’s.
The morning agreed with him. He looked vigorous and fresh, clean-shaven with dampened hair. She waved. She hoped he would be daring and embrace her, so she could smell his shaving oil.
He smiled at her but did not quicken his pace to reach her, nor touch her.
She tried not to take this as a bad sign.
“Good morning,” he said, with a half bow.
A bow? Surely they were past the stage of public bowing. Did he expect her to curtsy?
She gave him a coy smile instead. “Good morning. I was just on my way to find you.” She took the note from her pocket and held it out to him.
He glanced down at his name on the folded paper. “Should I read it now?”
Was that reluctance? Had she been too firm with him last night? Made him guarded?
“It will save you a reply,” she said, trying to be charming.
He didn’t smile. His face remained impassive as he read her note. I enjoyed last night. It left me wanting more. Come see me after nine o’clock.
He stared at it for far longer than it took to read three sentences. Her hands began to sweat as she realized what this pause meant: no.
No?
“It’s only an invitation,” she said quickly, hearing a sharpness in her voice that slightly humiliated her. She cleared her throat. “You needn’t accept, if you did not enjoy our evening,” she added in a more measured tone.
He lifted his gaze from the note and up into her eyes.
“I did enjoy it,” he said softly, raking his fingers in his hair. His brown eyes seemed darker, almost black. “Perhaps too much.”
“Forgive me if I do not grasp your meaning,” she said.
He smiled sadly. “Last night was such a pleasure, Sera. But I left wondering if we both regretted it.”
“Regretted it?” she found herself sputtering. “Me? What makes you say that?”
He raised a brow. “You seemed eager for me to leave.”
Well, she had been. What did he expect, an invitation to gaze into her eyes whispering sweet nothings? It was sex. Very good sex.
She found it difficult to believe that he would give her up altogether just because she’d told him not to lose his head. He was a man, after all. She was not a sentimental lover, but she knew her way around a cock.
“I simply wanted to make sure you did not get the wrong impression,” she said.
He looked out at the waves, then dragged his eyes back to hers. “And what impression is that, Sera?”
She did not like being looked at so directly in the harsh light of the morning. “That you must . . . make a show of affection or attachment after sex.”
He twitched up the corner of his lip. “If you believed that is what I thought you wanted, you must find me quite dull-witted.”
Despite herself, she chuckled. “Am I so obvious?”
“You are honest about what you want. And if I were to match your honesty, I would say that I can’t give you what you desire. I think about you too frequently to pretend that I can come to you lightly.”