Stop beating like that, she commanded her heart. Slow down.
She took the flowers, if only to give herself something to do with her hands.
“You had every right to storm off,” she said, trying to affect the tone of a woman who was not melting. “I was being most unpleasant, if I recall.”
The intensity of his gaze did not lighten with the breeziness of her tone. “And I should have stayed until we reached an understanding of why we both became so upset,” he said patiently.
But she knew why she had been upset: she had let things go too far with a man who was not willing to observe her required degree of detachment. Understanding this did not require a conversation; it required an ending.
She played with the bouquet, trying to determine how best to tell him this.
But the flowers pulled at her. They were so helplessly sweet, still warm from his hands. She fussed about for an empty glass to put them in, her fingers oddly clumsy. She opened the wrong cupboard, cursed, found a suitable jar on a shelf, nearly dropped it, all the while feeling his eyes fixed on her in a way that made her nervous, and not knowing what to say.
She tucked the flowers into the jar, and thought of Elinor’s words the night before. Would it truly be so bad, after all this time, to try with someone?
But how would she even . . . She sighed, stopped fussing with the flowers, and made herself look at Adam directly in the eye. “Perhaps the one who should apologize is me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for her to explain. It was excruciating to be looked at so closely. She imagined he could see every line in her skin, every red vein around her nose, every drop of shame at how she had behaved.
She looked down at her hands. “I was unfair to you last night. I do not usually trifle with men who care about such things as honor. I’m sorry that I urged you to do something I knew very well you would likely regret.”
He came toward her, put his hands on her twisting fingers, and brought them to his lips. “Lass, I wanted it, too. You’re not to blame.”
Oh God, he was so kind.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I lost my head. You unnerve me, you see.”
He drew her closer, into an embrace.
No. Her pulse beat in frantic time. No! No! No!
She could not be trusted with him. Flinty hearts like hers endangered softer ones like his. She cleared her throat. “Adam, I think it’s best we not . . .”
His arms loosened around her and he looked down at her face, waiting for her to finish the thought. Her heart beat at double pace. Every instinct she possessed was in turmoil.
Flee, her body ordered. Try, her mind insisted.
“Did you still wish to see Paul Bolitho?” she squeaked out in a voice she barely recognized. “I can take you, if you like.”
He opened his mouth, paused, then laughed softly, like he was relieved. “Yes. If you wouldn’t mind the errand.”
“Would you like to go this morning?” she said quickly, before she lost her nerve. “I’m not in the mood to write.”
He searched her eyes, not speaking. “Aye, if you have time,” he finally said, looking utterly confused.
“I do!” She gave him her most enthusiastic smile and shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her gown.
“I’m relieved.” He shook his head, and slowly led. “For a moment I thought you were about to send me away for good.”
Try, she kept repeating in her head. Try.
She walked across the kitchen, took his chin in her hand, and gave him a short, sweet kiss. “No, Adam. I’m glad you came back.”
“Me, too.” He lingered in her grip for a minute, like he was soaking in affection. Finally, he pulled away. “Let me fetch my cart from Tregereth’s. I’ll return for you in half an hour.”
When he left, she slumped against the counter, feeling like she’d just climbed to the summit of a cliff.
Tompkins walked in, took in the sight of her hunched over the butter, and shook her head. “Sent him away? Pity. I liked him more than your usual lot.”
“Well, don’t be too despondent,” Sera sighed. “He’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Tompkins slowly lifted one eyebrow. “Oh?”
Sera could not fault her secretary for seeming incredulous. She scarcely believed it herself.
“We’re going to buy slate.” She tried saying this as though it was normal behavior.
“Ah,” Tompkins said, nodding in mock comprehension. “Slate. Of course. You have always been so fiercely interested in minerals.”
Sera plucked a flower from the noseguy and tossed it at Tompkins’s gray head. “You are insufferable. Can a woman conduct a summer affair without harassment from her secretary?”
Tompkins shook her head. “A summer affair,” she mused to the kitchen walls. “Next she’ll tell me she’s joined the Tories.”
Sera rolled her eyes. “Maria?” she called. “Come and make your mistress comely.”
Sera tried not to think of anything beyond her reflection as Maria twisted up her hair and helped her with her stays. Instead she applied bergamot oil to her neck and salve to her lips and smiled serenely despite the way her stomach dropped when Tompkins came to the door to announce her “suitor” had returned.
“Thank you, Tompkins,” she said, flouncing past her.
“Enjoy your outing,” her secretary added, smiling rather sentimentally, in a way Seraphina did not like.
“I shall try,” Sera muttered. But in truth, she felt oddly giddy about the prospect of a morning drive along the country roads with Adam.
She walked out into the morning and smiled at Adam. In his horse cart he looked like a handsome farmer come to collect a maiden he was courting.
How exotic.
He gestured to the road beyond her gate. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” She shaded her eyes to see what he was looking at.
A stately carriage was traveling up the road at breakneck speed, throwing up dust behind it.
A laugh bubbled up from her chest, deep and bitter, as she recognized the colors of the coachman’s livery.
Had he imagined that just for a moment, Seraphina had smiled at him like an excited maiden? Had she ever looked at him like that before—like she was girlishly pleased to see him?
Now she was laughing grimly as she observed the carriage pulling through her gates.
“Who is it?” Adam asked.
“Lord Bell,” she muttered, striding to greet the vehicle.
It came to a stop and an egg-shaped man with a bald pate stepped out, not waiting for his coachman to open the door.
“Lord Bell, I thought that was you,” Sera said pleasantly.
“Where is she?” he barked at her, belligerent from his expression to his tone. Adam jumped to his feet and watched the man closely, poised to get between him and Seraphina if need be. But Sera paid no attention.
“Pardon? Who do you mean?” she asked Lord Bell, cocking up her head to one side.
“My wife,” he snarled.
Sera pretended to be taken aback. “I’d love to know the answer myself, my lord.”
Adam marveled at her demeanor in the face of Bell’s barely checked fury. She did not seem the slightest bit afraid.
Bell walked toward her with his fists clenched so tightly they were red at the knuckles. “Don’t waste my time, Miss Arden.” He glared angrily over his shoulder at the coach, where a second, thinner man was climbing down with obvious trepidation. “Hogue!”