Page 7 of The Earl on the Train
“You mean you disliked being led away in irons by Chief Inspector Morley?” she clarified with a syrupy sarcasm.
“I meant I regret you saw me like that. On the day I lost everything.”
“On the day yousurrenderedeverything,” she corrected. “You brought it all on yourself, you know.”
He knew.
It was a truth he often ran from, which meant he needed to get moving.
Yet, his feet didn’t seem inclined to obey. He wasn’t a man to look over his shoulder at the past, and yet…here she was. One of his most intrusive, pervasive memories.
So close.
So dangerously, alluringly close.
His heart sped. His breaths intensified as a dagger of dread threatened to skewer his tightening throat. If he thought about what he wanted to do, he’d take the deserter's road. He’d been many things in life, but a coward wasn’t one of them.
Then why fear this? Fear her? What power did she have over him?
None.
Power was given or taken.
She wasn’t the sort to take it. And he’d die before he gave it up. So, he needed to do this. It was what they both deserved.
“I’m sorry.” The words tasted foreign and foul on his tongue, but he managed to spit them out.
It wasn’t that he expected a parade or procession. Hell, he hadn’t really even imagined forgiveness was forthcoming, but he thought she might have saidsomethingin return.
He groped about to fill the resulting silence. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “The thought that I might have frightened or distressed you offends me in every way.”
“Thank you.” Her reply was colored with astonishment.
With a practiced bow, Sebastian turned and eased the door back open, trying to ignore the warmth of her gaze on his chilly skin.
“Moncrieff,” she called after him in an elevated whisper.
He paused, unable to turn around, half afraid she’d found the words to rebuke his apology.
“Do be careful on the roof. The snow is getting worse.”
Sebastian didn’t bother to fight the grin spreading across his face as he once again melded with the shadows.
Veronica Weatherstoke didn’t want him to fall to his death from a speeding train.
Andthatfelt like progress.
Three
Veronica thoughtshe’d reached the upper limit of irritation at Sebastian Moncrieff.
Yet here she was, merehoursafter their nocturnal encounter, seething at him with uncharacteristic vigor. Even in his absence he was a sliver beneath her skin.
An unrelenting prick.
She’d rolled like restless waves in the night, doing her best to escape fevered memories of the man. Recollections that became lurid dreams, once she’d finally wrestled sleep into submission.
Though morning had been her nemesis since she was a girl, Veronica was particularly fond of breakfast. Coffee and scones, biscuits and bacon, soft boiled eggs in their little cups, and toast drenched in butter. These were the things that beckoned her from the warmth of her bed each day.
