Page 19 of A Trickster’s Temptation

‘Get away from me.’

‘Miss Fine, I must insist that you—

‘You must insistnothing. You—you and I shared something unspeakably intimate, or at least I thought it was unspeakable, only to visit my two best friends and realise that they knew about what had happened between us. That you had told them, boasting like a rake who had committed yet another heartless seduction.’ The shame rose in Mary’s chest again, stronger than bile; she held a hand to her neck, suddenly sure that she would vomit. ‘Leave.’

‘I can’t leave, Mary. I won’t.’

‘Get out!’ She had never raised her voice before. Not to anyone, not ever; something in Mary broke as she shouted at Adam, broke into a thousand pieces. Tears rushed to her eyes, hot, corrosive. ‘Get out, and never meet my gaze again if you retain even an ounce of compassion for me!’

Adam stepped backward. His expression, a mixture of incomprehension and anger, reached into Mary’s soul and wrenched it. Then, without so much as another word, he turned his back and walked away from her.

No.Mary’s regret was immediate, overpowering.Come back.But as she stumbled towards Adam’s retreating back, holding out her arms, the words wouldn’t leave her throat no matter how much she begged them to come.

She sank to the ground. None of the furniture in the morning room even seemed familiar any more; she was on alien ground, shipwrecked. Mary hugged her knees, sobbing with a wild ferocity that she had never known she possessed as the door to the morning room closed.

He had betrayed her. Betrayed her confidence, the most sacred thing she possessed. Allowed her to flower into another, better person, and then crushed that person underfoot for fun.

She had nothing left. Only tears, ceaseless and painful, falling onto the rug as she cried what was left of her heart out.

Come back. Come back, even though you don’t deserve to.

Three days later, far away from London, bees buzzed around a collection of deep red roses as they bloomed around the door of a long, low-roofed cottage.

The kitchen of Winnie's cottage was small, as all cottage kitchens were, but so graciously designed and furnished that one barely noticed the lack of space. Large windows above the wooden worktable flooded the space with light, while rosemary and lavender hanging in bunches around the door gave one the faint but accurate impression of both cleanliness and beauty.

A plate of small, icing-covered lemon cakes sat at one corner of the worktable, which was covered in a cheerful tablecloth. At the other corner of the table sat Winnie, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders despite the sunny weather, while Abigail sat in a comfortable wicker chair by the drawers where the dishcloths were kept.

'She didn't sleep at all last night.' Winnie spoke softly as she reached for a lemon cake, breaking it in half by mistake as she picked it up. 'Oh! You beasts. You shouldn't be this fragile.'

'I took mine as gently as I could, but now I have icing on my fingers.'

'My mother is very good at tastes, but still needs to practice when it comes to textures.'

'She really didn't sleep at all?'

'I don't think so. At least, not before I went to sleep. I could hear her pacing all over the guest room.'

'And she didn't eat her breakfast.'

'Not a bite.'

There was a short, sad silence. Abigail shook her head, looking down at her lemon cake. 'It's been a week.'

'I know.'

'I do hope your parents aren't irritated by our presence.'

'Oh, of course they aren't.' Winnie delicately bit into her lemon cake, the effect somewhat spoiled by a shower of crumbs falling all over her skirts. 'They're pleased that I have friends come to the cottage at all, which is somewhat humiliating but nevertheless welcome.'

'And they haven't asked questions about Mary's conduct?'

'No. They've just decided she's entered the naturally miserable state of womanhood, with sighing and long walks an essential part of the transition.' Winnie shrugged. 'I presume my mother must have done the same. I really can't imagine it.'

'No.' Abigail shook her head as she bit into her lemon cake with slightly more force than Winnie had. The resulting explosion of crumbs made both of them laugh. 'But then, I never would have imagined Mary doing this either.'

They both looked, somewhat guiltily, at the door which led to the parlour. Mary had been sitting in there since dawn, reading a novel known by all of literate London to be wretchedly sad, and had asked politely but firmly to not be disturbed by anyone.

'I've never known her indulge her feelings.' Winnie spoke barely above a whisper. 'At all. About anything, good or bad.'

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