‘You drew me?’ Her eyes swerved to his expressive brown ones.
‘I drew a free-spirited water nymph. You are inspiring, Serena.’ His eyes locked on her gaze, a wealth of meaning written in their depths.
Is that how he saw her? But what of all those accusations? What had changed? ‘But, I thought ...’ She faltered, unable to finish the question. Her mind quickly became a fuzzy mess. She started when his hand lightly covered hers.
All rational thought fled as he drew her hand to his lips. Tiny explosions of pleasure invaded her head and her heart, and it seemed every other part of her body, right to her toes. The heady scent of lavender and tobacco filled her senses. At length he drew back, and his eyes told her he longed to kiss more than her hand. She closed her eyes and imagined what those kisses would be like, arousing sensations in Serena that she felt sure must be wrong.
Finally, she opened her eyes and pulled back, but the intensity in his gaze remained. ‘I cannot stop thinking about you.’
Serena scrambled to find a coherent response. ‘Nor I you.’
His eyes roamed her face and he did not release her hand which still burned where his lips had been. ‘Come to my rooms tonight.’ The invitation burst from him.
‘Mr King.’ Serena sucked in her breath. ‘What can you mean? You must know that is improper.’ He had not even mentioned marriage, let alone love or anything close to that.
‘No. I ...’ He shook his head as though a fog filled his mind.
Did he mean to feign innocence, did he? Perhaps he was a womaniser as previous newspapers had hinted. The fluttering in her heart transformed to an offended, pounding throb. She wrenched her hand away from his and stood. ‘I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am.’ No wait. She knew exactly what he believed about her. Her shoulders fell. ‘Is this a trap? You want to prove that I’m a criminal or even a wanton?’ She stalked away from him.
‘Serena!’
Serena flung back toward him with a hand stretched out before her. ‘Stay away from me.’ She left him and didn’t turn back.
Serena headed straight to her room. Right now, she was in no mood to speak with any household member. How dare Mr King! She had half a mind to pack her belongings and walk home. The only thing that stopped her was the possibility, no the probability, that Mr King would have her father taken to the penal settlement. And added to that, he would likely have her denounced as a harlot. Water nymph indeed!
Angrier than she’d been in years, Serena slammed the door. She threw herself onto the bed, thumping the pillows to vent her humiliation and groaned in frustration. Rosemary burst from the sachet, filling the air with its fragrance.
She remembered how Mr Xavier refused to accompany her to the beach. Had he known Mr King sat on the bluff, sketching? Was he involved in this?
And Mr Simon. When he found out what had transpired there on the rocks, he would feel justified in his assessment of her character, wouldn’t he? And what about Mrs and Mr Jones? It didn’t bear imagining. They were all ready to judge and condemn her it seemed. Perhaps every day had been a test to bring out her true character—a character they’d already determined as wicked.
But they were wrong. So very wrong. And Serena held no illusions that she could change their point of view. They had damned her without a fair hearing.
Harmless indeed. With another groan, she stood up from the bed and paced the room, her ire still stirred. Shouldn’t a girl’s first moments of intimacy be something she could treasure? But Mr King had ruined it with his unchaste suggestion. An idea struck her—not a solution precisely—but it might help relieve her anxiety.
Serena sat at the bureau and withdrew a sheet of paper, then several more sheets. This promised to be a long letter. She opened the ink pot, dipped her quill, and wrote out all that had happened. She started with the night-long tour with Mr King and ended with the episode at the beach—minus the kiss of her hand—and the strange attitudes of the family. Only Papa might understand her side of the issue. He knew her nature, that she bore no guilt for any immorality.
As her pen scrawled across the page, her indignation calmed to only the dull ache of disappointment. When did she begin to expect more from this position than an extended punishment? It was her own fault for letting her imagination run away with her. The possibility that Mr King, or even Mr Xavier, would show any interest in her was a delusion. She existed at Aleron as a slave and should have only expected treatment as such. Serena shook her head as she signed off and let out a long breath.
She blotted the page then rose to stretch her back and legs. As Serena crossed the room to fetch a glass of water, she noted an envelope on the floor just this side of it.
How long had that been there? Days? Hours? Minutes? She had no idea. From whom could it be? What if it came from Mr King? It might hold a message of accusation or apology, and she didn’t want to read either. More accusation would hurt and she wasn’t ready to forgive him. Serena heaved a sigh. There would be no apology. What a foolish thing to expect.
If it came from one of the Joneses, nothing better would be inside the envelope. But then, what if it was mail from her family? Serena hurried over to it, but there was no postmark on the envelope. Just her name in flowing script—Serena.
Heavens above, it was from Mr King. She knew it at once. For a few moments Serena couldn’t even bring herself to pick it up. Biting on her lip, she made herself collect the
