When he made to leave, a glint of silver amid the papers strewn across the vanity table caught his attention. He smiled. On one of the papers lay the love spoon he had gifted her, attached to a sturdy chain. She must have decided to wear it at last.
The warmth in his chest dissipated when he realized the nature of the paper underneath the pendant: it was a letter of passage from the British consulate. Allowing Harriet free passage, to France. The icy blast of a premonition hit him. Indeed, there was a one-way railway ticket to Calais. And a list of items to be packed, in Harriet’s hand. His stomach lurched. He backed away from the desk as though it held a poisonous snake.
It was late evening when Harriet entered his bedchamber, rosy-cheeked and a little tousled, as though she had rushed up the stairs to reach him quickly. She looked confused when he remained in his armchair instead of rising to greet her, and her gaze fell on the grate next to him, where the fire had long gone cold.
“Did I keep you waiting terribly long?” she asked, out of breath. “I had such a lovely time, I forgot the hour.”
He held up her ticket to France. “Are you planning a holiday?” he said. “Or are you planning to leave me?”
Chapter 35
She recognized the ticket, and froze as if caught mid-crime.
“I see,” he said coldly. And here he had thought they had reconciled. Instead, there had merely been a delay.
Blood roared in his ears when she approached with a guilty look in her eyes. Nah, she was not planning a holiday.
He stayed her advance with a shake of his head. “Explain.”
She nervously knotted her fingers together. “It’s true,” he heard her say. “I must go to France.”
“Must, you say—in what capacity?”
Her shoulders drooped.
His pulse was racing. The ever-lurking whispers at the back of his mind became a roar: the stolen selkie always got her justice … the stolen selkie always returned to the sea.
He came to his feet. “Why?” he bit out. “One day you’re terrified of losing me, and next, you’re scheming to run?” His voice was raw, exposing the clash of emotional front lines inside his chest. His selfish, possessive side would prevail; it must, or else he’d lose her.
Harriet pressed her fingers to her temples as if to block him from her mind. “I’m not running—I have thought of France for years, if counting my girlhood dreams,” she said. “Now I have important reasons to go.”
No, he wouldn’t be interested in her reasons; reasonability could go hang. “Were you planning it yesterday, while in bed with me?” he demanded. “At the time, you seemed pleased enough.”
She blushed. “It was very pleasurable, and we both needed it,” she said. “But it also confirmed that it would be right to leave.”
“You confuse me, Harriet.”
But she hasn’t surprised you, not really. As denial raged, that realization kept hovering quietly and clearly like a sublime line in the skies above the carnage. It had been a superficial ambush; his shock was halfhearted. The fear of losing her had always been there. Out of sight. Beneath the rocks. But there. The truth always was.
She ran her hand over her face. “I must leave precisely because whatever bliss we share doesn’t silence the nagging voice telling me to go. That is why I cannot ignore my desire. It’s not a whim. It’s not impulsive. My mind has returned to it over and over since we married, certainly because of how we began. And there are other reasons wholly unrelated to our marriage. My heart—”
“Your heart,” he interrupted, “your heart has a duty to me.”
He cringed and wanted to yank the words back the moment they had left his mouth, because they sounded both commanding and needy, and Harriet had gone white.
Her gaze lingered on his chest. “I’m aware,” she murmured. “I’m aware.”
“What does that mean, now?”
“It means,” she said bleakly, “that you were willing to take a bullet for me.”
“And that troubles you?” he asked in disbelief. “You were the one who said we should all have someone worth taking a bullet for.”
Her knuckles were white, her nails restlessly biting into delicate skin. “Yes,” she said. “And I feel immeasurably cherished. I’m also acutely aware that my being indebted to you in such a way has made your hold over me even more powerful.”
What of your power over me? he wanted to say. I’m a fool for you!
“I was speaking of your marriage vows,” he said, trying to restore calm. “Nothing else. Wanting to draw Matthews away from you was pure instinct, I could have told you that. So there. Does that absolve you?”