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Around her towered tall winter-brown reeds. Snow squeaked underfoot. It had snowed ever since the night she’d arrived in Essex. Now, on the day before she was due to go back to London, the weather cleared enough for her and Brock to leave the house.

With a determination that grew more and more tattered, she pushed aside thoughts of tomorrow’s parting. She refused to poison these last hours with her lover with bitter regret that this was all she would have.

He strode ahead of her, bundled up in a greatcoat and a thick woolen scarf, and with his hat pulled down low over his ears. It was perishingly cold.

"It’s not far, trust me," he said, glancing back with brilliant green eyes.

She’d wondered if a week in his company would blunt the impact of his extraordinary looks. If anything his handsomeness had a more powerful effect on her now than when she’d first seen him at Derwent Hall. And when she’d first seen him, his flashing dark beauty had made her knees tremble and her heart race.

They followed a narrow hunters’ track through reed beds which rustled in the wind. The sound was eerie, like a thousand voices whispering at her.

She gulped in a deep breath of salt-laden air and summoned up a smile. "I do trust you."

His gaze softened, and he drew her forward for a quick kiss. The heat that filled her as his lips moved over hers made a mockery of the freezing air.

"What was that for?" she asked shakily, after he pulled away and plowed on.

"For pleasure. And because you trust me. And because I can."

And because the wretched truth was that after tomorrow, he’d never kiss her again.

No, don’t think about that.

"I wish you could come back here in autumn. The marshes are alive with life. We could take a boat and go exploring."

She squeezed his gloved hand. "That would be lovely."

But never to be. Never was the saddest word she knew.

No, don’t think about that either.

She’d struggled so hard to cling to their every minute together, striving to stretch each second into an hour. But in the way of time, the seconds had turned into hours had turned into days. Now only one night remained. Selina didn’t know how she could bear it.

The rolling thunder ahead of her wasn’t loud enough to overpower the keening sorrow in her heart. They turned a bend on the path, and a gap opened up in the reeds. Something huge and gray sparkled in the space.

A few more steps and the reeds ended. She and Brock stood on a sandy knoll above an empty stretch of silvery sand.

"Oh, Brock…" Tears rose to her eyes, as she surveyed the vast magnificence of the North Sea. The water spread in shining immensity all the way to the faraway horizon.

As she leaned into him, he curled his arm around her. Warmth radiated out from him to ease her heart, even as a sharp breeze, stronger here in the open, whipped around her cheeks. She wore one of his coats, and she’d wrapped a thick shawl around her head.

"I’m a man of my word. Our first day, I promised that I’d show you the sea."

She’d learned he was a man of his word, despite the world calling him so wicked. He was also kind and even-tempered, not to mention a breathtakingly skillful lover. She’d expected only the last when she accepted his invitation to share his bed. It turned out

he was so much more than she’d anticipated. Interesting and clever and imaginative. And his dry humor had her laughing more than she’d ever laughed in her life.

She’d miss the lover the way she’d miss an amputated leg. But she’d miss the man even worse.

No, don’t think about that.

Brock shifted to stand behind her, wrapping her in his arms to shelter her from the wind. She nestled against his chest. This reminded her of the way they often slept, with him curled up against her back. As she felt then, she felt now. Protected and cherished.

She blinked away more futile tears and made herself drink in the spectacular view. In the distance, the clouds broke and the water turned dazzling silver.

"All my life, I’ve wanted to see the sea," she said in a thick voice. "I’m so glad that I saw it with you."

"You’ll never forget it," he murmured, resting his chin on her head and folding his arms around her even more securely.


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical