Star's Crossing

6: A Farewell So Mysterious

The cold night air did not faze Mare.

She welcomed it as she stepped from the foyer on Camden's arm, barely veiling her relief. Again her shawl felt heavy, her kid gloves too tight; again she fought the desperate, primeval urge to break from the small gathering and vanish into the woods.

"Are you quite all right, Ms. Atwood?" Camden's voice seemed devoid of its usual humor, and gleamed with eerie sincerity. His hand at her arm tightened. "Mare?"

"Quite all right," Mare replied, though she hated to admit upon her return to the parlor she'd taken perhaps more brandy than was proper for a young lady, given the circumstance and company. Camden had partaken of more than she, yet seemed steady as a ship on the summer moors. His eyes were piercing and clear when he halted at the foot of the drive.

He removed his glove and pressed his knuckles against Mare's forehead.

Mare stiffened. "Mr. Doores, I do not think-"

"Burning up. No surprise. Wandering about knee-deep in the mud, heedless of the rain. What were you thinking?"

Mare stared at him, searching his expression, his tenor, for any sense of falsity. But his sincerity was painfully obvious. "I wasn't," she said simply.

Camden didn't smile. His black brows lowered and he replaced his glove, glaring off into the nearby bur glens, at the onyx gleam of the Atlantic beyond the bluffs. A tendon in his jaw tautened and released; his nostrils flared.

"Mr. Doores," Mare said suspiciously, drawing her shawl nearer, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you truly were worried. I was not aware a heart so cold as yours could experience such an emotion as empathy."

"And passion?"

Mare's smile slipped. She'd exchanged such similar words with Teddy. On Camden's tongue they rang hollow. Or was that the point? Had he witnessed Mare's tense discussion with his cousin?

Again she sensed there was a hidden force at work, or a cruel one at that; Camden had also spoken a line from her letters. What did he know?

More importantly, what did he want?

"My carriage has arrived," Mare said, coldly as she could manage. She'd bid her farewells and vowed on future visits. She was free to go. What, then, anchored her to the drive as Mr. Henry drew near? Mare turned toward Camden, though he stubbornly faced the distant sea. "I will see you tomorrow night at the gala, Mr. Doores."

"Indeed you will, Ms. Atwood."

Mare bit her lip, then spoke without regard for what consequences might follow. "In you I hope to find a likeminded ally."

He turned sharply, eyes widening. Mare inclined her head and opened the carriage door to Mr. Henry's belated protest. He scrambled from the box, but Mare had already hoisted herself onto the bench and smoothed her skirts.

"Tomorrow, Camden Doores." Mare allowed a small, cool smile, relishing the surprise in Camden's eyes as the carriage door swung shut.

Whether he was her writer or not, Mare's suspicions were correct. Somehow, some way, he'd seen the letters. And now, he knew.

Mare Atwood had written them.