“Katrina,” Ichabod groaned, frustration and desire evident in his voice. “Please. We must stop.”
I drew away from him with a reluctant sigh and curled on the grass at his side. “I suppose you’re right.”
The day after our walk by the river was equally beautiful, so we had slipped away again that morning, returning to our spot in the woods, away from prying eyes. I had left Nox free to roam the fields, hoping no one would see him and wonder where I had gone without him.
Once alone, Ichabod and I had kissed with a fevered passion, until he lay back on the grass, I nearly atop him, our hands roaming over each other’s bodies—when he cupped my breast, even over my bodice, I lost all coherent thought. My hands wandered beneath his shirt, and he stroked my bare legs beneath my light summer skirts.
But that was as far as we went. Not far enough, yet much farther than ever before. Ichabod had stopped us before we could pass the point from which there was no returning.
My body and heart cried out in protest, and I could not stop myself touching him. I wrapped an arm across his chest and held him tightly, while he let his fingers twine in my long, loose hair. “As beautiful and radiant as the beams of the sun,” he said, letting the blond strands fall through his fingers. “But such a beautiful woman as you could be adorned with no less.”
I felt as though my entire body would melt into him at these words. “If you are hoping to distract me from thoughts of any further amorous activity, you are failing miserably,” I murmured.
Rather than reply, he leaned over and kissed me, hungrily, deeply. I moaned against his mouth as he shifted so he was partially atop me, his hands moving downward over my body. My heart rate accelerated as I arched beneath his touch, with desire and fear and anticipation and excitement.
Yet again he pulled himself away. “By God, Katrina,” he said, sitting up and running his fingers through his mussed hair. “We must stop. I am a gentleman, I swear it, though I am not behaving like one at the moment. And a gentleman does not make love to a woman who is not his wife.”
I sat up, too, angry and a bit embarrassed. “Oh? And, seeing as how you’re a gentleman, and unmarried, I suppose you have never made love to a woman before?”
His silence told me all I needed to know. “There is a difference between being a foolish young man and a gentleman, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice somewhat cool. “Though in this instance what I should have said is that a gentleman does not make love to a woman whom he intends to make his wife, before she is so.”
“And what of my intentions?” I asked.
“Yes, what of them? What are they? I should like to know.”
I looked away from his steady green gaze. “I…”
“I would know the truth, Katrina Van Tassel. Do you wish to be my wife, or no?”
“Yes,” I said, for foolish and hasty or not, it was true. Were I to be betrothed to a man from the village, as my parents no doubt had always planned, he and I would have had less acquaintance, desire, knowledge, and certainly passion between us than Ichabod and I had now, and yet it would have been considered a good match, a better match. “Yes, I do. But I…”
“What?” He met my troubled gaze. “You think your father will say no.”
I knew he would say no. I remembered my mother’s words too well: You are an heiress to extensive holdings, and so your father and I expect a good match … A man with something to bring to the marriage, and not a fortune hunter. I had no doubt both of them would categorize Ichabod Crane as the latter.
But what of what I wanted? What of the fact that I had fallen in love with this man?
“I am afraid,” I whispered. “Now that you are here, I cannot bear to think of what life would be like if you were not. You were right; I am spoiled and am afraid of being disappointed for the first time. Especially when I would trade everything I have and have ever had, if only to have you.”
He shook his head. “You speak so because you do not know what it would be to lose everything. To live without all your comforts in the first place.”
“Do you think that I do not speak in earnest? Do you think I am a fool who does not know what she is feeling?” I demanded.
“Of course not. It is just…” He sighed and looked away. “Forgive me, Katrina. I, too, am afraid, that is all. Afraid I might lose you. Afraid that your life might be better for it if I did.”
I moved closer, taking his face in my hands. “Never say that,” I said softly. “It is not true. It cannot be.”
He leaned down and kissed me once more, briefly. “Perhaps.” He stepped away. “We had best return. I have a few things to see to yet before I leave tomorrow.”
“I hate that you must go.”
“No,” he said, taking my hand in his. “Do not. It is a good thing. It is more proper this way. Once I have been gone a few weeks, I will come back and ask your father for your hand.”
My heart pounded. “Truly?”
He smiled. “Truly. I must come call on you a great many times before then, however, so that my suit is not a complete surprise to the good Baltus Van Tassel.”
“Yes, I suppose you must.” With time, my parents—and my father especially—would come to see Ichabod for the wonderful man I knew he was, and give their blessing.
He smiled. “And what is the Dutch word for husband?”
Yet again, my pulse spiked. “Man.”
“Ah, similar to English, when in the marriage ceremony we say, ‘man and wife.’ And so how do you say wife?”
I smiled. “Vrouw.”
He returned my smile. “You will be mijn vrouw.”
I replied in Dutch, “And you will be my husband.” I prayed that in speaking the words, my doubts as to our future would be chased away.
* * *
On returning to the house, we entered through the side door into the kitchen, only to find my mother waiting for us. “Ah, there you both are,” she said. Her tone was even, but her eyes held a somewhat troubled expression. “Your father asked that I send you both to his study when you return.”
“I … the both of us?” I asked.
“Yes. He said he would speak with you and Mr. Crane.”
I resisted the urge to glance at Ichabod, to suggest any sort of complicity between us. Had someone seen us? Had we been found out? My father was hardly the intimidating sort, but such a summons did not bode well, even so.
My mother smiled encouragingly. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”
I did not reply; merely led the way to my father’s study at the front of the house.
I opened the door without knocking and found Brom Bones seated within, across from my father. Both men looked up. “Ah, Katrina, Mr. Crane,” my father said.
Brom rose from his chair. “I shall be going, then, sir, as I see you’ve other matters to attend to.” He spoke Dutch, deliberately trying to exclude Ichabod from the conversation. Brom took my hand and kissed it as he reached the door; I recoiled at the feel of his lips on my skin. “A pleasure to see you, Miss Van Tassel, as always.” He tossed a triumphant glance at Ichabod as he left.
My heart pounded in my throat. If Brom was involved, whatever was happening was even worse than I’d imagined.
“Sit down, both of you,” my father said, and Ichabod and I obeyed, taking the chairs across from his desk.
“What is this about, Papa?” I asked.
“Ah, well, I shall get right to the point, then. Young Brom, you see, has brought something to my attention that is most … interesting, I suppose you could say, and I thought I had best get to the bottom of it.”
“I am quite in suspense,” I said, doing my best to act nonchalant.
“Yes, well, I shall endeavor to enlighten you, then. Yesterday Brom was on his way to call on you, Katrina, and he saw you and Mr. Crane returning from … somewhere together. He did not think too much of it at the time, he says, but then today when he came to discuss a few farming matters with me, he claims to have seen you departing together for the woods. He thought I should know, in case there is anything, ah, untoward going on.” He nodded at Ichabod. “You’ll forgive me for the unseemly implication, I hope, sir. But a man with a daughter as beautiful as mine, and of marriageable age at that, cannot be too careful.”
The insinuation in his words turned me to ice—I was of marriageable age, but not available to one such as Ichabod Crane.
“This is absurd,” I said coldly. “What on earth does Brom think he is on about? Is he hanging about the place spying on me, then, that he knows my movements so well?”
“Of course not, Katrina. I have already explained how he came to see you on both occasions. And I am quite glad he did, for it is most unseemly for you to be spending so much time alone together, in a secluded wood, no less.”
“What exactly are you accusing us of, Father?” I said. “Mr. Crane is a gentleman, I assure you.” No doubt those words would have had us in fits of laughter had the situation not been so serious. We were found out, but I’d be damned if I’d let my father—or anyone else—know it. “Mr. Crane merely expressed a desire to see our native woods, and was curious as to the species of bird that resides there. I have been showing him the paths, and also our lovely scenery along the riverbank. Nothing untoward whatsoever.”
“I know that, of course, and—why, accusing is a harsh word, Katrina, very harsh indeed,” my father said. “As I said, it is a bit unseemly, that is all, and I am well within my rights to speak to the both of you about it.”
“Master Van Tassel, I do apologize for anything I may have done to cause offense,” Ichabod said, sounding a bit nervous. “I apologize most sincerely, and humbly beg your pardon. I would never betray your fine hospitality and generosity by … by…” He stumbled about, searching, no doubt, for a word that would not give lie to our actions.
My father, luckily, seemed to think Ichabod merely wished to speak delicately in front of a lady. “Indeed, I know you would not,” he interrupted. “Of course, the both of you know better. But Brom, I fear, is right—it does not look well, not at all. I will soon be entertaining offers for your hand, Katrina, as you know, and so I hope this does not become gossip for the village.” He cast an apologetic glance at Ichabod. “Again, I accuse you of nothing, good sir. You have been a wonderful guest. But perhaps it is just as well you are leaving tomorrow—for appearances’ sake.”
“I understand completely,” Ichabod said stiffly. “Again, sir, I would never damage your daughter’s honor—”
“Yes, yes,” my father said, waving him away. “Of course not, not at all.”
I rose from my chair. “If you are quite finished with this nonsense, Father, then I shall take my leave,” I said haughtily.
He sighed. “You shall understand one day, perhaps, Katrina. Yes, be off, then. I have said my piece, and truly meant no offense by it, daughter, to either of you.”
I turned on my heel and marched out of his study, Ichabod following me. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and I did my best to blink them furiously away as I went straight upstairs.
“Katrina, are you all right?” Ichabod asked, turning me to face him when we reached the door of my room. “Oh, my love,” he whispered, wiping away my tears.
In spite of the shambles the day had become, my heart leapt at hearing him refer to me as my love. “It is as I feared,” I said. “He … he will not entertain your suit. He does not think…”
“Shhh,” Ichabod said, pulling me against his chest. “Do not worry, Katrina. Please. We shall proceed as before, yes? Only it may be a little longer before I can ask for your hand. But ask for it I will. I promise it.”
“But … but what if…” I broke off. I could not even form the sentence.
“Do not worry, my love. He will see it differently when I am gone, when I am no longer under the same roof as his daughter. He is a good father, and he is concerned. I would feel the same, in his position.”
I chuckled through my tears. “Someday,” I said, “may we both see exactly how you will react in his position, when young men are in love with our marriageable daughter.”
“Indeed,” he said. “And I shall pray day and night to be so blessed as to have you bear my daughter.”
This caused tears to spring to my eyes anew.
“Do not despair, I pray you,” he said, releasing me. “All will be well.”
Yet for a moment our eyes were honest with one another. There was worry there. A worry that everything would not be so easy as it had seemed in the forest. A worry that there was more pulling us apart than holding us together. A worry that love would not be enough.