Margery blinked. A ringing started up in her ears, her mind going blank. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “Pardon?”
His face fell, seemingly as shocked as she was by his question. “Which, I suppose, is not the most romantic proposal,” he mumbled to himself. But a look of determination entering his blue-gray eyes, he asked, “So what do you think? Will you marry me?”
She could not have held back the sharp bark of laughter that exploded from her if she’d tried. “You’re jesting.” He had to be jesting. It was all a cruel joke. He could not have possibly suggested that she be the one to marry him.
He proved her wrong in the next moment. “Not a bit.”
But Margery’s shock was beginning to wear off, and was quickly being replaced with a hurt so profound it made her hands shake—made so much worse by the disturbing longing that filled her. “I thought you understood,” she managed through lips that felt stiff, ignoring any emotion but for the pain caused by his suggestion. “I won’t remarry. Ever.”
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “I know you said as much,” he said, his large, blunt-tipped fingers demolishing a biscuit. “But I thought—”
“What, that because I had kissed you, I might have changed my mind?”
“No—”
“Because I assure you, women are allowed to have desires. And I’ve seen enough of the world, as limited as my view has been, to know that one does not have to have deeper emotions to feel desire. Why, as a widow I could have a discreet affair and no one would bat an eye.”
Her voice was climbing in volume along with her agitation. Flushing, belatedly realizing that this was no place for such a conversation—and that she seemed to be attempting to convince not only him but herself as well that it was natural to have desires—she closed her mouth with a snap and glanced about them. Blessedly, however, not a soul seemed to be paying them the least attention.
“Though you are the only man I have kissed besides Aaron,” she continued in a low, strained voice, her eyes fixed on the empty teacup before her, “that in no way means I wish to remarry. Why, it would be the grossest betrayal to his memory. I could never replace him. Not ever—”
Her voice broke off on a sob. She clamped her lips shut, fingers working at her wedding band in agitation. The silence stretched on between them, the duke unmoving beside her.
Suddenly his voice, achingly gentle. “I’m sorry.”
She raised her eyes to him and took in the sorrow that seemed to fill his craggy face. For what, her broken heart? Or was it something else?
But what did it matter? “Please,” she said in a mere whisper, “don’t mention such a thing again.”
“I won’t,” he said.
But as he turned away, she wondered at the regret that filled her. He was a distraction, she knew. Her desires for him were not going away anytime soon. If she was to find him a bride and collect the money necessary in paying off the blackmailer, she had to quench this physical need for him. But how?
* * *
“My goodness,” Margery cooed later that night as she lay on her side on the floor of her goddaughter’s nursery, one hand propping up her head and the other tickling Charlotte’s toes, “aren’t you the sweetest angel in all of creation. I could just eat you up, you darling thing.”
Lenora, seated cross-legged on the floor beside her, looked up from the sketch she was making of her daughter and chuckled. “Though I am biased, I agree with you completely. Why, these rolls look like the most succulent sausages.” With that she took her daughter’s pudgy arm and planted a wet kiss on it.
Charlotte gurgled merrily at the attention, her wide blue eyes swinging back and forth between the two women as she kicked her feet.
Margery laughed. This was what she needed to distract herself from her troubles. To spend an evening away from Seacliff and Daniel, to forget the horrible debacle at the Beakhead Tea Room and pretend, for even a few hours, that she was back in those halcyon days before Daniel had arrived and turned her world on its head.
But no, her life had not been ideal before his arrival. In fact, with the delivery of the blackmail letter her life had begun to unravel completely.
Would that she could get out of her deal with Daniel. How was she going to find him a wife when she wanted him for her own?
And there was the crux of the problem, the reason she had reacted so strongly to his offhand suggestion that they marry. Because she knew now what that longing in her had been when he’d made his hasty proposal: for a split second, she had wanted to say yes.
“Margery.”
Lenora’s voice startled her, so much so that her hand slipped from under her head and she nearly toppled over. “Pardon? Oh! Sorry, dear heart. I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere.”
“Yes, I’d noticed,” her friend replied dryly.
Margery chuckled. “I have been a bit distracted this evening, haven’t I? But is it any wonder, with such a dear, sweet creature to do the distracting?” She took up a rattle that lay nearby and shook it. Charlotte blew bubbles and kicked her legs, her pudgy arms flailing in excitement.
Margery went back to talking in silly singsong tones to the baby. All the while, however, she was sharply aware that her friend was watching her with a peculiar intensity. They knew one another better than anyone; Lenora could not have failed to see that, no matter how much Margery might deny it, there was something very wrong, indeed.
As the seconds passed Lenora seemed to go back to her sketch. Just as Margery was beginning to relax a bit and think she might come away from this visit unscathed, however, Lenora went in for the kill.
“How is His Grace, Margery?”
From anyone else it would have been mere polite curiosity. But Margery knew that Lenora’s seemingly casual question was anything but.
She cleared her throat. “He seems to be doing well.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Again, a beat of silence, broken only by Charlotte’s loud smacks as she gnawed on her fist and the faint scratch of pencil on paper.
Finally Lenora spoke again. “I’ve heard quite a bit of talk regarding the duke.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. It seems he’s all anyone can talk about. Miss Gadfeld was particularly vocal when she came to visit just two days ago.”
“Was she?”
“Mmmm.”
Margery, done with this game of cat and mouse, rolled her eyes and looked at her friend. Lenora was watching her closely, her pale green eyes shrewd. “I suppose you learned that His Grace is searching for a bride.”
“I have.”
“And I suppose you have come to the conclusion that I’m assisting him in his endeavors.”
“You are astute.”
Margery fought the urge to stick her tongue out, as she used to do when they were children. “And…?” she demanded.
Lenora shrugged. “It just surprises me, is all, that you would look elsewhere when there is a perfectly obvious choice staring at you in the mirror every morning.”
“Lenora,” Margery growled. Again that flare of hurt and longing from yesterday. Though now that she understood it for what it was, wasn’t the longing so much more potent?
“You cannot tell me, after our conversation just after His Grace arrived, that it has not crossed your mind.”
“Not in the least,” Margery lied.
But her friend must have heard the falsehood. She narrowed her eyes. “So there is nothing at all between you?”
No. The word bubbled up in her chest. But her throat, traitorous thing, would not let it out. She flushed hot.
She feared for a moment that her friend would gloat. Lenora had predicted, after all, that something might happen between herself and Daniel, and that she would be only too happy to claim victory when she was proven right.
Instead she placed her sketch pad aside and sidled close to Margery. “What’s happened?”
Her voice was soft and quiet, and undermined Margery’s determination to keep to herself what had occurred. With the kiss, at least, as well as the messy proposal—if one could even call it that. The blackmail, however, and the horrible things said about her Aaron were another matter entirely. No, she would make certain no one learned of that, ever. No matter if it destroyed her in doing so.
She let out an exhausted breath, and stroked Charlotte’s downy gold curls. The baby opened her mouth in a yawn.
“I kissed the duke.”
“Oh.”
That one soft sound was all that escaped Lenora’s lips. But it carried a wealth of meaning.
Margery’s lips twisted. Though she ached to look at her friend, to see her reaction, she nevertheless kept her gaze firmly on Charlotte. Her goddaughter’s eyelids were drooping now over her clear blue eyes, her bow mouth working silently.
Suddenly the child’s nurse appeared. “I’ll put Lady Charlotte to bed, shall I, Your Grace?”
“Henrietta, you are wonderful, thank you,” Lenora murmured. Margery gave Charlotte a soft kiss on her brow, and Lenora took her daughter up, passing her to the nurse. And Margery and Lenora were alone.
Margery expected her friend to suggest they go to her sitting room to talk. Instead Lenora sank back to the floor beside her. Her pale yellow skirts billowed about her as she settled herself on the rug.
“Tell me what happened,” she said softly.
Margery sighed and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “What is there to say? I kissed the duke. Well, actually, he kissed me. But when he would have stopped, I continued it. Quite enthusiastically.” She groaned and pressed her eyes into her knees. “What was I thinking, Lenora?”
Suddenly Lenora’s hand was rubbing comforting circles on her back. “I daresay you were lonely.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But that is no reason to kiss the man.” She raised her head and looked at her friend. “After our…kiss…he suggested I marry him.”
Lenora’s eyes flared wide in shock, but she stayed quiet, patiently waiting.
Margery nodded wryly. “I refused, of course. Though I rather think you’re going to tell me I was a fool for doing so.”
“No, my dear,” Lenora said. “In truth, I think that’s the wisest thing you could have done.”
Now it was Margery’s turn to be surprised. “Truly?”
“Yes.” She smiled sadly. “You didn’t settle for anything less than a strong love with Aaron. As much as I tease you, if you’re to remarry, it should be for the same reasons.”
Tears burned in Margery’s throat. “I don’t think that could possibly happen. How can anyone be blessed so twice in their lives?”
“I do believe,” Lenora whispered, “that if anyone deserves to be blessed in such a way again, it would be you.”
“Nonsense,” Margery managed, fighting back tears.
They stayed that way for a time, Lenora with her arms about Margery, the faint crackle of the nursery fire and the soft lullaby of the nurse in the next room the only sounds.
Suddenly Lenora stilled. “That doesn’t mean,” she said slowly, “that you need to remain alone all your life, you know.”
Margery frowned, turning her head to look at her friend. “I assure you, I don’t plan on getting myself a parrot like Miss Athwart. I’ve already been informed that such creatures are not for hobbyists.”
“Silly thing. I certainly don’t mean a parrot, or a dog, or even a gaggle of chickens like Miss Emmeline. I just mean,” she continued with an intent look in her eyes, “that you might find companionship. Physical companionship.”
Margery gaped at her. “Are you suggesting I take a lover?”
Lenora shrugged. “And why not? You are a widow, after all. And there is no crime in a woman finding pleasure, is there?”
“But…a lover?…Lenora…”
Her friend laughed. “You act as if I’ve told you to go out this very night and find someone to take to your bed. But I’m much too selfish for that; now that I have you here for an evening, I’m not about to let you get away so easily.”
She rose, holding out a hand for Margery, who took it, allowing herself to be hauled to her feet. But as they left the nursery arm in arm, she learned that Lenora wasn’t quite through with her mad plan.
“You can find a lover tomorrow,” she quipped with a wink.
* * *
If Daniel could have stayed holed up at Seacliff all the next day he would have, and gladly.
But when one was so pointedly reminded of one’s promise to join the rest of the household on a long-awaited excursion by a certain dowager viscountess, there really was no getting out of it, save for something life-threatening. Which, unfortunately, major embarrassment did not fall under.
And so, doing his best to act like everything was normal—though in reality it was the furthest thing from it—he hauled himself into Lady Tesh’s carriage, seated as usual beside Margery, and tried his best to ignore her thigh so very close to his own. The trip was long, quite possibly the longest of his life, figuratively speaking. He held himself as still as possible, the better to keep from touching her. But every bump and turn had him in danger of leaning into her. By the time they reached their destination, his thigh was not the only thing aching; every muscle in his body screamed at his attempt to hold himself as far away from Margery as was possible. Finally, however, it was time to alight, and the women descended from the carriage. Stretching his stiff neck from side to side, he heaved a sigh and lurched from the conveyance, looking up at the building before them.
Swallowhill, belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Reigate, was a compact, square house, seemingly plucked from a fairy tale. With its pale gray stone exterior, mullioned windows that sparkled in the sun, bright white-painted sills, and delicate roses climbing up its face, it was simple, and yet exceedingly lovely.
Just then Reigate himself flung the front door open and bounded down the steps.
“Hallo,” he greeted them cheerfully, grinning as he approached. “Clara will be tickled pink you’re here. As am I, for even my sparkling wit and Phoebe’s loving attentions haven’t been enough to distract my wife these past days.”
Daniel frowned. There seemed something decidedly off about Reigate. He appeared happy enough, as no doubt he should be, with his wife due to birth their first child soon. But the man appeared almost brittle, the tight lines that radiated from the corners of his mouth and his faintly mussed, harried air speaking of a hidden strain.
As Lord Oswin appeared and greeted the other women, Margery sidled up to Reigate, her face tight with worry. “And how are you holding up, my friend?”
Daniel didn’t hear the man’s answer, for his mother approached then and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Darling, you remember Lord Oswin, of course.”
Ah, yes. It was time for the social niceties he was trying his damnedest to master—truly, he regretted more than ever dodging his lessons on manners and comportment as a child, as well as the countless times he’d huddled in corners during social engagements. Dredging up a smile, he moved forward and held out his hand. “Certainly. My lord, I hope you’re well?”
Which must have been the correct thing to say, for the man grinned and shook his hand heartily. “I am. Phoebe and I have not been back to Synne since our marriage, and I had forgotten how invigorating the sea air could be. And you, Your Grace? Are you enjoying your stay?”
Thus began a polite back-and-forth that, though simple and easy enough, nevertheless had Daniel feeling drained by the time the other man turned away. But he had done it, hadn’t he? He had made it through an innocuous conversation unaided. Feeling strangely exuberant at this small victory, he turned to look for Margery—only to find she had disappeared along with Reigate into the house.
The disappointment and loss that coursed through him was disturbing in its intensity. It was not as if he needed her approval, he told himself fiercely. He was not doing it for her. Rather, he was utilizing the skills she had shown him to manage himself alone.
Alone. Suddenly that word, which had given him such comfort in past years, didn’t seem so comforting any longer.
“Let’s head inside, shall we?” Lady Tesh said then. “I grow overwarm.” She glared up at the bright sun as if it had offended her in some way. Which, even with what little he knew of the woman, Daniel had no doubt it somehow had.
Miss Denby was there in an instant. She set Freya down on the ground, opening the parasol she had brought along for just such a purpose, nearly clipping Lady Tesh’s nose in the process. Lady Tesh watched her, her expression stony, as the mauve and lace concoction was held aloft above her snow-white head.
“Thank you, Katrina,” she muttered before turning back to Lord Oswin. “Well, then?”
He grinned and offered his arm to the dowager. “Of course, my lady.”
They made their way into the house. In her awkward, bouncing way, Miss Denby followed Lady Tesh and Lord Oswin, trying to manage the parasol even as she called brightly to Freya, who was studiously sniffing a flower, as if taking stock of its merit. Daniel and his mother followed, keeping well clear of Miss Denby as, within seconds, she went to work wrestling the parasol closed in order to enter the house.
Daniel winced as she got the thing stuck on the doorjamb. “Do you require assistance, Miss Denby?”
“Pardon? Oh! No, not at all, Your Grace.” She smiled brightly before, her pixie face scrunching in concentration, she forced the thing closed and swung it in a triumphant arc. Which perhaps was not the brightest thing to do, as it bumped Freya in the backside. The dog let loose a yip of outrage and went careening inside the house to hide under her mistress’s skirts. Chaos ensued as Lady Tesh simultaneously tried to extract her dog from her skirts, comfort the creature, and berate her companion for injuring her beloved pet. All the while Miss Denby fluttered about them like an anxious butterfly, the parasol swinging from her arm and further enraging Freya, who peered from her bower of bright pink silk, her dark eyes almost human-like in their contempt.
Daniel and his mother stood on the front step, gaping at the scene. Finally Lady Oswin appeared, bringing immediate calm and reason as she effortlessly managed everyone, directing the lone maid in the removal of outer garments—he had been told the duke and his bride kept few servants at Swallowhill—soothing her great-aunt, and comforting Miss Denby.
“Well,” Daniel said as he watched the small group disappear from view, “I suppose we must count our blessings that Mouse was not allowed to accompany us.”
There was a moment of silence. Suddenly an unexpected chuckle had him peering down at his mother. And his breath stalled in his chest. Her face was alight with humor, her eyes sparkling. When she looked up at him, he thought for a powerful moment he might cry. She wore an easy, happy expression he had not seen on her face since before his going off to war.
“Goodness, it’s like a comedy of errors, isn’t it?” She laughed. Then, patting his arm, she released him and walked inside.
He watched her for a moment, overcome. While his mother had insisted that he visit Synne to learn the social skills he would need in London—if with not total confidence, then at least a passable semblance thereof—it had been his mother’s peace of mind that had been the determining factor in his finally agreeing to her mad scheme. And this was proof positive that it had all been worth it.
His heart lighter, he followed her, stepping into the front hall. The interior of the house was small but welcoming, the intricate inlaid floor buffed to a sheen, the great curving staircase that swept up the back wall in a graceful arc polished and gleaming. He followed the sound of voices into a bright sitting room off the side of the hall, its wide windows and plush floral carpets as welcoming and cheerful as the moss-green furniture and collection of lovingly framed watercolors that graced its soft yellow walls.
But he hardly saw it at all, for his attention was immediately fixed on Margery. She was seated beside the Duchess of Reigate on a wide couch, their arms about one another, their heads bent close in whispered conversation. But that was not the thing that froze him in his tracks. No, the thing that struck him was Margery’s hand on the duchess’s swollen stomach. He suddenly had a vivid image of Margery herself heavy with his child…
He stumbled, just catching himself with his cane. “Ah, my apologies,” he muttered when every eye swung his way. Face hot, he greeted the duchess and Lady Oswin before sinking down into an overlarge chair as far from the others as he could manage without appearing rude.
What the devil was wrong with him? He was not going to marry Margery. She had quite emphatically refused, after all. And the plan was still for her to help him locate a bride before it was time for him to travel to London; fantasizing about her expecting his child was not conducive to succeeding in that particular endeavor.
Even so, as he watched Reigate sink beside his duchess and kiss her temple, as he watched her smile slightly and lean into his side—and as he caught the small, wistful smile that flitted across Margery’s face at the act of affection—he grew aware of a dull ache in his chest. He rubbed the ache, frowning, and forced his attention away from the scene. Perhaps the Isle was doing something to him, undermining all those rules he had set out for himself when the plan to take a wife had first formed.
Or perhaps it was Margery.
No, certainly not. He gripped the handle of his cane tight and straightened his spine. Regardless of the reason, he was a man of strength and determination, and knew what had to be done. He would take every precaution to ensure he did his duty with the least amount of emotional entanglement possible.
Suddenly the Duchess of Reigate stood. Or, rather, she did a kind of roll, her stomach leading the way as she lurched to her feet. Her husband was at her side in an instant, offering his arm as support.
“But Aunt Olivia and dear Miss Denby and Their Graces have yet to see the nursery,” she said brightly. “Lenora has painted the most cunning mural on the wall; I simply must show you.”
With that she was off. The rest of them dutifully followed in a kind of slow-moving procession, out into the hall, up the sweeping staircase, down the long upper hallway to the room at the far end.
It was surprisingly spacious for the size of the house, with large windows thrown wide to let in the ocean breeze. Soft colors lent a magical air to it all, from the delicate violet drapes fluttering in the gently shifting air to the small cradle with its hand-stitched blanket to the vines and flowers in the rug at their feet. And dominating the space was the most breathtaking image he had ever beheld.
It was as if he were staring straight into a sun-dappled forest. The mural was incredibly detailed, each leaf captured in a single moment, each branch delicate and reaching for the heavens. Here was the faint blue of a bird flitting in the branches, there the spotted back of a fawn as it rested in the brush.
The breath left Daniel in a soft exhale of disbelief. As the others spoke and exclaimed over the piece, he found he could only stare in wonder. He felt certain in that moment that if he stared long enough, the whole thing would come to life before his very eyes.
“I told you she was talented.”
The soft voice murmured in his ear, startling him back to the present. He turned to see Margery beside him. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since yesterday afternoon, and he felt the power of it clear to his toes.
But he saw, too, that there was uncertainty lurking in her gaze. A feeling he could understand only too well. Something had shifted between them, first with his kiss, then with his ill-conceived proposal. And for the life of him he didn’t have the faintest clue how to navigate these dangerous shoals.
Though he supposed a bit of normalcy could only help. “The duchess truly painted this?” he asked.
“She did.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” He returned his gaze back to the mural. There were more hidden wonders the more he looked. Was that a hedgehog beneath a fallen branch? And a…fairy?
He let loose a small laugh. “I vow, if I’d had anything like this when I was growing up, I would have remained in the nursery until they removed me by force.”
She chuckled. “I daresay it would have been the same for me.”
But the beat of camaraderie was quickly gone, and they were left standing in awkward silence. The others talked and laughed and exclaimed over every little detail of the nursery. Finally the duchess said something about a greenhouse, and they all filed out. He was about to follow them when Margery’s hand on his arm stopped him. He glanced down at her in surprise.
Her gentle brown eyes were solemn. “I must apologize for my reaction to your…suggestion…yesterday.”
He gaped at her. “What the devil are you sorry for?”
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you as I did. It was a perfectly logical line of thinking, after all.”
“You had every right to be surprised. Hell,” he quipped, hoping his light tone might ease her discomfort, “I surprised myself.”
The smile she gave him was sickly at best. His gaze drifted down to her hand. As he’d expected, she was once more working anxiously at the thin gold band on her finger. “You loved your husband greatly,” he murmured.
She flinched and clenched her fingers into fists. “Yes, I did,” she managed.
“Won’t you tell me of him?”
She blinked owlishly at him. “You wish me to tell you of Aaron?”
“If you’d like.”
She frowned, her expression suddenly guarded. “What would you know?”
A strange reaction, that. From the tense line of her shoulders she appeared ready to go to battle.
“Erm, whatever you wish to speak of. How did you meet?”
“Oh.” Her face relaxed some at that, her gaze going hazy, as if she were suddenly transported elsewhere. “I met him when I was quite young. He was the son of the town blacksmith, near my father’s property, Epping Manor. We grew up together, and were close friends.” A small smile flitted about her mouth. “And then, one day, we were more than friends. Truthfully, it happened so gradually, I was completely in love with him before I even knew I had begun.”
He thought, for a moment, he could see clear to her soul. “It must have been very romantic.”
“It was.” She gave a small sigh. Then, suddenly, her smile slipped, pain dulling her eyes. “My father wasn’t happy with the union, of course. He was quite adamant that I not marry a person of such low birth. And so we eloped, to Gretna Green. And then went on to live in London for a short time.”
“And he enlisted.”
She swallowed hard, looking toward the mural. But her expression was so haunted he didn’t think she saw the mural at all. “My grandmother tried to insist on buying him a commission. I thought for a moment he might take her up on her offer. But I saw, though he considered it, that he wasn’t happy. When I pressed him, he admitted he would not be comfortable having his way paid, that he wanted to go up in ranks by his own merit. I had not realized until just that moment that he was just as prideful as I—” Her voice cracked, the rawness of it tearing at his heart. “I imagine he would not have been…welcome…buying his way into a higher rank, considering his origins. He only considered my grandmother’s suggestion to please me.”
Daniel could imagine what young Aaron Kitteridge would have gone through had he taken Lady Tesh up on her offer. There was a strict hierarchy in the military. No doubt both nobles and commoners would have taken exception to his position. They would have made the man’s life miserable.
Mrs. Kitteridge closed her eyes for a moment, breathing slow and deep. Finally she opened her eyes, and though the ghost of grief was present, it was under control. “He would have gone through all that and more for me. But I supported his choice so he might be happy. And he was, so very happy. His eyes were so bright when he left, so full of excitement—”
Again, she broke off. This time, however, she remained silent, her gaze focused on her wedding ring, shining against the violet of her half-mourning gown.
“I’m sorry.”
The words were so inconsequential. And yet, it was all he could think to say.
She gave a small, strained laugh. “It’s the same story told by so many war widows. I’m hardly anything special.”
“Yes, you are.”
The words surprised him. And her, if the shock in her eyes when she looked up at him was any indication. Thank goodness she was faster to recover than he was.
“And what of you? Did you leave behind any sweethearts?”
She would touch on the one subject he had no wish to discuss. But there was still something infinitely brittle in her gaze. She had confided in him, though it had taken much out of her. It was only right that he reveal something of his past to her. It was common knowledge, after all, that he’d been engaged before buying his commission; he could confine his own story to the bare facts and nothing more.
He dragged in a deep breath. “I did. Lady Erica Harcourt, daughter of the Earl of Gadby. She accepted my proposal, but wished to wait until my return from the Continent to marry.”
He fell silent. She watched him with solemn eyes, waiting patiently. Finally he let out a huff of a laugh. “I think, seeing as why I’ve hired you, you can guess what happened upon my return.”
“She broke it off with you because of your injuries?”
He shrugged. “It was to be expected, I suppose. She was gently born. And though you may not believe it”—he attempted a smile, though feared it must resemble more of a grimace—“my injuries were even more unpleasant back then.”
To his surprise, anger flared in her typically mild brown eyes. “Your appearance is not unpleasant. And the addition of a few scars is no reason to abandon someone. Why, it’s absolutely despicable what she did.”
Once more her staunch defense of him warmed something deep inside him. And not only was she defending him, but she was also quickly working herself up into a fury. He smiled, a true one this time. “You are a rarity,” he murmured.
That seemed to stop her ranting in its tracks. “I’m only stating the obvious.”
“The obvious perhaps to you. Unfortunately, most people aren’t as kind as you.”
“Well,” she said, her embarrassment palpable. She looked about the nursery for a moment, as if lost, before motioning to the door with an odd flapping motion. “Shall we join the others?”
As they made their way from the room Daniel felt the lightening of a weight that had been pressing down on him. It had felt surprisingly cathartic to talk about Erica. Not that he was planning on making it a common occurrence, of course.
But as they made their way into the side garden and he gazed down at her sweet profile, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to have a friend for a short while. His gaze shifted to her lips. And surely, he thought with a hard swallow as he tried not to remember the feel of them beneath his own, he could ignore his desire for her. It was only a few weeks, after all. What could possibly happen in that time?