Chapter 20
A
s they rode in silence, the sparkling darkness beckoned to her in its vastness, and long-buried memories clamored for attention. She'd last seen this swath of sky the night she left with Isaiah. It had been full of promise then, and she felt a shimmer of that same heady optimism now, as if her whole body were taking a long, bracing inhale.
“You can't see the stars in London,” she said, sweeping her arms wide and throwing her head back to stare straight up, immersed in the richness of the view. “It's been so very long. I'd forgotten how many stars one could see here. So much has changed here, and yet all this is as I remember it. Like a velvet blanket sprinkled with diamonds.”
“There's a spot near my home that provides the most amazing view of the night sky. It's so perfect I built a kind of nest in order to do some stargazing comfortably. Would you like to see it?”
Her
yes
was out of her mouth before her brain fully processed the question. She'd missed this view and couldn't resist the chance to immerse herself in the inky sea of stars. When they left Talos and the cart, she realized exactly where his viewing nest must be located. It was at the very top of a nearby rise, and she could picture the rocky remains of an ancient watchtower there. In her youth, she'd slipped out of the house on more than one occasion to stargaze there. And it was where she'd met Isaiah one night to plan their escape. Conflicting emotions rioted through her as they climbed.
At the sight of the jumble of stones, déjà vu swept over her. Here. In the darkness. With a man sheâHer mind stuttered; she had no way to end that thought now. Daniel beckoned her closer, and she saw that he'd created a smooth, raised area, nearly like a couch . . . or a bed. He covered it with horse blankets and spread his arms in invitation. As she settled at one end, he gently tapped under her chin, directing her gaze upward. The glittering endless light blending at its edges with the quiet landscape left her breathless. How silly of her to be so enamored of the sky she made herself dizzy, for heaven's sake. That was the cause of her dizziness, surely. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the man whose light touch made her whole being tingle.
He didn't speak and didn't put his hands on her again, but his nearness felt disturbingly comforting. She shouldn't like it so much. Soon he would say something cutting, something condescending to remind her of what a terrible person she was, and this moment would be tarnished. She wouldn't tolerate his judgment anymore.
“What's wrong?” he asked. He sat more than a foot away, and yet his voice made her feel as though he embraced her.
“Nothing,” she repeated with a shiver. He took off his coat and wrapped it over her shoulders. His warmth radiated from it, and she yearned. But this momentary truce couldn't last. “I don't know what you mean.”
“You were enjoying the night sky. Very nearly immersed in it, I thought. Then you tensed as if you expected something nasty. What happened?”
When she turned from the heavens to look at him, he had a peculiar expression.
“You think me simple for missing the stars,” she said. Surely, he could appreciate directness, and it was honestly one of the myriad thoughts that disturbed her in this moment.
“Not a bit,” he insisted. “Even during my short time in London, I felt bereft without this sight. That fog is no myth. The city felt unnatural, despite all its fine buildings and modern lights. This . . . such a night is a lover's embrace, endless and full of magic. How could one not miss it?”
Gone was the distance, the superiority, he'd maintained during the trip. Was this the genuine man? Had he set aside his family's grudge against her?
A lover's embrace?
“I didn't know you had a bit of the poet in you, Mr. Lanfield.” She tested the waters.
“You flatter me. Truly, though, I understand what you must feel,” he said. “This is a sight without compare. The aurora borealis might appear in the coming weeks, in fact. Can you see it in London?”
Oh, to see that again!
She shook her head and became all too aware of his proximity. And she had to accept that she wanted his arms around her. She looked away from him, fighting the urge to burrow against his chest.
Tilting her head up to the stars again, she said, “I have heard that one may catch glimpses of the aurora borealis on the outskirts of London on a clear night. My neighborhood is not an ideal viewing spot.”
“I'd forgotten this, too,” he said, his voice low. “All I need to do is look, but I haven't simply looked up at the stars in a long, long time.” He turned away and dug something out of his pocket. Whatever it was, small enough that she couldn't see it in his hand, he raised it to his lips and then said, “My brother and I sometimes sat on the porch in the evenings and spun these crazy stories about the stars, cobbled together from what we recalled of Greek and Latin stories and our own fancies.”
“Tell me one of your stories,” she said softly, wondering if he would acquiesce. It felt like an unguarded moment. Maybe he didn't despise her anymore. Her body canted toward his. He grasped her shoulders again and gently turned her until she was facing away from the moon. The heat of his hands through her clothing spread in cascading waves down her body. What was the matter with her?
“You don't want to hear me rambling.”
“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't interested. I could do with a bit of rambling.”
“See that one?” he said as he pointed to a constellation. Orion. Easy to recognize from the stars that made his belt.
When she nodded, he continued, “Gordon and I understood that it was called Orion after the Greek myth. But we agreed that it looked more like a barn cat in mid-leap.” His mouth made a wry twist as he added, “Well, a cat with a fancy belt around it. We wove lots of our stories in the stars. We had one about an ancient and powerful chieftain who, rather than see his village pillaged and destroyed, set fire to it all himself. The embers rose to the heavens and became ours stars, we said.”
“What a terrible story. Wasn't the story of Orion tragic enough? Why would he purge everything rather than be defeated?”
He shrugged. “Just a silly tale we cobbled together. It meant naught, just a boys' game.” This was not the same man she'd traveled with from London. It couldn't be. Perhaps he had been kidnapped and replaced by a fake. The intimate companionship of this Daniel called to her in a way she hadn't realized she needed. For the first time in quite a while, she felt at home. It wasn't just the dissonance of returning to Marksby and being away from the life she'd built in London. Since Isaiah's death, nothing had felt right or comfortable or peaceful. She did everything she could to present a brave face for her boys, but she felt tense and hollowed out all the time. In this moment, under this sky, the desire simply to be held in a warm embrace felt . . . normal. It was a gift, and it left her speechless.
If Daniel found her silence odd, he didn't show it. When he finally spoke, his deep voice was barely a rumble, more felt than heard. “My wife, Nancy, didn't die. She left me, left Marksby. I could tell that she wasn't happy here, even from the beginning. After a few years, she began to complain that I lacked imagination and ambition. She hated that I had no higher aspirations than to live here and work Lanfield as long as needed.”
His revelation in that quiet, resigned tone tore at her. For a man who showed so little of his feelings, his pain reverberated between them.
“I don't remember her,” she said quietly.
“You wouldn't. Her father kept her close to home when she was young, and I didn't meet her until she was of marriageable age. At first, she bustled contentedly around the house, planting flowers, putting up curtains and trinkets.” He looked around, but it was clear he wasn't seeing their surroundings. “She took the strangest things with her when she left me. That was how I knew. Initially, I thought maybe she went to visit her parents and take some time away. But there was a small crystal bowl in which she kept dried flower petals and herbs. She always said it made the room smell more pleasant, but to me it smelled only of decay. Still, I tolerated it and all the other knickknacks for her sake. The fancy silver candlesticks, the caps made of French lace. I thought these were harmless and would be enough to brighten her life here. She took all of it with her. I was blinded by the idea of her as my ideal helpmate, an extension of myself. I didn't see her. I didn't recognize that her wants and needs were much greater.”
“There's nothing wrong with being content with your place in the world, being satisfied with the life you have,” she pointed out.
“That's what I've always said, what my family has always said, but she wasn't happy here.”
“But,” she added gently, “there's also nothing wrong with wanting something different from what others expect of you.”
“You would say that.”
“Can you truly say that you have never wanted anything more than to run Lanfield? You've never wished to travel? Never wanted a different career? I remember how good you were at tinkering. You had a knack with mechanical objects and puzzles. Do you still design those wooden puzzles? The sculptures that have to be pieced together just so?”
He nodded. “When I find the time. There's too much work to be done here. Nancy did what she could, but, by the end, she did it all grudgingly, as if this world wasn't worth her time and effort.” His voice faded. He turned away from her, and she almost missed what he said next. “I don't hate you, you know?”
“No? That's quite a reversal. Rather, I suppose you would say you don't hate anyone. You're too decent and moral for that.”
“Don't glorify me yet,” he said. “I'm no stranger to darkness. I know what it is to fear, to envy, to hate. And I don't hate you. I don't know what I think of you now, to be honest. Not yet. But I mean to learn.”
“Why?” She was genuinely curious, especially since she was finding it difficult to tell what she thought of him now.
“We rarely get second chances in this life. Seeing you here again, I believe you will make the most of yours. There is hope in that.” He stared at her intently.
Ensconced by the intimate darkness of their surroundings, it felt only natural for her to lean in and kiss his cheek, a simple gesture of affectionate thanks. She kissed her brother-in-law and her boys in just such a way. As soon as she touched him, though, she couldn't deny the difference. He inhaled sharply. The muscles of his arm tensed under her hand. The stubble of his cheek grazed hers with a pleasant rasp.
Oh, dear.
A hot, sharp sensation she'd laid to rest years ago shot through her. Surely, she'd imagined it. After the constant tension of the past few days, her nerves were unpredictable. But no matter how much she tried to brush it away, she recognized the tingling under her skin all too well after years of marriage. It wasn't just comfort or companionship. It wasn't anxiety. It was the low but insistent burn of want.
So close. His breath mingled with her own. A faint scent of brandy. They might as well be kissing, his lips were so close to hers. Her mind skittered away from the thought, from imagining the sensation of his mouth on hers. As their lips parted, a beautiful sense of awe whispered through her. She dropped her face to his neck and breathed in his scent, earthy, animal, real.
“What?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual rumbling through her body.
“What what?” she replied, unable to resist jabbing at him.
“You sighed,” he said, as his hand rested between her shoulder blades. “What?”
“If you must know, I'd forgotten the pleasure of a good kiss.”
He grumbled. “Is that all it was? A good kiss?”
Before she could respond, could explain that good meant so much more in her mind than it sounded, he tipped her face to his, and his mouth took hers. The pleasure intensified, heightened, sharpened to a fine edge that left her breathless and wanting.
“So . . . was that only good?”
“That was”âshe took a deep breathâ“that was heaven. Good is not commonplace or inferior, you know. I couldn't have wanted more from that first kiss. It was pure and beautiful, and I'd forgotten how completely wonderful such a moment could be. It was that good. I could kiss you for days.”
“I must say I've never understood the appeal of kissing.” He kissed her again. And then again. Each kiss was unique, varied, as if he was testing new possibilities. “Now I see.”
“Surely you've kissed women before. You've never liked it?”
“Not especially. So I did it as little as possible. Fortunately, Nancy didn't seem fond of the act either, or at least that's the impression she gave. But maybe that's another way in which I failed her.”
“No,” she whispered and then kissed him gently. “Not now. This time is for the two of us. No one else is welcome here.”
“You could kiss me for days?” She felt him smile against her mouth. “I would let you. I could drown in you.” Then there were no more words. His mouth devoured her, and she took her turn greedily.
Their groans mingled as they both gasped for air. If he felt even a fraction of the pleasure that spiked through her, it was a wonder the blanket beneath them didn't spontaneously combust. His hands gripped her hips, demanding. Just as she felt herself slipping into mindless sensation, Daniel pulled away.
“I wanted you to suffer when you returned,” he said in a rush. He held her, but his gaze focused on the sky. “I wanted you to feel shame and humiliation and remorse.” Guilt laced his voice, and she understood all too well his inner conflict.