Adam's Promise by Julianne MacLean Page A

hand? Perhaps this was his way of telling her that heknew she was attracted to him, and he intended to discourage her.
    She was glad she would be leaving soon.
    Madeline put Clarissa back where she found it. “Can you recommend something else? Perhaps something shorter?”
    Adam held his candles up to the titles on a higher shelf. Madeline stared at the strong line of his jaw in the flickering candlelight and wished she could reach out and run her fingers along the shadow of stubble.
    He looked over the spines for a few seconds. He seemed intimately familiar with where everything was. “Have you read any Shakespeare?” Then he smiled down at her. “Of course you have.”
    She returned his smile. “Yes, but not everything.”
    â€œWhat about Measure for Measure? ”
    â€œYes, I’ve read that one.”
    â€œWhat did you think?”
    â€œI thought the ending was hurried.”
    He continued to look over the titles on the spines, tilting his head to the side to read them, running his fingers over the embossed lettering. “I thought so, too.”
    Madeline stood back, watching, enjoying these precious moments of conversation with him, talking about books. She realized now that she had come to understand him on a deeper level these past weeks—staying up late to talk about the marshlands and what he wanted to accomplish to ensure their survival.
    She now felt a certain compatibility with him, for she, too, valued good land, and knew how important it was to nurture and maintain it. All her life, she’dtoiled in her own garden at home, proud of her accomplishments, always delighted to see the green shoots sprouting out of the dirt. The feel of the soil under her fingernails—even though Diana had badgered her for being so irresponsible about her hands—had always provided her a secret pleasure.
    â€œWhat about Twelfth Night? ” Adam asked, bringing her thoughts back to the present.
    â€œI’ve read it.”
    â€œDid you like it?”
    â€œVery much. It was hilariously complicated.”
    He smiled at her and nodded in agreement. Then his attention went back to the books.
    â€œWhat about The Merchant of Venice? ”
    â€œI’ve read it.”
    â€œThe Merry Wives of Windsor?”
    â€œRead that, too.”
    He smiled down at her and said good-naturedly, “Perhaps it should be you doing the recommending, instead of me.”
    She laughed. “Are there any books here, Adam, that you haven’t read yet?”
    â€œOnly a few. I read most of them in Yorkshire, when Jane was alive. I needed a distraction, I suppose.”
    Madeline found herself gazing into Adam’s eyes in the candlelight, wanting to fill in all the years he had been absent from her life. In a moment of abandon, she chose to ignore her resolve to keep her emotional distance and began asking questions she had no business asking.
    â€œTell me more, Adam. Tell me about the day you decided to leave Yorkshire.”
    He set his candelabra on a table. “Surely you don’t want me to bore you with that.”
    â€œI do. Tell me why you left your home when you had spent your entire life there.”
    Somewhat reluctantly, he began. “Well, knowing I was going to spend the rest of it working someone else’s land, and earn nothing to pass to my children weighed heavily for me. I was tired of seeing my hard work go to support my landlord’s mistress’s apartments and baubles. Then one afternoon, his agent came by to discuss the harvest, and Agnes, wanting to be a good hostess, served him tea in Jane’s best china—china we had received as a wedding gift from my family. Mr. Westing took one look at his teacup and the silver teapot, and said that if we could afford china like that, we could afford to have our rent raised.”
    Madeline felt her temper flare. “Poor Agnes. I hope she didn’t blame herself.”
    He gave Madeline a