Carolyn Jewel by One Starlit Night Page A

digs them up.” He took her hand and brought her to her feet. “I’m an oaf. I don’t watch where I put my feet. And now I’ve made you unhappy when that’s the last thing I meant to do. Listen to me.” He grabbed her by the shoulders again, and she looked at him through a blur of tears. “I’ll have the groundskeeper plant a hundred of them at Wordless. You can go there every day to see them. She won’t be able to ruin them for you there.”
    Her chest was stuffed full of feelings, and she could not contain them all. “A hundred isn’t enough.”
    “A thousand then.” With her hand still in his, he walked them toward the rear of the house.
    “It’s too late for that, Crispin. I’ll soon be living too far away to walk to Wordless.”
    His mouth thinned. “Then you can bloody well live at Wordless. I don’t mind if you do. I’m never there. Why oughtn’t you?”
    “Because then everyone will think I’m your lover, that’s why.”
    “It wouldn’t be true.”
    Emptiness settled in her belly and made everything familiar and dear seem unfamiliar, from Doyle’s Grange to Crispin to her future life. “You’ve not changed a bit, have you? Still full of grand and impossible ideas. I might as well make my home in the clouds as live at Wordless.”
    He cupped her face and brushed his thumbs across her cheeks and when he did that and looked at her the way he was now, the world with all its troubles dropped away. When he touched her like that, she believed she could live in a castle in the sky.
    “Do you feel that?” he whispered. “Whenever I touch you there’s nothing but that heat.”
    “I cannot live on that.”
    “He’s not your equal.”
    She blinked several times, but the heat coursing through her stayed. “Of course he is.”
    “He’s not.” He dipped his head and for a breathless moment, she thought he meant to kiss her. She could no more deny the passion between them than she could deny herself air. He moved his finger again. “You’re cold.”
    She drew her head back, and his finger slipped away. “Your hands are warm.”
    “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”
    She nodded.
    “Nothing will shake your conviction that he’s more than he is?”
    “He’s what I need him to be.”
    He shook his head. “Don’t. It’s a mistake. Don’t marry just to get away. I, of all people, know what a mistake that is.”
    She swallowed hard. “I can’t stay here. I can’t.”
    “Not even if it’s good sense? You’re running from a bad situation into a worse one, and it’s one you can’t take back when the hard light of reason proves your mistake.” He kept his voice low. “I promise you, there’s nothing worse than to marry where there is no love.”
    “She’s ruined Doyle’s Grange for me. Ruined it.”
    “He’s a belly on him and only half a head of hair. No doubt he’s losing his hearing.” He checked himself and after a glance at the house, lowered his voice. “Do you want to spend the best years of your life shouting at a fat old man who probably never read a novel in his life? And if he did, he’d not think it grand.”
    While they stood here, the clouds had gotten thicker and darker and the air colder. She grasped his hand and pressed it. “He likes me, with my red hair and despite all my faults.”
    “Is he marrying a wife or a nurse for his mother?”
    “That’s uncalled for.”
    “It’s entirely called for.”
    She recognized that mulish look. “You’ve never had to do without something you want, let alone something you need.”
    His eyes widened. “The hell I haven’t.”
    “You? With ten thousand a month and houses all over England? He is a decent man. We understand one another.”
    “Don’t attempt to tell me you love that man. I know what you look like when you’re in love.”
    “It won’t be the way you and I were.” Her heart cracked open, irreparably broken, and there was just no way to repair the damage she’d done. “Not that kind