separate. Now he’d come back from the life he’d chosen, but if he thought, with Randall conveniently dead, she’d blithely open her heart to him again, he would learn he was mistaken.
Pride was one of the few comforts left to her, pride that regardless of her wishes, she’d done the right thing.
She wasn’t about to let him take her pride from her. Wasn’t about to explain to him what his long ago decision had wrought. Wasn’t about to—ever—let him know what that decision had cost her.
How many heartbroken days and nights.
How many lonely years.
The sudden swell of emotion snapped her back to the here and now, to her reflection in the mirror.
She studied her eyes, then deciding she’d made him wait long enough, she considered her hair, debating whether towind it up into a quick knot. She was otherwise fully dressed, gowned, hooked and laced.
Her hair down, a silky, shining, shifting veil, would distract him more than it would her. He’d seen it down before, usually rippling over her nakedness.
She smiled approvingly and rose.
She glanced at Esme. “Don’t wait up for me. Dealing with his lordship might take some time.”
Unhurriedly, she left the room and headed for the stairs. A vivid memory of when they’d first met swam across her mind. As she started down, she recalled, and felt her lips curve.
She’d been barely sixteen. He’d been twenty-two. They’d met at a local fair; they’d seen each other over the bric-a-brac stall. Their eyes had met—and that had been that.
He’d been atrociously handsome, even then. The sight of him in his guardsman’s uniform had literally made lesser women swoon. While she’d never done anything so maudlin, seeing him standing tall and proud, the wind ruffling his light brown hair, she’d certainly understood her weaker sisters’ affliction.
For her, however, looking hadn’t been enough.
It hadn’t been enough for him either.
In rapid succession they’d become acquaintances, then friends, then sweethearts. He wasn’t always in the country; he was often called away. But every time he returned, their connection only seemed stronger, more definite, something that linked them each to the other and grew with every passing day, regardless of whether they were together or not.
Needless to say, they’d spent every moment they could together.
But they hadn’t become lovers until nearly a year later, when he’d come home and then come north to tell her that his upcoming assignment would see him on the Continent for some considerable time. That he was going into danger had been implicit; she hadn’t needed to be told.
It had been she who’d grasped the moment, who hadpulled him down into the hay in the old barn and insisted he educate her in the ways of passion.
Not that he’d fought all that hard, but she’d been well aware that she couldn’t leave it to him to initiate any intimate link. Men like he had certain lines they wouldn’t cross, and seducing her—even though he’d intended eventually to marry her—had been one of those lines. While she was usually a stickler for honor, in that instance she hadn’t seen the point.
Even now, after all the lonely years of nursing a broken heart, she still couldn’t find it in her to regret those passionate moments, those long interludes over one glorious summer when she’d given him not just her heart—that had already been his—but her body and her soul.
The memories still burned bright; for long moments they held her.
Then she blinked, and realized she’d halted outside the library door.
Drawing in a deep breath—girding her loins—she reached for the doorknob.
Only to have the door swing open.
Christian stood there, frowning down at her. “I presume you’re intending to join me at some point?”
She struggled to keep her lips straight. He would have heard her footsteps approach, then stop outside the door.
Thankfully, he didn’t know what had held her immobile.
With the
Pride was one of the few comforts left to her, pride that regardless of her wishes, she’d done the right thing.
She wasn’t about to let him take her pride from her. Wasn’t about to explain to him what his long ago decision had wrought. Wasn’t about to—ever—let him know what that decision had cost her.
How many heartbroken days and nights.
How many lonely years.
The sudden swell of emotion snapped her back to the here and now, to her reflection in the mirror.
She studied her eyes, then deciding she’d made him wait long enough, she considered her hair, debating whether towind it up into a quick knot. She was otherwise fully dressed, gowned, hooked and laced.
Her hair down, a silky, shining, shifting veil, would distract him more than it would her. He’d seen it down before, usually rippling over her nakedness.
She smiled approvingly and rose.
She glanced at Esme. “Don’t wait up for me. Dealing with his lordship might take some time.”
Unhurriedly, she left the room and headed for the stairs. A vivid memory of when they’d first met swam across her mind. As she started down, she recalled, and felt her lips curve.
She’d been barely sixteen. He’d been twenty-two. They’d met at a local fair; they’d seen each other over the bric-a-brac stall. Their eyes had met—and that had been that.
He’d been atrociously handsome, even then. The sight of him in his guardsman’s uniform had literally made lesser women swoon. While she’d never done anything so maudlin, seeing him standing tall and proud, the wind ruffling his light brown hair, she’d certainly understood her weaker sisters’ affliction.
For her, however, looking hadn’t been enough.
It hadn’t been enough for him either.
In rapid succession they’d become acquaintances, then friends, then sweethearts. He wasn’t always in the country; he was often called away. But every time he returned, their connection only seemed stronger, more definite, something that linked them each to the other and grew with every passing day, regardless of whether they were together or not.
Needless to say, they’d spent every moment they could together.
But they hadn’t become lovers until nearly a year later, when he’d come home and then come north to tell her that his upcoming assignment would see him on the Continent for some considerable time. That he was going into danger had been implicit; she hadn’t needed to be told.
It had been she who’d grasped the moment, who hadpulled him down into the hay in the old barn and insisted he educate her in the ways of passion.
Not that he’d fought all that hard, but she’d been well aware that she couldn’t leave it to him to initiate any intimate link. Men like he had certain lines they wouldn’t cross, and seducing her—even though he’d intended eventually to marry her—had been one of those lines. While she was usually a stickler for honor, in that instance she hadn’t seen the point.
Even now, after all the lonely years of nursing a broken heart, she still couldn’t find it in her to regret those passionate moments, those long interludes over one glorious summer when she’d given him not just her heart—that had already been his—but her body and her soul.
The memories still burned bright; for long moments they held her.
Then she blinked, and realized she’d halted outside the library door.
Drawing in a deep breath—girding her loins—she reached for the doorknob.
Only to have the door swing open.
Christian stood there, frowning down at her. “I presume you’re intending to join me at some point?”
She struggled to keep her lips straight. He would have heard her footsteps approach, then stop outside the door.
Thankfully, he didn’t know what had held her immobile.
With the
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