lip .
Would he think me too bold? If I confess he is and has been in my every thought since I first laid eyes upon him?
I find the prospect of not telling him leaves a bigger hole than the gnawing fear of truth.
I leap. I hear the gravity in my own voice. I halt, forcing him to face me.
“Please, Brighton. Do not disappear again. I…merely wish to be in your presence. I care not if you confess anything, ever. Just. Stay with me? Allow me that?”
His mouth opens along with his eyes. He snaps it closed and licks his lips. “I. You deserve so much better than what I am able to offer, Allegra.”
He continues his ardent stride and I struggle to keep pace with his long-legged steps.
I see the gazebo ahead and the occasional practice note floats to our ears.
My heart falls and I extricate my arm. “That is to be your excuse then, to let me down easy?”
The shake of his head is so fervent it sends his black curls falling across his forehead. “No, no, I assure you. But I’m afraid I find you much too interesting. Too consuming. I do not divide my obsessions well. I will never provide the life that all women wish for.”
My eyebrows press down as I prickle with irritation. “You are presumptuous, sir, to assume to know the life which I desire. You know nothing of the sort. Of my desires.”
He smiles. “Too true. Excuse my assumption. I scarcely know you.” A storm wrinkles his brow, but he battles it, and the lines soon smooth.
“Come to the island tonight. I will prepare supper.”
“Really?” I will my face calm, but my insides tremble.
He nods. “I’m quite positive this idea is dreadful, but seem to be unwilling to stop myself.”
“I’m quite glad for your lack of self-control then.”
“I shall come to collect you at dusk.”
He shuffles backwards a few steps, his eyes holding me captive, and then swiftly turns back toward the Inn.
Jonesy registers my flushed face as I excuse my way down the row for rehearsal. I need not utter a word, he knows me well enough to guess.
“Are you mad? ” His dark eyes regard me seriously. “Oh, laws. This will not end well.”
Marietta, too, watches me. “Allegra. That man is evil. You must stay away from him.”
“I cannot believe that,” I whisper low enough for only Jonesy to hear. “I don’t think I can.”
Chapter Nine
Evening
“Blast. He shall arrive at any moment. Hurry Jones. I should be fetching Allegra at this very moment.”
Jones glares, but says nothing.
I wrench back the threadbare curtains, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of him through the thick island foliage. Nothing. Just rain and green. So much green.
My father seems to skip points in time—one moment I am alone, the next, he is breathing down my neck.
“Brighton, you detest him. Why do you permit your father an audience?”
My eyes steal to the journals which litter the table and I stare Jones down.
“You know perfectly well, why.”
I stomp to the table and snatch up the leather-bound evils, shoving them into his arms. A paper slides out—one with hieroglyphics and an Egyptian eye I’ve yet to decipher. “Hide these. Now.”
Jonesy’s eyes cloud. His mouth pops open then shuts as he wrestles with the right words of chastisement.
I turn away. “I have no idea what protest is forming in that mind of yours, but he is come . Please!”
My face flushes with a surge of blood through my temples as I give the anger free reign; it has kept me breathing.
Through battles over slaves and state’s rights and my father’s egomaniacal need to own and control and subserviate his every desire.
Jones stalks out the door; finally taking my heed.
I feel it. A prickle on the back of my neck like someone watches. A craving; a beaten path to my very core—my body simultaneously worships and despises it.
I whirl, trying not to look at it.
Sweat dots my brow and my eyes dart, looking everywhere except the table. They tick, tick toward it, like time somehow
Would he think me too bold? If I confess he is and has been in my every thought since I first laid eyes upon him?
I find the prospect of not telling him leaves a bigger hole than the gnawing fear of truth.
I leap. I hear the gravity in my own voice. I halt, forcing him to face me.
“Please, Brighton. Do not disappear again. I…merely wish to be in your presence. I care not if you confess anything, ever. Just. Stay with me? Allow me that?”
His mouth opens along with his eyes. He snaps it closed and licks his lips. “I. You deserve so much better than what I am able to offer, Allegra.”
He continues his ardent stride and I struggle to keep pace with his long-legged steps.
I see the gazebo ahead and the occasional practice note floats to our ears.
My heart falls and I extricate my arm. “That is to be your excuse then, to let me down easy?”
The shake of his head is so fervent it sends his black curls falling across his forehead. “No, no, I assure you. But I’m afraid I find you much too interesting. Too consuming. I do not divide my obsessions well. I will never provide the life that all women wish for.”
My eyebrows press down as I prickle with irritation. “You are presumptuous, sir, to assume to know the life which I desire. You know nothing of the sort. Of my desires.”
He smiles. “Too true. Excuse my assumption. I scarcely know you.” A storm wrinkles his brow, but he battles it, and the lines soon smooth.
“Come to the island tonight. I will prepare supper.”
“Really?” I will my face calm, but my insides tremble.
He nods. “I’m quite positive this idea is dreadful, but seem to be unwilling to stop myself.”
“I’m quite glad for your lack of self-control then.”
“I shall come to collect you at dusk.”
He shuffles backwards a few steps, his eyes holding me captive, and then swiftly turns back toward the Inn.
Jonesy registers my flushed face as I excuse my way down the row for rehearsal. I need not utter a word, he knows me well enough to guess.
“Are you mad? ” His dark eyes regard me seriously. “Oh, laws. This will not end well.”
Marietta, too, watches me. “Allegra. That man is evil. You must stay away from him.”
“I cannot believe that,” I whisper low enough for only Jonesy to hear. “I don’t think I can.”
Chapter Nine
Evening
“Blast. He shall arrive at any moment. Hurry Jones. I should be fetching Allegra at this very moment.”
Jones glares, but says nothing.
I wrench back the threadbare curtains, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of him through the thick island foliage. Nothing. Just rain and green. So much green.
My father seems to skip points in time—one moment I am alone, the next, he is breathing down my neck.
“Brighton, you detest him. Why do you permit your father an audience?”
My eyes steal to the journals which litter the table and I stare Jones down.
“You know perfectly well, why.”
I stomp to the table and snatch up the leather-bound evils, shoving them into his arms. A paper slides out—one with hieroglyphics and an Egyptian eye I’ve yet to decipher. “Hide these. Now.”
Jonesy’s eyes cloud. His mouth pops open then shuts as he wrestles with the right words of chastisement.
I turn away. “I have no idea what protest is forming in that mind of yours, but he is come . Please!”
My face flushes with a surge of blood through my temples as I give the anger free reign; it has kept me breathing.
Through battles over slaves and state’s rights and my father’s egomaniacal need to own and control and subserviate his every desire.
Jones stalks out the door; finally taking my heed.
I feel it. A prickle on the back of my neck like someone watches. A craving; a beaten path to my very core—my body simultaneously worships and despises it.
I whirl, trying not to look at it.
Sweat dots my brow and my eyes dart, looking everywhere except the table. They tick, tick toward it, like time somehow
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