Wicked Angel by Julia London

then.
    "He will not bite, you know," she laughed nervously.
    He smiled thinly, his expression far too serious as he pushed away from the tree. "There is something I must say to you."
    Her heart skipped a beat at the absurd thought that flitted through her mind. Good God, she was hopeless! He had not given her
any
sign that he would be interested in anything more than the casual friendship they enjoyed. Nonetheless, she blushed profusely. "Judging by the look on your face, it must be a very serious topic, sir. Something very grave, indeed. Did you forget the name of the local poet I told you about?" His smile deepened a bit, but Lauren was struck by the peculiar, almost remorseful look in his eyes.
    "No, I have not forgotten," he said quietly. He took another reluctant step toward her and glanced at the sapling.
    She did not like the look on his face, not at all, and swept the wide-brimmed straw hat from her head to give her trembling hands something to hold. "The cattle, they rub against it, but the tree is so small they have almost killed it," she explained, and looked at the sad tree, her mind racing, her words filling the awkward silence. "I cannot seem to fasten the wire," she added softly.
    "I am leaving on the morrow."
    Leaving?
Lauren caught her breath; she felt as if he had just punched her in the gut. He could not be leaving, he simply could not! A tidal wave of confused emotions swept over her, and she fought to maintain some modicum of decorum. "I… I don't know what to say. I thought… I suppose I thought…" she stammered uncertainly, her eyes riveted on the wire.
    "I came only temporarily, to hunt, but I have stayed longer than I should have. I have responsibilities—"
    "Responsibilities?" she blurted. Oh God, he was married, and for the last two weeks she had been dreaming about him like some silly, smitten schoolgirl, practically
drooling
each time she saw him. He must think her the biggest fool!
    "I have a home and family," he was saying. Her mind quickly rifled through all the possible scenarios she could have imagined, but this had to be the worst. He was
married
. "My brother has corresponded recently that there are matters requiring my immediate attention."
    Lauren wanted to die right where she stood. Her face flaming, she could not bring herself to look him in the eye, certain that her every thought, her every little fantasy, was plainly evident on her face. "Well, there you have it," she blustered unthinkingly. "I am sorry… I mean, the
children
will be very sorry, but if you have responsibilities, I would be the last person to think you should not attend to them right away. Responsibilities are very important—I try to instill in the children the importance of responsibilities all the time, and I certainly would not want them to think that Mr. Christian does not take his responsibilities seriously, and of course they
would
think so if you continued to stay at your hunting lodge without thought to—"
    "Lauren," he said softly. Only then did she realize he had moved to stand only inches from her. She hoped to high heaven he could not see she was fighting for breath, that she was silently dying in front of his very eyes. When his hand lifted to her cheek, she gasped at the roiling wave of sweet hysteria his touch shot through her. "I wish I did not have to go, either. But I must."
    "Oh," she said, and shrugged lightly, still unable to meet his gaze. "It's quite all right, Mr. Christian, truly it is." He took a step closer, his fingers trailing along the line of her jaw. Her heart began to slam against her chest in terrifying rhythm. "The, ah, the children… they will miss you, but—"
    "Will you?"
    She bit her tongue to keep a shout of mad laughter from bubbling forth. Was he mad? Could he not
see
just how badly she would miss him? She slowly lifted her gaze to his, having no earthly idea what one said on such a monumental occasion as this. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his green eyes