four."
Tall like Father Nolte. She had a crush on Father Nolte. She couldn't help it. She knew many Catholic girls had crushes on priests and she felt so foolish about it some times, trying to banish the thoughts, but he was just so... so interesting, magnetic, wonderful, like the American…
He felt her hand gently trace the contours of his face— the first and only time she had dropped the pretense of sight. He held still for her, though he realized too late the innocent touch had the unnerving effect of a lightning bolt.
Jade didn't understand the warm pleasure brought by touching him. As if the nerves on the pads of her fingertips leaped up to greet this fun. "I can read physiognomy."
"I might have guessed," he replied, teased by her fingers moving feather light over his face. He had as much faith in the so-called science of physiognomy as he did in fortune-telling—which is to say none—but he was nonetheless interested in her perceptions, if indeed she even had any.
"You have a most distinguished face, Monsieur." Her fingers returned to his broad, dominating forehead to begin a closer, more specific inspection. Her nerves tingled queerly. She tried to concentrate on what his face told her about him. "You possess a formidable intelligence, one guided by logic and rationality. And these lines here are like… Father Nolte's, she thought.
The name echoed in her mind like a warning, resonating softer with each beat of her heart.
Suddenly her consciousness focused only on the unnaturally loud thud of her heart. "Like who?" he asked.
She returned but forgot the question. She laughed lightly, for no reason she knew, but enough to throw her head back too far. A warm wave of dizziness washed over her in force.
"Easy, sweetheart," Victor said.
Her clumsiness made her laugh again but her curiosity was pricked. A shiver of a queer excitement raced up her spine. She breathed in his clean masculine scent, wanting to brush her hot cheek against him as she returned her hands to his face.
"What color are your eyes?" "Blue."
"What color is your hair?" "Dark brown."
"How old are you?" "Thirty-one."
Jade continued and felt the lean, strong lines of his face, the finely shaped nose. "I have never read such a strong character in a face," she said, feeling wondrously expansive suddenly. "You have enlightened views, governed by very liberal attitudes." The idea came to her that Sister Benedict would not like him, and as she imagined Sister Benedict's shock, she felt a bubble of mirth in her throat.
Yet her fingertips were gently sliding over his mouth, discovering a smile of patient amusement. "You are generous too, exceedingly generous. But here"—she traced a line and smiled
—"the lines of benevolence cross with this line marking a fine temper."
Victor chuckled at last; it was only too true. He returned his gaze to the lovely upturned face. His smile disappeared. She looked suddenly feverish, her cheeks were flushed crimson, her eyes held an unnatural shine. He watched her lips tremble slightly as if she were suddenly holding back tears. "I am not afraid of you," she whispered. "I know you will not hurt me...."
The words struck him somewhere deep inside, stirring a place he had never felt before, as if... as if the moment were misplaced in time. It was not just the lure of her startling beauty or the bright shine of her intelligence but rather the extreme fragility brought by her sightlessness, followed by the unpleasant idea of what she must have endured to reach this place. "Never," he whispered as his thumb slid under her chin. "Never."
He held her face and his lips lowered to hers. They hovered there for a long time as if measuring her response. She struggled with confusion, sensing how very close he was but not understanding why. For she had been kissed many times in her imagination but never in fact.
Black lashes fluttered over her eyes. He tenderly pressed his mouth to hers, pulling back to assess her reaction
Tall like Father Nolte. She had a crush on Father Nolte. She couldn't help it. She knew many Catholic girls had crushes on priests and she felt so foolish about it some times, trying to banish the thoughts, but he was just so... so interesting, magnetic, wonderful, like the American…
He felt her hand gently trace the contours of his face— the first and only time she had dropped the pretense of sight. He held still for her, though he realized too late the innocent touch had the unnerving effect of a lightning bolt.
Jade didn't understand the warm pleasure brought by touching him. As if the nerves on the pads of her fingertips leaped up to greet this fun. "I can read physiognomy."
"I might have guessed," he replied, teased by her fingers moving feather light over his face. He had as much faith in the so-called science of physiognomy as he did in fortune-telling—which is to say none—but he was nonetheless interested in her perceptions, if indeed she even had any.
"You have a most distinguished face, Monsieur." Her fingers returned to his broad, dominating forehead to begin a closer, more specific inspection. Her nerves tingled queerly. She tried to concentrate on what his face told her about him. "You possess a formidable intelligence, one guided by logic and rationality. And these lines here are like… Father Nolte's, she thought.
The name echoed in her mind like a warning, resonating softer with each beat of her heart.
Suddenly her consciousness focused only on the unnaturally loud thud of her heart. "Like who?" he asked.
She returned but forgot the question. She laughed lightly, for no reason she knew, but enough to throw her head back too far. A warm wave of dizziness washed over her in force.
"Easy, sweetheart," Victor said.
Her clumsiness made her laugh again but her curiosity was pricked. A shiver of a queer excitement raced up her spine. She breathed in his clean masculine scent, wanting to brush her hot cheek against him as she returned her hands to his face.
"What color are your eyes?" "Blue."
"What color is your hair?" "Dark brown."
"How old are you?" "Thirty-one."
Jade continued and felt the lean, strong lines of his face, the finely shaped nose. "I have never read such a strong character in a face," she said, feeling wondrously expansive suddenly. "You have enlightened views, governed by very liberal attitudes." The idea came to her that Sister Benedict would not like him, and as she imagined Sister Benedict's shock, she felt a bubble of mirth in her throat.
Yet her fingertips were gently sliding over his mouth, discovering a smile of patient amusement. "You are generous too, exceedingly generous. But here"—she traced a line and smiled
—"the lines of benevolence cross with this line marking a fine temper."
Victor chuckled at last; it was only too true. He returned his gaze to the lovely upturned face. His smile disappeared. She looked suddenly feverish, her cheeks were flushed crimson, her eyes held an unnatural shine. He watched her lips tremble slightly as if she were suddenly holding back tears. "I am not afraid of you," she whispered. "I know you will not hurt me...."
The words struck him somewhere deep inside, stirring a place he had never felt before, as if... as if the moment were misplaced in time. It was not just the lure of her startling beauty or the bright shine of her intelligence but rather the extreme fragility brought by her sightlessness, followed by the unpleasant idea of what she must have endured to reach this place. "Never," he whispered as his thumb slid under her chin. "Never."
He held her face and his lips lowered to hers. They hovered there for a long time as if measuring her response. She struggled with confusion, sensing how very close he was but not understanding why. For she had been kissed many times in her imagination but never in fact.
Black lashes fluttered over her eyes. He tenderly pressed his mouth to hers, pulling back to assess her reaction
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