Chapter Eighteen #2
At the sound of her voice, Thomas came to an abrupt halt. He stood motionless for a moment, his back still towards her, as though he did not quite trust what he had heard. Then he turned slowly, and even across the distance Caroline saw recognition break over his face.
Then he began to run. Caroline barely had time to take another step before he was coming towards her across the wet grass, all composure forgotten.
The sight of it broke the last of her restraint.
She ran to meet him, breathless and half blinded by the tears gathering in her eyes, and they reached one another beside the bare rose garden, where the last sodden petals lay scattered across the earth.
They stopped only when they were almost upon one another.
Thomas caught her by the arms as though he feared she might disappear again, his hands warm and firm around her through the thin fabric of her sleeves.
For a moment he simply stared at her, taking in her loose hair, her unfastened gown and the tears staining her cheeks.
"Caroline," he breathed.
The sound of her name in his voice nearly undid her. "I thought you had gone."
His hands tightened. "Without seeing you?"
She could not answer. Her breath came too quickly, and the effort of reaching him had left her trembling. Thomas lifted one hand to her face and pushed the windblown hair from her cheek with such tenderness that her eyes closed for a moment beneath his touch.
"I could not have left you like that," he said. "I tried to tell myself I ought to go, but I had not taken ten steps before I knew it was impossible."
Caroline opened her eyes. "Jane is out of danger. You have no reason to remain."
Thomas looked at her as though the answer ought to have been obvious. His thumb moved softly across her cheek. "I have you."
Before Caroline could answer, Thomas bent and kissed her.
There was nothing hesitant in it. His hand slid from her cheek into her loose hair as he drew her against him, and Caroline clutched at the front of his coat, all the years between Scarborough and this damp Hertfordshire garden collapsing beneath the warmth of his mouth.
She had remembered their first tentative kisses so often that they had become almost dreamlike, soft as the brush of wings upon her lips.
This was different. Thomas kissed her like a man who wanted to drown in her.
This was deep and fierce, as if he was pouring all of the hope and pain from their years apart into this one action.
Caroline rose onto her toes and kissed him back with everything she had never been able to say.
Her fear that he had forgotten her, her anger at the years they had lost and the terrible relief of feeling his arms tighten around her all seemed to rise inside her at once.
When he finally lifted his head, neither of them moved away.
He held her against him and his breath came as unevenly as her own.
"I thought I had lost you," she whispered.
Thomas closed his eyes and held her more tightly. "So did I, love," he murmured, tracing his hand down her spine in long fluid strokes.
Only then did Thomas seem to notice how violently she was trembling. He drew back, his eyes moving over her loose hair and thin shawl before dropping to the slippers darkened with water beneath the hem of her gown.
"Good God, Caroline. You are freezing."
"I ran out without thinking. I wanted to reach you."
"And I am very glad of it, love. But I would rather you do not become my second patient in this grand house.
" He caught the shawl where it had slipped almost entirely from one shoulder and pulled it around her, but the fabric was too light to offer any real warmth.
His expression tightened as he took in the buttons she had failed to fasten and the damp clinging to the bottom of her skirts. "How long have you been awake?"
"Not very long."
"And when did you last eat?"
Caroline made an impatient sound. "Thomas, I have spent years waiting to speak to you. I do not wish to discuss whether I ate luncheon."
"I will discuss anything you like once you are indoors and no longer turning blue."
Before she could object, he slipped one arm around her waist and drew her firmly against his side.
Caroline allowed him to lead her back towards the house, though the moment she attempted to walk, she became aware of how thoroughly the run had exhausted her.
Her legs felt curiously weak and the stitch beneath her ribs had not quite released its hold.
Thomas noticed her falter and tightened his arm around her without comment.
They entered through the terrace doors and turned into a small morning room at the back of the house.
The room had been deserted in favour of the brighter drawing room at the front of the building, but a fire still glowed in the grate and the air held the faint warmth of the afternoon sun.
Thomas closed the doors against the wind, then guided Caroline towards the chair nearest the hearth.
"I am not an invalid," she protested as he pressed her gently into it.
"No. You are a woman who has stayed awake for days, eaten nothing and then ran across a wet garden."
There was enough tenderness beneath the rebuke that Caroline could not take offence. Thomas crouched before her and lifted the edge of her gown before she realised what he intended.
"What are you doing?"
"Your slippers are soaked."
He drew the first slipper carefully from her foot and paused.
"You are not wearing stockings," he said, cradling her foot gently.
Her bare foot was icy beneath his hands.
He enclosed it between his palms and began rubbing warmth back into it, his thumbs moving slowly over the arch while Caroline sat very still above him.
The intimacy of it sent a different kind of heat through her, one that had nothing to do with the fire.
Thomas removed the other slipper and took that foot into his hands as well.
His hair had fallen forwards again, and his face remained flushed from the cold and from the kiss they had shared in the garden.
He was older than the boy upon the beach, broader and more certain in every movement, but the emotion in his amber eyes was unchanged.
Perhaps he felt the change in her breathing, for his hands slowed around her foot. He looked up, and the expression in his eyes made the room feel suddenly much warmer. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Thomas released her carefully and rose. "I shall ring for tea."
"No."
"Caroline."
"If you summon a servant, half the house will know we are here within moments."
He glanced towards her badly fastened gown and loose hair.
His mouth curved into a grin despite himself.
Thomas crossed the room but did not pull the bell.
Instead, he took the folded blanket from the back of the settee and brought it to her, settling it over her knees with the same care he had once used to close her fingers around a piece of sea glass.
"There," he said. "We shall postpone the tea for five minutes, and then I reserve the right to behave like a physician."
Caroline caught his hand before he could move away. "Do not sit across the room."
Thomas looked down at their joined hands, and the humour faded from his face. He lowered himself into the chair beside hers and turned towards her, close enough that their knees touched beneath the blanket.
For a little while neither spoke. Caroline had imagined this conversation so often that she ought to have known where to begin, but every carefully rehearsed question had deserted her.
Thomas was here. His hand was warm around hers and his thumb moved slowly across her knuckles, but the years between them remained crowded with things neither understood.
Her gaze fell to their hands. "Why did the glass stop?" she asked in a small voice.