Chapter 17 #2
He strained his ears for any sound—of Miss Easton, of course, but also of any other potential citrus enthusiasts.
It would not do for the two of them to be seen alone together.
It was quiet within, however, so he began to walk, glancing to the right and left each time he reached one of the smaller paths that intersected the main one.
The branches of one row intermingled with the adjacent ones, making it difficult to see but also unlikely that there was anyone to see. There was little space for a person unless they were keen to pick their way through branch after branch.
He was beginning to wonder whether he had been mistaken about what Miss Fairchild had said when he caught sight of something in one of the rows—a spot of blue.
His gaze dropped to the ground, where there was less foliage obscuring his view.
Blue skirts and a pair of half-boots paced the few feet available to them.
Silas’s heart leapt into motion, and he threaded his way through the leafy branches until Miss Easton appeared, her hands clasped and her eyes wide as she looked at him.
“You came.” There was patent relief in her voice as she came toward him.
He met her and gathered up her hands in his. “Of course I did. What is the matter? Are you well?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him in a way that made his body glow with warmth. “But I wished to speak with you.”
He nodded, delighting in the feel of her hands in his and having her so near. The past week had felt like an eternity without her, but that was nothing now that she was here with him. “What is it? Your cousin said it was urgent.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “I assure you, I had no notion that Felicity intended to send you such a message. She told me nothing of her plans until a few minutes ago.”
Silas lowered their hands, searching her face. “I do not understand.”
“I told Felicity I wished to speak with you,” she explained, “and she assured me she would arrange it, but I did not mean for her to go about it in such a way.”
Silas did not respond, but he slowly released her hands. Miss Easton was not in trouble. There was nothing urgent which she required of him—indeed, she had evidently not even known he would be here until minutes ago.
Her brow knit, and she looked at him questioningly. “Are you upset?”
He shook his head quickly. “It is only…” His head whipped around at a sound somewhere in the vicinity. A door opened, then shut, then there was silence. “Is your father here?”
“No,” she said, looking more confused than ever. “Why?”
“I should not be here.” He had been a fool to come in the first place. He had let his selfish wishes overtake his reason. Who did he think he was kidding, coming to help Miss Easton? He could do nothing but bring her harm. “Neither should you be. Not with me.”
“What do you mean?”
He did not meet her gaze, nor did he respond. What could he say to make her understand?
She stepped toward him determinedly. “What if I want to be here with you?”
He met her clear, stubborn gaze, and his heart twinged with want. “You should not want that.”
She said nothing, her eyes searching his as they stood in silence, their faces but a foot apart until she finally broke her gaze away and looked down.
He shut his eyes in consternation, wishing she would look at him again and divine the truth herself so that he did not have to choose between telling it to her or keeping it from her.
Warm fingers wrapped around his hand, and he went still.
Her fingers glided along his fingers, then across his palm, leaving a trickle of chills behind, until they finally reached his wrist. She toyed with the bracelet, the tips of her fingers brushing against his skin as they did so.
She looked up at him. “I would like to claim my bracelet.”
He grimaced. He had considered removing it every day since the last time he had seen her. He should have removed it, but he had not been able to persuade himself to. It had been his only link to her for the past week.
He shook his head.
“Did you not say I could have it when I wished?”
“I did,” he admitted. “But I should not have.”
“Why did you say it, then?”
She had so many questions—and rightly so—and the frustration at his inability to give her answers burst from him in a breathy, wry laugh. “Heaven only knows! When I am with you, I do a great many things I should not.” His gaze fixed on hers. “And yet far fewer than I wish to.”
Her eyes locked on his, her fingers going still on the bracelet. “What sort of things?”
There was silence as a dozen images flashed across his mind: tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leading her by the hand through the gardens at Rushlake Hall, teasing her without restraint.
And then more dangerous things: his hand slipping around her waist, her body pressing against his, his lips covering hers…
He shook his head, trying to ignore the growing want such thoughts elicited.
She regarded him for a moment, a hint of pleading and frustration in her eyes.
When neither of them broke the silence, she brought her other hand to join the one at his wrist and began to undo the clasp.
“Arabella,” he said, trying to gently pull his wrist away.
She stopped him and undid the clasp.
The bracelet fell from his wrist. Her eyes, intent and focused, locked on his, their blue piercing him to the center. “Papa has chosen a suitor. He means for me to become engaged.”
Silas’s stomach plunged.
“Soon.” There was a note of blame in her voice, as though he could prevent this if only he had the nerve.