CHAPTER 9 #3
They’d maintained their careful distance since dinner, her in her chair, him in his, the fire crackling between them like a chaperone made of flame. But the memory of the garden, of her mouth under his, was a third presence in the room, pressing close, making every breath thick with possibility.
“You’re staring,” Clara murmured, not looking up.
“You’re distracting.”
“I’m reading.”
“Distractingly.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“You make it possible.”
She lifted her gaze then, slow as a caress, and the heat in her eyes made his breath falter. “One month,” she said, the words meant for him but sounding like a reminder to herself.
“One month,” he echoed.
“We should establish some boundaries.”
“I thought we were eliminating boundaries.”
“Some boundaries,” she insisted, voice unsteady. “For sanity’s sake.”
“Such as?”
“We shall not engage in physical acts that are for the bedroom chambers. We also maintain propriety in the presence of others.”
“Others being the new staff?”
“And Edmund. And Mrs. Potter.”
“So essentially, we can only be ourselves when completely alone?”
“Indeed.”
“That, I must confess, promises to be excessively vexing.”
“Yet it is, indisputably, the path of practical safety.”
Gabriel shut his book and set it aside. The decision to move was not a decision at all; it was gravity.
He crossed the room and perched on the arm of her chair.
He didn’t touch her, but he leaned close enough to smell her rose-scented soap, close enough that the fine hairs on his arms stirred with her nearness.
“I have a term,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Every evening, after the staff leaves, we spend time together. “To any place that takes your fancy. But in company.”
“That promise holds the distinct air of recklessness.”
She considered, the firelight flickering over her face. “And what would we do during these evenings?”
“Talk. Read. Play music.” He paused deliberately, his voice dropping. “Let us kiss with such fervor that all need for breath is wholly forgotten.”
“Gabriel…”
“You said honesty.”
“Honesty and restraint.”
“Those might be mutually exclusive.”
“We must endeavor to do so.”
“Must we?”
“We must?”
“Precisely. For if we do not, I shall be consumed by self-reproach upon my departure. And you, will never forgive yourself for allowing my presence only to endure my loss a second time.”
The undeniable truth of her assertion sliced through his longing like a blade.
“You speak with perfect sense.”
“I am rarely mistaken.”
“Arrogant to extremes.”
“I am simply precise.”
He stood and poured himself a brandy, the liquid catching in the firelight as it sloshed into the glass. “Would you care for a glass?”
“Ladies don’t drink brandy.”
“Ladies don’t kiss their employers in gardens either.”
“Then it is a good thing that I am not a lady.”
“You are to me.”
The quiet sincerity in his tone made her blush. “Pray, do not indulge in such smooth compliments. It quite puts me ill at ease.”
“Would you prefer I go back to being a complete wretch.”
“It’s more familiar.”
“Very well then.”
“Your present style, I must confess, is exceedingly unbecoming.”
“I thank you kindly.”
“Your dress is the color of despair.”
“I am fully aware.”
“And you kiss like…” He stopped, jaw tightening.
“Like…?”
“Like redemption tastes.”
“That’s not horrible at all.”
“I am becoming hopelessly inept at being disagreeable to your person.”
“Has that not always been just so?”
“Not entirely, not since the moment you chanced upon me lacking proper attire and did not make a hasty retreat in horror at my person laid bare to you.”
“I have need of my employment.”
“Merely the employment?”
“The employment…and other particular benefits.”
“Such as?”
“It’s as specific as I can be without abandoning my composure.”
He came back to her chair, this time lowering himself onto the ottoman at her feet. His knees brushed her skirts, and the heat of her body radiated through the inches between them. “Tell me something true.”
“Everything I say is true.”
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
Clara set her book aside, eyes glinting like coals. “I dream about you.”
His heart jolted. “What kind of dreams?”
“Different kinds. Sometimes we’re children again, in the garden. Sometimes you’re teaching me to waltz. Sometimes...” She faltered, a blush rising like dawn on her throat.
“Sometimes?”
“Sometimes you’re shirtless and I’m not running away.”
“And?”
“And that’s all I’m telling you.”
She leaned forward then, cupping his face in her hands. Her palms were warm, her touch steady, but the tremor in her fingers betrayed her. “One month.”
“Gabriel…”
He kissed her then, softly at first, tasting the words still on her lips, a promise and a warning in one. When he drew back, her eyes were closed, a smile playing at her mouth as though she already knew how this month would undo them both.
“This,” she whispered, “is going to be the longest month of my life.”
With a boldness that quite surprised him, she pressed her lips to his.
Alas, it was evident that the coming month would prove a tedious stretch of endurance.