Chapter 4 #3
She did not sit precisely, choosing to perch on the arm of the chair, like a bird determined to take flight at any moment, but she raised her glass and drank.
“Will there be anything else, Mr King?” she asked politely, apparently determined to be an excellent hostess.
“Only if I might persuade you to sit and bide awhile with me. It’s been a night filled with ghosts and the voices of the dead. I’d as soon not sleep just yet.”
King was uncertain who was more startled by this admission, Mrs Adamson or himself, for he had meant to say none of it, had not even realised he was thinking it until he heard the words aloud.
Her eyes widened, first with shock, and then with something that looked like compassion. “Memories are a terrible thing. How much easier it would be to find happiness, if not for the past creeping up upon us when we let down our guard,” she said softly.
“You are surely not plagued in such a way?” he asked, praying it was not so.
Not only because he did not wish her to be guilty of some terrible sin when everything in him told him she was good and kind and all that he might dream of in a woman should he wish one to keep for himself, but because he did not wish her to be so burdened.
He wondered about her husband, long dead. Had that been a tragedy or a blessing? Did she still break her heart over the loss of him?
She smiled in answer to his question, her expression a little rueful. “Even the most innocent among us are troubled by regret, Mr King. It is human nature to torture ourselves, whether deservedly or not.”
King’s lips quirked upon seeing a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
“Ah, and you believe I deserve the tortures of the damned, do you not, Mrs Adamson?”
“Certainly not. Why should I?” she asked calmly. “You told Mrs Fairway you mean me no harm. You did not come here to make trouble. Not for me, leastways. Is that true?”
She held his gaze boldly, without a trace of embarrassment or fear, and King’s pulse leapt beneath his skin.
Firelight flickered over her beautiful face, casting her ivory skin with a glow that lit her up, only reinforcing his fanciful notion of her as a pagan goddess.
The desire to sink to his knees before her, to slide his hands beneath her skirts and push them high, to show her how a man like him would worship her given the chance, burned inside him.
The spark she had unwittingly lit from the first moment he had seen her face had smouldered in the interim, and now it blazed to light, threatening to erupt into something that would cause trouble for her, and for him too, he had no doubt.
Knowing his own nature too well, King embraced the fire, knowing there was little point in doing anything else. It would engulf him eventually, whether or not he fought it, so he only relished its heat licking at his insides.
“I would rather cut out my own heart that cause you a moment's pain,” he said, which was true enough, even though he knew the path he would lead her down would bring her trouble should she choose to take it.
She stared at him, her mouth falling open a little at the uncompromising nature of his words.
King gave a wry chuckle. “I have an appalling tendency to speak my mind, which some folk find troublesome, but I pray you believe me sincere, Mrs Adamson. From a man of business to a woman likewise engaged, I am all admiration for everything you have achieved here. Your hotel is stylish and comfortable and has clearly become a place of importance in the town, certainly for the women here. My part in your success is negligible, but it still warms me to know I did something that has reaped such rewards for a woman who deserves nothing less.”
There was silence for a long moment as she digested his words, staring at him with such an expression of surprise King hardly knew how she would take his words. Would she think him encroaching, a deal too familiar perhaps?
“I-I thank you, Mr King. Not only for the compliment, which means a good deal to me, but for your help all those years ago, and for being fair, when you might have taken advantage.”
The glow from the fire he had observed moments earlier seemed to burn inside her now, and he realised he could have said nothing more perfectly calculated to bring her pleasure.
He might have admired her beauty, her grace and style, and been rebuffed, but to admire her achievements was to see who she was, and he was quick-witted enough to realise that, and man enough to press his advantage.
“Perhaps you might reconsider your opinion of me, then, and do me the honour of having dinner with me tomorrow night?” he asked, swallowing the last of his brandy and setting the glass down.
She laughed and got to her feet, forcing him to do likewise. “My opinion of you is firmly intact, Mr King,” she replied, finishing her own brandy and reaching for his empty glass.
“You think me a rogue,” he guessed, though he suspected her name for him was rather less polite, even if she was well-bred enough never to say it out loud.
“I do not think it,” she replied, and he knew it was not a denial but a confirmation.
“Then have dinner with a rogue, for you’ll enjoy it more than time spent with any proper gentleman,” he challenged. “Or are you afraid of me?”
“Of you?” she repeated with a little snort, holding the two glasses in such a way that they chinked together. Were her hands trembling? “Certainly not.”
There was a slight quaver in her voice that told him she was a liar. Yet it could not be fear, for she had shown she was not afraid of him. Excitement, then?
“Then tell your cook to prepare something splendid for us. No expense spared. The finest wines, the most exotic delicacies to be found in this little end-of-the-world town.”
She frowned, confusion and curiosity alight in her eyes, though she shook her head and he feared she would refuse him. He decided to persuade her, for he desperately wanted to spend more time with the beautiful widow, to unearth her secrets and discover all there was to find.
“To what end, Mr King? You are only here for a few days, are you not?”
“Most likely, so there’s nothing to fear, is there? What harm can I do in that time? And what more reason do I need than the urgent desire to spend a few hours in the company of the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met?”
To his delight, she laughed again, harder this time, and the rather husky sound wrapped around him, sliding over his skin and making him determined to hear it again.
“Oh, rogue, indeed! I’m perfectly sure those words have never escaped your lips before either,” she said, shaking her head at him.
“They have not,” he replied with quiet sincerity.
“I am compelled by some inner demon to speak honestly, a tendency which causes me a good deal of trouble, but leastways people know where they stand. You fascinate me, Mrs Adamson, like no one else I have ever met, and I mean to get to know you, if you’ll allow it. ”
“And if I won’t?” she asked, but King noted the breathless way she spoke, saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest as he took a step closer.
“Then I shall do my level best to persuade you otherwise,” he said gently, taking another step towards her as he lowered his voice. “Would you like me to persuade you, Mrs Adamson?”
“No,” she said, turning suddenly away from him and hurrying to the door. “We shall dine at eight, Mr King, but I give you fair warning: you may eat at my table and enjoy my company if you will, but I am not on the menu. Goodnight, sir.”
With that, she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. King listened to her quick footsteps march briskly away, quite unable to help the self-satisfied smile that curved his lips and remained there long after he retired to his room.