“Nothing any more at odds with reality than an owl luring you ever deeper into the woods. But yes, I’ve seen things.” She pursed her lips, and he couldn’t help but admire the fullness of them. “When Caroline and I were young, we played all through Balesboro. We saw lights that flickered, music playing where there were no instruments, and odd shadows that would flitter at the edge of your vision making you think you’d seen something impossible.”
“If I saw or heard any of those things, I would run all the way back to Italy and never return.”
She smiled and patted the rock on which she sat, her blue riding habit tucked around her. “Come and sit.”
He shouldn’t. He should go home and get back to work. But his knee had been sadly wrenched when he’d landed from his last leap at that blasted owl, and she looked so beguiling that he came and took his place on the warm rock, close to her.
Instantly, the world seemed better. All of his irritation, all of his fury, all of his worries about his work, even his torment over his feelings for Charlotte, was lured away by the warm rock. He patted it absently. “This is nice.”
She smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”
“It’s really nice. And ‘nice’ isn’t even a strong enough word.” He considered it for a moment and then announced, “This is blissful.”
“You should take off your boots. The water feels wonderful.”
“I’m fine just sitting, thank you.” He tried not to look at her bared legs, and failed miserably, and could only be happy when she didn’t notice. Her legs were just right, curved calves to fit a man’s hands, ankles delicate enough to warrant further exploration. God, but she was a beautiful woman. It seemed he found her more so every time they met.
To distract himself, Marco looked up at the green trees swaying overhead. “People always talk about how green England is. I never understood that until I came here.” He looked back at Charlotte, a wood nymph perched on a sun-warmed rock with hair the color of the sunset and eyes like the deepest night sky.
He leaned her way the slightest bit, his shoulder brushing hers. Pleased beyond belief when she didn’t move away, he said, “Have you never been lost in Balesboro?”
“Never. I think these woods know and protect me.”
“Yes, well, they torture the rest of us.” He showed her one of his hands, which was streaked with scratches from brambles that seemed to grow out of nowhere as he’d lurched through what had seemed like a hundred walls of thorns.
She winced at the sight. “Oh dear.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a kerchief, and then bent down to dip it in the water.
“There’s no need for that. I’ll be f—"
She placed the wet kerchief on his hand, the pain instantly easing.
Well. That was something. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She flattened the kerchief on his hand, and then left it there.
He instantly missed the touch of her hands on his. He watched her for a long moment, noting the gentle curve of her mouth, the usually peaceful feeling emanating from her. “You seem different.”
She shot him a surprised look. “How so?”
“I don’t know. Less . . . tense, perhaps. I like it,” he said honestly. “You were rather prickly when we first met.”
“Was I?” She wiggled her toes in the water. “Perhaps I was trying too hard to be something I’m not.”
“Which is?”
She smiled. “When I was a child, I never did as I was told. One time, when I was about seven years of age, I got in an argument with Papa, who was angry with me for sneaking out late at night to visit the stables. He was right to be angry, you know, for it wasn’t safe, but at the time, I thought he was being so unfair. I was so angry with him that I ran away. I packed my favorite doll, a clean chemise, and a pillow in a hatbox, stole an apple from the larder, and came here, to Balesboro.”
“Seven years old and you came into these woods alone?”
“Yes.” She laughed softly when he shook his head in disbelief. “I had the wild idea that I would live here until winter. By that time, my Papa would have decided he was very, very sorry for having been so stern with me, and would let me visit the stables whenever I wished.”
“A lovely dream. But one apple wouldn’t have lasted that long.”
“Oh, it didn’t last the hour, for I hadn’t had my breakfast yet. But Balesboro seemed to know I wasn’t yet ready to return home. I found berries and nuts, and I spent the whole day following a stream, chasing butterflies, and red song birds. I found a heart shaped rock that’s still on my dressing table. Oh, and two bright blue feathers that I lost long ago.”
“I’m surprised you bothered to go home.”
A soft smile touched her mouth. “I might not have, but Caroline came for me, which wasn’t easy for her, as she didn’t like coming into the woods alone. I don’t know how she found me, but she did. She said it was time to go back, so I went.”
“Was your Papa cured of his irritation by then?”
“He was very happy to see me, but not as happy as I was to see him.” She kicked at the water, the droplets flashing a faint rainbow over the green hazed rocks.
God, but he would love to sculpt her as she was now, her prim habit covering her to her neck, her rumpled skirts pulled up to reveal her delicate ankles and lush calves. He would call it Propriety In The Wild, he decided, drinking her with his gaze. “Why are you here? Are you angry with someone this time, too?”
She held her feet before her and pointed her wet toes, water dripping back into the pool. “I was thinking about Caroline.” She kicked the water again, only not so gently. “I miss her.”
The words, so simple, held a world of heartbreak. “That’s understandable.”
“She was to be the guardian, you know.” Charlotte reached out and plucked a flower from a nearby clump and tucked it behind her ear. “Nimway Hall is always in the possession and care of a female of the line. My sister was to be the next one.”
He shrugged. “So now it will be you.”
“It can’t be me. I don’t have the mark.”
“What mark?”
“Goodness, must I explain this to everyone? My aunt asked the same question.” She slanted him a measuring look, as if she were deciding how much to tell him. He must have passed muster for she said in a serious tone, “Every guardian of Nimway is born with a mark on their shoulder, an oval. My sister had that mark. I don’t.”
“Do you wish you did?”
“Yes . . . and no. If I became the guardian, I’d need to stay here to oversee the care of the Hall. I’m not sure I want that.”
“Won’t you have to leave once you marry, anyway?” he asked.
“I suppose so.”
She supposed? How could she not know? “Who is this man that you’re to marry? What’s his name?” The words burst from him, and he realized he’d been wondering about it since the moment she’d told him she was to marry.
“His name is Robert.” She plucked another flower, holding the stem between her palms. She moved her hands slowly, rolling the flower back and forth. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Neither did he, Marco decided. In fact, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to talk about less. Still, he was here. And so was she.
He steeled himself. “I’ve been here almost two weeks and I have yet to see this man.”
She didn’t answer.
“If you’re going to marry this – what did you call him? Roberto?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Robert.”
“Whatever it is. If you’re going to marry him, then you’ll be leaving Nimway, so you couldn’t be the guardian, even if you wanted to.”
She twirled the flower a little faster.
“That is, if he plans on taking you away. Perhaps he will want to live with you and your parents here.”
The flower was almost a blur.
“Where is he now, anyway?”
She stopped twirling the flow
er and sent him a flat look. “I told you, I’m not going to talk about him.”
Marco waited.
She sighed. “Fine. There’s not much to tell, anyway. After we became engaged, he had business to attend to, and he left to take care of it.”
“Business. What business is that?”
She didn’t answer.
“He didn’t tell you, did he? What sort of man—”
“Will you stop talking about him!” She glared, the flower a ragged pulp in her clenched hand. She looked like a fluffed kitchen, her hair mussed, her feet bare, her hackles raised by his questions.
Marco covered her hand with his, the poor flower now hidden from sight. “If I were engaged to you, I would never leave you. When a di Rossi marries, it is for love and it is for life.”
Something flashed in her blue eyes, but she turned away, shaking her head as if banishing cobwebs. “You don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She pulled her hand from his and threw the broken flower into the water. It floated in the quiet pool, swirling with the current.
They were silent, and it seemed that the forest was quiet now, too.
Marco hated that he’d crushed what had been a beautiful moment. What in the hell is wrong with me? I could have sat here in this lovely grotto with this beautiful woman and talked about all sorts of things that might have pleased her.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t afford to please her. They didn’t have the luxury of a leisurely courtship. If he didn’t press for answers, then the time would come for him to leave and he’d never know what could have been.
What could have been. There were no sadder words in the world. He rubbed his knee where it still ached. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this man. I just . . .” He turned to her. “I don’t understand why you are marrying him. If he doesn’t care enough to stay with you, then he is not worth your efforts.”
Her gaze searched his face, two more strands of hair falling from her coif to land on her shoulder. “You’re being annoyingly persistent.”
“I have to be.”
“Yes, but I haven’t even told my aunt this yet, and—” She gave an irritated sigh. “For your information – and I’m not sure why I’m telling you this – but I’m not going to marry Robert.”
A surge of triumph flew thought Marco, shocking in its intensity.
Unaware of his reaction, she added, “I wrote him several days ago and told him so. He should get the letter tomorrow, perhaps the day after, but soon.”
“I see.” How could such news make him feel so elated? He had no idea, but there was no denying the blinding happiness that echoed through him. He had to breathe quietly for a moment before he spoke, or she’d have known it, too. “When did you decide this?”
“A few days ago.”
“What happened?”
“My aunt said something that made me realize I was being unfair to both myself and Robert. That was one reason.”
“There’s another?”
Her gaze met his. “The last kiss we shared. I couldn’t marry Robert after that. I just hadn’t yet admitted it to myself.”
“I’m glad you took this action.” Incredibly glad. This wild, spirited woman deserved so much more than being trapped in a cold, English marriage. “You are too good for him.”
“No, I’m not.” She brushed some of her fallen hair from where it clung to the side of her neck. “He is too good for me.”
Marco’s smile faded. She didn’t look at all pleased with her decision. In fact, she seemed very unhappy, her eyebrows knit, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “You’re worried you’ve hurt him.”
She nodded. “I’ve known him since I was a child and he’s always been kind to me.”
“You would hurt him more if you married him and it wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“That’s true.” She straightened her shoulders and said in a firm tone, “It is for the best. He will come to see that soon enough.”
She had such a tender heart, this one. And he liked her all the more for it. Marco had to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms for a hard kiss. God, but she was delectable.
She placed her hands flat on the rock behind her and leaned back, looking up at the trees. “Life is so complicated. All we want is to be happy, but no one knows what that really means.”
“Love is happiness. I know that.” Marco reached past her to pluck a flower. It was cornflower blue, the center a deep purple, the smell indescribably sweet. “In his time, my father painted hundreds of portraits of people, many of them wealthy beyond belief.”
She watched him, her long lashes shadowing her blue eyes.
“He was in many different homes and saw many different people’s lives. He says that of the houses he visited, he never once witnessed happiness close to the kind he and my mother shared.” Marco dropped the flower in her lap where the petals rested on the folds of her skirts. “Not once.”
She picked up the flower and looked at it. “True love is rare.”
“Most people never get so much as a taste of it. But when they have it, they – and everyone around them – know it.”
“My parents have that kind of love.” She absently brushed the flower along her cheek. “You’re right. They do know it, and if you saw them together, you would know it, too.” She sighed, her breath making the flower flutter helplessly. “They will be upset when they find out I’ve ended my engagement.”
“He will tell them?”
“I wrote my mother at the same time I wrote him. I thought it only fair.” She dropped the flower back into her lap. “Mama has been worried about me since Caroline’s death. I think she believed marriage would anchor me some way.”
“If she thinks you need to be anchored, then she hasn’t seen you when you’re angry. You are a force, then. Even I fear you and I can pick you up with one arm.”
A reluctant smile touched her lips. “I am forceful at times.” She said it as if she’d just discovered it. “It’s been a while since I felt I could be that way, or even honest, especially with my mother. She’s been so sad since Caroline died.” She turned her face to the sun, wincing when she noticed the angle of it. “It’s getting late and I must return to Nimway. My aunt will be waiting for me.”
To his chagrin, she climbed to her feet, her skirts dropping back to her feet, her bare toes peeping out from the folds.
Damn it. He didn’t want this moment to end. He wondered if he could convince her to stay. Not just for a day, but forever. They could build a home of some sort here, beside this stream. He could set traps for food, and they could eat berries and nuts from the woods. It was a ridiculous thought, and yet . . . Damn, why couldn’t happiness be as simple as holding onto the right moment and never letting it leave?
Sighing, he watched as she collected her riding boots and stockings and limped to a nearby tree stump. She sat down and dried her feet with her skirts, and then tugged her stockings over her damp skin.
“Here. Allow me.” He arose and picked up her boot. He knelt on the one knee that didn’t hurt and held out his hand. “Give me your foot.”
“I can do it.”
“Of course you can. But I’m being polite which, as you know, does not come easy to me, so do me a favor and give me your foot.”
Humor warmed her eyes. “No gentleman has ever offered to assist me with my boots.”
“I’m no gentleman, am I? I don’t have to follow the rules.” When she didn’t lift her foot, he sighed. “Fine. You may consider this payment for the assistance I am about to demand of you.”
“What assistance?” She couldn’t have looked more suspicious.
“If you and that monster horse of yours don’t lead me free of these trees, they will find my body in a few days, a thorn vine wrapped around my throat.”
A reluctant chuckle bubbled from her. “Balesboro has been very cruel to you.”
“So save me from this vile forest.” He held her out h
is hand. “Your foot, please.”
With a grin, she plopped her stockinged foot into his hand.
“Thank you.” The feel of her damp skin through her stockings sent sparks up his arms and into other, more insistent parts. Ignoring it, he slipped the boot over her foot, tugging it firmly into place. He lowered her foot to the ground and picked up her other boot. “Now the other one.”
She was less hesitant this time, so he lingered, admiring the roundness of her calf and the perfect turn of her ankle. There was something about this auburn-haired waif that piqued his senses, and he had yet to figure out what it was. He finished settling her boot in place and rocked back on his heels. “There.”
“Thank you.” She stood, collected her hat, and then went to collect Angelica. “We can both ride, if you’d like.”
He followed her to the horse. “This beast would bolt if I ever dared throw a leg over her. I’ll help you up, and then I’ll stay nearby, if she’ll let me. Come.” He bent down and cupped his hands, ready to boost Charlotte into the saddle. “Up you go.”
She held her riding skirts to one side and placed a hand on his shoulder, ready to settle her foot into his hands.
But he had other, better plans. When she was close enough, he straightened, grasped her by the waist, and lifted her into the saddle.
She clutched at his shoulder to steady herself, blushing as she did so. But she didn’t pull away and even mumbled, “Thank you.” Her horse, who’d been watching, turned her head back toward the trail as if satisfied all was as it should be.
Charlotte slanted a glance at the sun and grimaced. “We need to go. My aunt will be waiting.”
“Of course.” And yet Marco stayed where he was, looking up at her, his hands on her waist, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. In less than two weeks, he would finish the commission. Two short weeks. It isn’t enough, damn it. I want so much more.
So apparently, did she, for her gaze met his, her eyes dark under the brim of her hat. To his astonishment, she slid a hand over his where it rested at her waist. “I’ve been reading more of that book I told you about.”