His eyes grew probing, heavy with a question. But he did not wait for her answer. He strode toward her as her heart picked up a rhythm.
He took her hands, his gaze darting over her features in nervous flicks. "Am I so changed, dear Bee?"
An angry slash marked a line from his left cheek to his chin. His skin, save for that scar, was burnished as if he'd worked daily in fields. The bronze complemented his eyes and hair, giving him a patina of a Greek heroic figure. But he did not stand quite erect and held his left arm tight to his chest in a black velvet sling. Worse, he was thin, nigh unto gaunt, the hollows of his cheeks etching sharp angles to his once boyish but still handsome face.
Her aunt was rejoicing, exclaiming and crying. Excusing herself to her guests with a hand to her throat, she squeezed the arm of her step-son. "Look who's come home!"
Her guests murmured their cheer. A few politely applauded.
Marjorie and Delphine welcomed the young colonel whom they'd always called cousin, then came to embrace this other man who accompanied him. He, in turn, greeted their aunt.
Bee stood, unmoving, marveling at him in silence.
"Have I so shocked you, Bee, that you cannot find a word for me?"
She shook her head while tears fell to her cheeks.
"Oh, please don't cry," said this apparition and stuffed a handkerchief into her hand. "I hoped that you'd squeal in delight."
Marjorie and Del laughed.
Aunt Gertrude grinned up at her step-son Griff, lost in her joy.
Simms coughed to catch their attention. "If you will all follow me—” he said, motioning for the family and the three men to follow him out the door.
Marjorie led the way. Del had gone white with shock at the sight of Bromley. Recovering her aplomb, Del hurried to hook one arm through Bee's and another through this strange visitor's. Simms shooed them along and closed the doors on the guests.
"Now then," said her apparition to them all. "I must talk to Bee."
The others drifted to the corner to more remarks of delight.
This man took her hand, kissed the back and grinned. He was no apparition, but solid flesh and warm smiles.
So in spite of her decades of lessons in decorum, in spite of her knowledge of rules for young ladies, in spite of the fact that the best of society waited behind Aunt's closed doors, she seized his hand and led him toward the nook at the hook in the stairs.
He chuckled.
And she laughed.
"How scandalous," he joked.
"Daring." But she could not care.
She tugged him into the cranny where they'd hidden as children in games meant for laughter. In the shadows where no one might witness her hazard her reputation, she faced him and touched him. His injured arm. His dashing, darling, wounded face. His reality confirmed, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, then rose on her toes and she kissed him. And kissed him.
* * *
And he kissed her back.
Her lips were the dream he'd remembered. Her eagerness the delight he'd hoped she display. She sighed and sank into him. He nestled her in his good arm and stroked her back with the other.
"How are you here?" she breathed and gave him no time to answer. Her mouth claimed his again.
He broke away, breath a necessity. But he pressed his lips to her cheek. "Oh, Bee. My darling, I wish I'd come sooner."
"Why didn't you? Where were you? I knew you still lived. I heard you. I did. Cry my name in the night."
He stroked the arch of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I did. So they tell me. I was out of my head."
