“Marigold,don’t.” She was out of his reach now, approaching the tree at a glacial pace. “This is dangerous.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “So was confronting my husband’s mistress.” He heard the quiver in her voice and wanted to hold her so badly he trembled with the need. “So was dressing as a chorus girl and rouging my cheeks.” She turned her back on him, her attention focused on the hive. “I won’t break,” she said, her eyes bright but steady. “You have to believe I can do this.”
No stammer in her words, only the barest hesitation. His breath caught. “I believe you can do anything, remember?” he managed, wondering if he could trust himself not to chase after her.
But she didn’t want him racing ahead and pummeling all the obstacles out of her way. She needed to conquer them on her own.
She was close to the tree now, reaching with her slender hand toward the lowest extremity of the hive. His breath seized, his heart stopped. Everything stood still as he watched her break off a piece of the comb, nudging the clinging insects aside before sliding the yellow gold into the milk jug. He resumed breathing as she turned, a brilliant smile on her lips.
Her beauty flattened him, her joy in her bravery, the revelation of strength he’d never seen in her. Perhaps she hadn’t seen it in herself.
“Are you—” He choked, swallowed. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said, although her voice trembled as she approached him. She stopped close enough that he could count the freckles across her nose, golden in the setting sun’s light. “I’m fine.”
His breath escaped, the adrenaline drained from his body, leaving his legs weak. “Why on earth did you do that?”
When she lifted the jar of honeycomb between them, he saw how her hand shook. “I needed to be brave, simply because I wanted to be, for myself. To see if I remembered how.”
“You never forget how to be brave,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper.
“Perhaps I fell out of practice.”
Awareness cloaked him like a blanket, and he watched her pupils dilate, the flush rising in her cheeks as he leaned closer. He could kiss her now, and she would kiss him back, he was certain. But for what purpose? Physical affection would only complicate this precarious balance they’d found, one of friendship and kindness, of mutual admiration.
He leaned away, his chuckle more hysterical than he would have liked. “You’re a marvel, Marigold.”
She met and held his gaze. Her mouth opened as though she might say something, but she stopped, gave him a sad nod before she continued on to the path, still seeking a wayward sheep.
They searched until the orange sky turned a soothing periwinkle before they returned to the house, expecting Eloise’s wrath and hysterics. Instead, they found Petunia bleating pitifully outside the gate to the sheep pen.
“Like I said, a demon,” Archie said, but his words lacked bite as Marigold scratched the lamb and cooed.
After reassuring Eloise of Petunia’s safety, Archie’s mum launched into a lecture about how long it took them to search, coming to the rapid conclusion that it was far too late for Archie to take Marigold into Rotherham and return safely. “I won’t risk it,” she said, then turned to Marigold. “You’ll have to stay here.”
Archie’s heart tumbled, forgot how to function as Marigold stared. “St-stay here?”
His mum lifted her chin imperiously, and he knew there was no convincing the woman otherwise. “I must insist. I’ve made up Polly’s bed for her ladyship.” The last part she directed at Archie, and the clenching in his chest turned into something fiery.
“But I’m staying in Louise’s room.” The adjoining room on the second floor. Where they would be the only two sleeping. Amischievous smile crept across Samantha’s face; were they working together?
“Eloise is already making up the bed. The matter is settled.” Was his mother oblivious or a manipulative genius? He had to suspect it was the latter.
“Mrs. Grant, that’s kind of you, b-but I wouldn’t want to put you out,” Marigold said, her gaze sliding to Archie.
“Nonsense.” His mother gave Marigold a long look. “I think the night here will be good for you. Now come along, let me find you something to sleep in.”
Marigold glanced over her shoulder at Archie as his mother led her towards the back of the house and her bedroom.
Samantha dipped her finger in the honey rimming the jar and licked it off. “Are you going to kiss her?”
“I beg your pardon?”
She huffed. “I was only wondering. She acts like she wants to kiss you.”
He barely refrained from choking on his tongue. “What do you mean?”
Samantha ticked the reasons off on her fingers. “She’s always looking at your mouth. She licks her lips when you get close, and she keeps blushing when you talk to her.”
