“I am glad you did not,” he said quickly. “We are both maimed, Miss Jewell. But we both know the importance of refusing to live as cripples.”
She did something then that took him so much by surprise that he stood rooted to the spot, high on the rocks that divided the beaches, one foot slightly above the level of the other. She lifted her hand again and set her fingertips against his left cheek.
“We have both learned to see to the very heart of pain, Mr. Butler,” she said. “And so we have both changed—for the better, I believe. We are not cripples. We are survivors.”
She seemed to realize then what she had done, and even in the shade provided by the brim of her bonnet he could see her flush as she removed her hand hastily and rather jerkily.
“Has there been any man since—since Moore?” he asked her.
She shook her head quickly.
“No,” she said. And then after a brief pause, “Has there been any woman since your…I cannot call it an accident, can I?”
“No,” he said. “None.”
Awareness of their long, lonely celibacy pulsed between them, though neither of them put it into words. How could they? They were still virtually strangers to each other—and a man and a woman.
The embarrassment of their shared awareness of such an intimate thing took her suddenly and she turned and scrambled upward again until she stood on the crest of the rocks and looked over to the other side, one hand shading her eyes. He stood where he was for a few moments before going after her.
It was impossible to hide from himself the knowledge that there had been some revulsion in her hasty withdrawal of her hand from his cheek.
He must not even begin to think that because she was as lonely—and as sexually deprived—as he they could therefore…
He could never subject any woman to that.
And perhaps she was too damaged to have anything to offer another man.
He climbed up after her and stood beside her, not too close.
“It is awe-inspiring,” she said, gazing along the length of the main beach on which they had strolled the day before. And yet he sensed that she spoke the words that seemed appropriate to the view rather than ones that were deep-felt.
“It is,” he agreed. He had always wished he had two eyes with which to see it. But one was better than none.
The tide was almost fully out. Already it would be possible to walk about the end of the outcropping of rock on which they stood. They could have avoided the climb if they had waited.
“We can go down to the beach or back the way we came,” he said, “or we can climb to our right and get back up onto the cliff top that way. It is not a difficult climb. The choice is yours.”
When she looked at him this time, her eyes focused somewhere on a level with his chin rather than into his eye.
“It must be getting late,” she said, her voice cheerful—and impersonal. “I suppose we ought to go back by the quickest route. I have been totally unaware of passing time. I have enjoyed this afternoon very much, Mr. Butler. Thank you.”
Something irretrievable had gone from an afternoon that had seemed magical to him in many ways.
They had come too close to each other in the sharing of their stories. For a moment perhaps they had both mistaken a friendly sympathy for a physical closeness—until she had touched him and realized the impossibility of it all. And until she had touched him and he had realized how very wounded she was, how impossible it was for him to take her on emotionally even if he had been offered the chance.
He turned without another word and led the way to the cliff top and then along the footpath to the main driveway just below the cottage. They did very little talking on the way.
“I’ll walk up to the house with you,” he said when they drew level with the cottage.
“Oh, there is no need,” she assured him. “You would have to walk all the way back again.”
They stopped and looked politely and cheerfully at each other, like two strangers who had talked for a while but had nothing left to say and were eager to exchange good-byes and go their separate ways.
And really, that was all they were—strangers.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I have enjoyed the afternoon. I hope you enjoy the rest of your month here. I will not say good-bye. I daresay we will see each other again before you return to Bath.”
“Yes.” She smiled at his chin. “I suppose we will. Thank you for showing me places I have not seen before.”
