“A life half-lived is no life at all,” William murmured.
A small thrill at being validated raced through Rachel, and she felt empowered to tell him more. “They think that I will accept a marriage of convenience for the sake of marriage. But I want a bigger life, a more daring life, have adventures, see places, meet people, do more, become someone I want to be proud of when I look in the mirror.”
The fleeting energy left her, and she sank back on the bench. “But no, they only want what they want…I have no part in making decisions on my life.”
A gentle hand turned her to him, and both gazes met and held. “You do have a choice. No one can force you to agree at the pulpit.”
She laughed softly. “I wish that were true. My life seems so bleak. I have heard of girls marrying for love—but I know my parents do not believe such things exist. They do not even love each other but stay because propriety demands it.” She wrinkled her nose. “That scares me.”
“You want to marry for love and passion,” William mentioned. “And I honor that…but passion is a scary thing. It can burn itself into disaster.”
His meaning was not lost on her. “You know what passion is?”
“Yes.”
A shiver of acute awareness spread over her body, lifted ripples of gooseflesh over her arms, and made a strange tightening in her lower belly. This close to him, all of her senses were flooded because of him; the bright burn in his eyes, the callused feel of his fingers, his spicy scent of soap and paint penetrated her nostrils.
She felt the air go more relaxed around them. She swallowed as his hands moved from her shoulder up against her neck, the calloused pads rasping lightly against her skin. “What do you know about carnal desire?” he asked. “That brilliant burn in your chest that makes all others dull and lifeless?”
“Nothing,” Rachel said breathily, her gaze flickering between his eyes.
Twilight began to draw in deeply when both of his hands cupped her head and held her in place. She shivered a little while being it that strong yet strangely gentle grasp anther mind grew blurry.
A single thought flashed in her head,is he going to kiss me?
The tantalizing heart of his hands and body drew her mind away from the present into dreamland, as hazy and mystical as the fog that clothed the gardens some mornings. She began to float, adrift in realization—that against all rationality, she wanted him to kiss her.
She did not know him, and he knew little about her, but she wanted his kiss to be her first.
Unwittingly, her lips parted, and William’s eyes dipped to her lips. Still, instead of meeting hers with his, he went back to studying her eyes. His thumbs coasted over her cheekbones before he pulled away.
“Be careful about what you wish for,” he said mysteriously.
Her legs felt weak, but she stood. “I have to go.”
“Have you found out what the Marigold flower means?” he asked.
“Yes,” Rachel said, wanting—needing—to get away. “I have. It means sorrow.”
“Good.” He then handed her four stems of another flower. “Then you will find out what these mean as well.”
This time he did grasp her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Good evening, Rachel.”
And without a word, she hurried back to the manor house. Tingles and shivers still ran over her skin and down her spine at the memory of how William had looked at her.
Panting, she reached the safe confines of her room, feeling decidedly out of sorts. But what was more troubling—she felt the tips of her breasts were stiff just as her skin was tingling.
Dazed wonder ran through her, powerful enough that it sent her sinking to a chair. So, this feeling, is what they mean by desire. In the few gothic romance books she had managed to sneak away and read, Rachel had grown to understand in theory but now actually knew what it meant.
It was this heady, magnetic, pulsating, riveting force between her and William that had sprung up out of nowhere, only to take control of her body. She pressed her free hand to her heart that was thumping out of rhythm and sucked in a few deep breaths.
Thank goodness her parents were back at church again because if they had summoned her for a talk, they would take one look at her state and ask her what was wrong. Rachel knew that she could have never lied convincingly enough to them in the state she was in.
After a few long moments, she had steadied her body and managed to examine the new flowers William had given her. The flowers were white but had faint tints of pink to them, and the unopened buds mainly were pink with streaks of white.
She lifted to her nose and the smell—was familiar, but she could not place it.
She twirled the stems a little. “What do you mean?”
