“Very briefly,” she said, “before he left home never to return. We were inconsolable at the knowledge that he had to go to Scotland, that it would be some time before we would see each other again and could be together for the rest of our lives. And so—”
“Such things happen,” he said. “And all in all I believe passion—even misguided passion—is preferable to cold indifference. I believe you yourself said something similar to me once.”
“Yes,” she said just before he drew her firmly to one side of the path to avoid a collision with another careless and noisy group.
“This is undoubtedly a picturesque avenue,” he said, “and of course we must remain on it if we are to catch up with the others. But do youwishto catch up, Miss Martin, or shall we take one of the quieter paths? They are not as well lit, of course, but it is not a dark night.”
“One of the quieter paths, please,” she said, and they turned onto one almost immediately and were soon swallowed up by darkness and the illusion of quiet.
“Ah, this is better,” he said.
“Yes.”
They strolled onward, quiet themselves now that they had moved away from the crowds. Claudia breathed in the smell of greenery. And even above the distant strains of music and the muted sounds of voices and laughter, she could hear—
“Oh, listen,” she said, drawing her hand free of his arm and grasping his sleeve. “A nightingale.”
He listened too for several moments as they stood quite still.
“And so it is,” he said. “It is not just my daughter who hears the birds, then.”
“It is the darkness,” she said. “It makes one more aware of sound and smell and touch.”
“Touch.” He laughed softly. “If you loved, Miss Martin, as you once did, or if at least you intended to marry a certain man, would you object to his touch? To his kiss? Would you call them unnecessary or foolish?”
Claudia was very glad of the darkness then. Her cheeks, she was sure, were aflame.
“Unnecessary?”she said. “Foolish?Surely neither. I would both want and expect touches—and kisses. Especially if I loved.”
He looked about him, and Claudia, realizing that her hand was still on his sleeve, drew it free.
“This very evening,” he said, “on the way here, I tried to kiss Miss Hunt—the only time I have ever taken such a liberty. She told me not to be foolish.”
“Perhaps,” she said, smiling despite herself, “she felt embarrassed or frightened.”
“She explained herself at greater length when I questioned her,” he told her. “She said that kisses are unnecessary and foolish between two people who are perfect for each other.”
A slight breeze was causing the branches overhead to sway and admit faint bars of moonlight to play over his face. Claudia stared at him. Whatever had Miss Hunt meant? How could they be perfect for each other when she did not want his kisses?
“Why are you going to marry her?” she asked.
His eyes moved to hers and stayed there. But he did not answer.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
He smiled. “I think I had better say no more,” he said. “I have already said too much when the lady ought to be able to expect some discretion from me. What is it about you that invites confidences?”
It was her turn not to answer.
His eyes were still on hers. Even when the moonlight was not filtering through the trees, the darkness was really not very dark at all.
“Wouldyoube embarrassed or afraid,” he asked her, “if I tried to kissyou?”
She would be both. She was quite sure she would. But it was a hypothetical question.
“No,” she said so softly that she was not even sure sound came from her lips. She cleared her throat. “No.”
It wasa hypothetical question.
