Henrik leveled his gaze at her. “Promise me, if I ever abuse authority, speak up.”
A smile bent her lips. “I can yelp.”
“Yes, and in such a becoming manner.”
Softness washed over her face. “I do love you.”
His throat swelled shut from the beauty of it, the glow of it. She loved him, Henrik Ahlefeldt. Not for the money or the title, but for who he was, for who he’d become.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I love you too.” He sought her mouth, found it, and luxuriated in it.
But she pulled back with an apologetic smile. “We’ll spill our hot chocolate.”
Henrik leaned forward to set his cup on the tray, then thought better of it. Else was too tempting in her stocking feet and that sweater and love on her lips.
He stood up with his cup in hand and extended his other hand to Else. “Come. Let’s walk.”
“Walk?”
With his toe, he pushed her shoes closer. “Far less dangerous than cuddling.”
Else chuckled, swung her feet down, and wriggled into her shoes. “Where’s my brave Havmand?”
“Weak as a baby in the presence of your beauty.”
Her smile shifted to one side. “Don’t even try that playboy charm on me. It won’t work.”
“One of the reasons I love you. Now, come on.” He wiggled his fingers at her.
She slid her hand in his. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll let the lady decide.”
“Let’s go out on the terrace. I’d love to watch the rain on the Sound.”
He led her out the French doors onto the covered terrace. They stood side by side, fingers laced. Before them, rain beat the grassy slope, darkened the sand of Vedbæk beach, and dimpled the waters.
“I do love the rain.” Else nestled against his side. “The water vapor in the clouds diffuses the light and absorbs it, and each raindrop serves as a tiny prism. The light shimmers.”
So did Else, and he looped his arm around her waist. “My mother loved the play of light on the water, no matter the weather.”
“I would have liked her.”
“She would have liked you too.” He could almost hear Mor’s laughter in the rain, as if she were agreeing from heaven.
“The sound of light—Lyd-af-Lys,” Else said in a musing tone. “A perfect name for this home.”
He’d told her the story the week before. “So tell me, my pretty little physicist, what sounddoeslight make?”
“I’ve been pondering that all week.” She brought her cup to her lips and took a sip. The blue and white china complemented her blue eyes and porcelain complexion. “Does the vibration of a photon create a sound wave? If it does, it’s certainly out of our range of hearing.”
Henrik brushed his cheek over her golden hair. “I know what light sounds like.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Light sounds like speech. Whenever someone speaks words of kindness or courage, speaks out for the downtrodden and oppressed, speaks out against injustice. It sounds like the cranking of the handle of a mimeograph machine in a trembling hand. That’s the sound of light.”
Else nestled even closer against his shoulder. “I think light sounds like silence. The silence of someone concealing his nobility and sacrificing everything so he can quietly do great deeds.”
