The volume in my hand held the key to some mysteries. Did I want to unlock the door to the past or simply keep myself in the dark? I exhaled a long breath and paced the room. I felt hemmed in and needed to escape before panic set in.
I rushed out the door and took the back stairs until I was outside in the garden. The fresh air was welcome. However, it was raining, and I had no overcoat or a hat. I didn’t care. Across the green was Oliver’s home, and I could see the front façade through the trees. Amelia would be there, as well as Oliver. The best times I recalled of late were with them. I yearned for that simpler time when lust was the name of the game, and love had nothing to do with it. That all changed with Oliver’s confession.
Rain pelted my forehead, and my feet seemed to have a mind of their own. I turned on my heel and returned to the house. I couldn’t avoid the inevitable. I needed to read the diary and see for myself what it contained.
“Oy, Noah,” Oliver called out. I turned my head to see him rushing down the path. I halted in mid-stride, unsure if I wanted to speak to him or not. He was married to Amelia, and by rights, he should defend her. I had been harsh by claiming I lacked trust in her. Although I understood her reasoning in a tough situation, what she did was wrong.
“Oliver, how are you?” I asked, putting on my customary mask. It was easier to pretend things were good than to explain why they weren’t.
“I thought you could use a friend,” he said, a tentative smile on his lips. He skimmed my face with concerned eyes, the love he expressed to me shining in the blue depths. I’d seen the same aqua color in the Mediterranean, and it captivated me then, like it captivated me now.
“Come in. I was about to get a brandy.” I went inside and led the way to my private drawing room. He followed me, not saying a word. The last time we were together in this room, I introduced him to the joys of physical pleasure. We’d bonded that night, and I was glad for his friendship.
“You are wet,” he said.
“So I am.” I was numb to the state of my own body and unbuttoned my coat as I went to the sideboard. The diary was still in my possession, and I stared down at the embossed cover. Sally had written her innermost fears inside the book. From the way Amelia and Lady Ellen fought so fiercely over it, I wouldn’t like what I saw. “I assume you are here to talk about my fight with Amelia. What did she tell you?”
“Enough.” He approached me and laid a hand on my shoulder.
“Did you read the diary?” I closed my eyes, aware of how close he was. If I were of a mind, I could lean back into his strength. I couldn’t do that.
He tugged on my lapels to remove my wet coat, leaving me in my shirtsleeves. “No, I didn’t. Have you?”
“Not yet. Do you want sherry, brandy, or scotch?” I asked, pouring myself a glass filled to the rim with scotch. Alcohol rarely fixed a problem, as I had discovered over the first months of my grieving, but it helped take the edge off.
“I will have what you are having.” He draped my coat over the back of a chair, the navy material a darker hue because of the rain.
My hair was still wet, and I ran a hand through it. It came away damp with moisture. I was used to the water and had an affinity for it.
“I came to see how you were doing. If you wish to talk, you may. If you wish to keep your counsel, that is acceptable as well. I am sure I can bore you properly with the conversation I had with the Turkish ambassador and the prime minister last night.”
A reluctant smile tilted the corners of my mouth, the first bit of amusement I’d experienced since learning about the diary. “I am sure it won’t be as painful as what that diary contains.”
“No, I am certain it will not.” He stood near me as I handed him the glass. Head tilted, he reached out and clasped the back of my neck. Drawing me close, he pressed his lips against mine. I settled my palm on his wrist, playing my lips across his warm ones. Perhaps physical pleasure might rid me of my restlessness. I skimmed my tongue along the seam of his mouth, dipping into the warmth. He groaned deep in his chest, his breath increasing.
There was still the matter of his deeper feelings for me, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to allow this to go further. I had enough troubles without complicating things. “I don’t think we should do this right now,” I said.
Hurt and understanding showed in his heated stare. He angled his head, studying me for a long moment. “Will you ever forgive me for committing the ultimate sin by saying I love you?” he asked. There was a touch of humor and frustration in his tone.
“I don’t wish to see you hurt, Oliver.”
“I am more hurt by your withdrawal than your rejection of my love. You don’t have to love me back, Noah. If I had said nothing, you would have never known. Well, perhaps suspected. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I would rather sever our physical relationship than risk our friendship.” He placed one last lingering kiss on my mouth before taking a seat, lifting the glass, and sipping at the amber liquid.
To lose the chance to bed him again panicked me further. I paced the room, the diary still calling to me. I needed to read it now more than ever. “Frankly, Oliver, I don’t know what I want. Amelia and I, well things... Now things are even more complicated. Does she know you’re here?”
He nodded. “She is beside herself. After she cried herself to sleep, I decided to come here and see how you fared. Apparently, you are aggravated, else you wouldn’t have gone outside without an overcoat or paced the drawing room like a caged tiger. Sometimes talking helps, and I am here if you wish to talk. If you want silence, I will comply with that as well. If you wish for me to leave, simply tell me, and I will go.”
“I want you to read the diary for me.” The words escaped before I even realized I wanted to say it. If he read it for me, I wouldn’t be forced to sit. “Will you do that?”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I handed it to him, pleased my hand remained steady. “Positive.”
“Very well.” He cracked open the diary and flipped the page, his brow furrowed. A lock of hair fell over his forehead,the golden strands shimmering in the dim light. “There is an inscription from Amelia and the date.”
“You can skip anything you deem unnecessary.” I knelt in front of the fireplace and scattered the ashes with the poker.
Oliver began to read the passages. To hear her voice coming through the pages of her diary would be surreal. A chill from my damp shirt added to my discomfort. I began to arrange the coal in the grate. Usually, the servants performed the task, but I needed the physical labor while the voices from the past drifted into my present.
